Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Horoscope
Posted by Läps Trinity on Wed, Jul 9, 2008 at 12:00 AM
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.
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.
