ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19

We roam the aisles of the great grocery stores like ibexes in search of watering holes, wary of malevolent hyenas, pausing ever so briefly to roll away our trouble in the dust of the noble savannah. Ecosystems form themselves everywhere, unbidden, chaos shifting into order into chaos… Aries, do you hate food shopping? Me too. You should try fasting, it may bring you peace.

TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20

There goes your only friend, Taurus. Somewhere in your life someone is drifting away and you don’t even realize how great they are. Sure, you have a bunch of new friends, and life seems really exciting right now, but your indifference to this one person may come back to haunt you. So pay attention, take stock, and make it right. (Btw, it’s me! I’m the one! Pay attention to me!)

GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20

Yes, I know, you can drown in a bathtub if the conditions are right. But holy shit, Gemini, you can drown in the ocean, too, so why aren’t there more signs to warn us? The most dangerous things in life are still all around us: heartbreak, papercuts, cowlicks, waxy build up… How is it all to be borne? The only viable solution is lots and lots of padding. So, get stuffing or get a boo-boo.

CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22

You know what I love more than casserole? Just sitting back and jamming a mellow groove on my electric piano. I’m kind of the Harry Connick Jr. of my apartment building. Sometimes, when I’m feeling bold and bluesy, I’ll trundle my “twinkler” onto the balcony and serenade the inner courtyard (hi Doug!). If you make just one person happy today, Cancer, it’s been worth it.

LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22

There’s a new trend sweeping northeast New Jersey: forest poker. I know, I know, you brought her you poker — hahaha. Shut up. Seriously, Jersey dudes be wandering into the woods with cards and just throwing down the Texas Hold ‘Em. Just when you thought the world made sense, Leo, some new monkey wrench comes flying through the window and dings you on the noggin.

VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22

Everyone knows you shouldn’t get totally drunk if you plan on stealing a boat. It’s really one of the first things they teach you at theft school. Look, seriously, having an addictive personality isn’t all fun and games. Do you sometimes find yourself haggling with an open bottle of Vermouth over the price of gum? Sad. We all need help sometimes, Virgo. Go get some.

LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22

“Oh, I’m sorry, are you still here? I didn’t see you there behind the terrarium. I’m afraid we’re closing shortly. Is there anything I can do for you that won’t take longer than five minutes?” Has this happened to you, Libra? If so, you clearly suffer from being almost crazy, and you should really stop hiding from everyone. Even if you shut your eyes, the scary world is still there.

SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21

I cannot get me ENOUGH cowbells. When I wake up, when I’m riding on my Vespa, when I’m eating mussels by the beach, when I’m trapping pheasants with my hands… They help me get through each and every day. Scorpio, do you have a magical percussive element that inspires and protects you? I think it’s really important to collect as many meaningless talismans as possible.

SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21

I used to be obsessed with the last words I’d ever say. I know we don’t all get the chance to actually plan our final speech, but as medical science advances at a dizzying pace it becomes ever more likely I’ll have the chance to utter something profound and unforgettable as I drift off into the great dark sea of eternity. And those words? “Sagittarius, love’s a comin’!”

CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19

I see that wry little smile on your face. Don’t think you can fool me into thinking you feel nothing. I don’t have these goofy antennae taped to my helmet for nothing — I can see things others can’t. And I can tell, Capricorn, that you know a hell of a lot more than you’re letting on. Are you storing it all up to use in the future? Or are you just that tight-lipped? C’mon, let me in!

AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18

Despite what infomercials and Prussian fairy tales tell us, people can change. It’s choosing to change that’s the hard part. For example, science has repeatedly told us that some people have the ability to fly, and yet we choose not to because of the insurance premiums. Is this timidity any way to live? No it is not, Aquarius. That’s why we should just fly away.

PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20

What’s with dogs wearing hats these days? I’ve seen a whole bunch of breeds — from Mastiff to Maltese — sporting a variety of hats, from beanie to homburg. Hell, I’ll admit it’s cute, but I think the hats are impairing the dogs’ hearing, because none of them will listen to me. Pisces, beware of overinterpreting external data as contingent upon yourself. That’s paranoiac narcissism.

ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19

Have the dog days begun yet? Is that now or August? And why do you keep wearing shorts to dinner? Don’t you have any proper cotton pants? This is not a goddamn beach blanket bingo, this is New York City, and I’m telling you that if you’re not careful, rats will bite your bare legs and roaches will nip your flip-flopped toes. Don’t let that happen, Aries! Get yourself a suit of armor.

TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20

I knew a girl once who loved barn dances. Seriously, she was an English country girl from Lanarkshire or something, with a real peaches and cream complexion (mainly peaches, actually). So she’d wax on and on about the fun they’d have gavotting amongst the haystacks in old Master Tewksbury’s barn, getting dizzy on cider and treacle. Taurus, try not to talk so much about yourself, ok?

GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20

She was some piece of work alright: dress made of Peruvian fire moths; triple-decker chignon shot through with rare Kentish twill; bassinette made entirely from Ipswich bone-marble. She had a smile like a shiv and a kiss like a tourniquet. I was in trouble and I didn’t even know it. Do you ever find yourself spitting out noir monologues in the middle of the night, Gemini? You’re my anti-hero.

CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22

You remember that goofy black-and-white Kenneth Branagh movie where the scissors come sliding across the floor and it’s real scary because it looks like the dude’s gonna get slashed across his plum English mug? It took them three days to get that shot. You see, Cancer, what we learn from this is the virtue of patience. If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right. Ghost scissors!

LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22

The bald man with the downtown teashop told us we are all made of stars. And while that’s a real pretty thought, we have to be a little more honest about the whole thing: we’re also made of dirt and old magazines and chicken bones and crazy. We are not stars. We are people, a messy midden of scattershot hopes and castaway lottery tickets of the soul. Apes, Leo, naked apes.

VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22

I killed a snake last summer. Almost a year to this very day. They say that when animal spirits are angry they return to the earthly plane for one hour every year on the anniversary of their demise — so yeah, I’m pretty frigging worried about a ghost snake right about now, Virgo. What I’m trying to say is don’t let your old mistakes come back to clench their venomous teeth around your ankle.

LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22

You make a better door than a window, Libra. That’s an old expression that essentially means, “Get the eff outta the way, dumbass.” So please, you’re standing in the way of your own happiness right now, and if you don’t move, you might lose it forever. Happiness, in this case, is symbolized by a herd of wild bulls that will gore you to death if you don’t flee. 

SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21

What’s the first thing you’d do if you could shrink down to the size of a Star Wars action figure? I’d get myself on a pool table for a game of Australian Rules football. That would be awesome — I love the weird tank top uniforms they wear. Have you ever thought of going to Australia, Scorpio? Or at least shrinking yourself to five percent of your normal size? Same thing, kind of. Change!

SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21

The size of the headphones really says something about the man. Specifically, how much money he has relative to his capacity for shame. Normally, the more money, the less shame — this is a sad constant in the world of talking monkeys. It’s too bad, Sagittarius, that we aren’t descended from birds or fish or something — animals with cool talents. Nope, we just smash stuff good.

CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19

The heavens smile down upon us in strange and beautiful ways. Just the other day, in fact, I was walking down the high street when what should I encounter but a young turtle out for a stroll. I asked the turtle his name (Tucker, incidentally) and if he had anything to say about your future. Well, Capricorn, he angled his beaky gullet toward me and croaked: “Invest. INVEST!” So there you go.

AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18

Spanish, Portuguese… same thing, right? Well, dear Aquarius, it turns out they’re not. They have different words for different stuff and they make your mouth do totally crazy but separate things! Also, one is spoken in Brazil and one isn’t (I forget which is which). Do you ever go through life operating with a set of truths only to discover you had things reversed? That’s about to happen.

PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20

They say you’re supposed to let go at some point or else you won’t be able to move on with your life. But what does moving on really entail? Is it like reaching the top of some hill and finally being able to see a great distance in the green valleys beyond? What if you enjoy the upward hike? What if you want to carry your grief like a stone? Well then, Pisces, that’s what you do.

ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19

Ever feel like nobody wants you? Like you’re a dented can of diced tomato at the back of the shelf in a bankrupt grocery, hidden by empty beer cans and years of dust? How do you roll yourself off the shelf, down the cracked lino floor and into the street… and freedom? Well, Aries, I think your best bet is to keep fermenting until the can blows up, knocking you clear out into the living world.

TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20

Achieving spiritual actualization can be as simple and random as getting stuck on the milk run from Mombasa to Nairobi in the fall of 1959. It’s about an 18-hour trip and there’s no room to lie down, or even sit, and the train stops at every bloody acacia tree on the plain. But as grueling as it seems, Taurus, an experience like this can set you free — and you won’t even know it’s happening.

GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20

Homemade garage museums, seen from the roadside, can seem charming and eccentric, and can remind you of the great, quirky individualism that has always made America such an interesting, if not fucked up, place. But things aren’t always so delightful when you cross the threshold into the shadowy mania of the lawn-chair obsessive. All I’m saying, Gemini, is be careful out there.

CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22

If you have, in fact, rescued a child from a burning building, this horoscope is not for you. Otherwise, listen up, Cancer: you have some serious living to do. And by living, I mean listening: listening to your inner voice, to your outer voice, to the voices all around you, to the music coming from 2B, to the wind through the trees and, most importantly, listening for a child’s voice crying for help.

LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22

Yeah, it’s alright. I understand. You got a little hot under the collar — that’s not uncommon these days… these hopeless, humid days: we’re all in debt and our cousins are getting blown up and shit’s falling apart all around us and sure, it may have been inevitable, but it’s our lives, people. Our lives are coming to fruition during the bad times.  But Leo, Leo! Your anger is a gift.

VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22

I had a vision after work the other night, Virgo, as I was crossing the Brooklyn Bridge: there before me, all across the Island of Manhattan, I beheld a thousand swirling souls, the spirits of the Friday after-work drinkers gyring up into the freshly bruised sky, lightening with each cold beer, each vodka tonic, spiraling together into gentle eddies of banter and flirt. Go now, and drink.

LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22

What’s the hold up, Libra? The plan is in place (and I think we can still agree it’s a pretty good one, no?), the materials have been purchased (metaphorically, of course), and, most significantly, your training is complete. So why are you cooped up in your bathroom staring at the mirror? You know I can’t actually be there with you on this one, right? It’s gotta be a solo job, old friend.

SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21

Sometimes if you’re feeling lost or bored, it can be fun and revealing to put together a starting baseball line-up from your nine closest friends; or if you’re one of those freaks with tons of friends, you can find spots for relievers and coaching staff. You see, Scorpio, there are only nine kinds of people in the world, and the best way to see their true selves is on the diamond.

SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21

Seriously, a new Depression is on its way… So, what are we going to call our new Hoovervilles? Chimptowns? Bushburgs? Dubyavilles? I kind of like Chimptown. What kind of hobo are you going to be, Sagittarius? Are you going to be one of those Boxcar Willie types, riding around on a train with a harmonica? Or a Bindly Joe, wandering along the backroads? Time to plan.

CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19

What is your weird obsession with performing self-surgery, dude? Do you really think digging a bullet out with a spoon and then sewing up the wound with hippie hair will give you the sense of personal satisfaction you so desperately seem to crave? Whatever happened to a nice evening with a cup of tea and the crossword? You need to set more reasonable benchmarks, Capricorn.

AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18

Eyes closed. Ears open. Hair up. Mouth agape. Arms akimbo. Fingers crossed. Shoulders hunched. Knees knocking. Shins splinting. When the body revolts, it is not a pretty site. It becomes dangerous to travel by foot and the only way to get a good look at the interior is by pontoon plane. The rivers burst the banks and the capital chokes with desert sand. Flee, Aquarius, flee.

PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20

It looks like you’ve gotten past that performative phase of creative grandstanding, Pisces, and I’m proud of you. I’m talking about that teenage compulsion to broadcast your artistic dreams: writing furiously in your journal on the bus; singing along to the opera on your iPod; sketching on your napkin all through dinner… We get it, you’re artsy, but let’s see you finish something.