Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Horoscope
Posted by Läps Trinity on Wed, Jan 21, 2009 at 12:00 AM
ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19
If you can’t be honest with yourself when you’re writing in your journal, you are totally screwed, dude. Seriously, you’re worried about what people will think of you when you’re dead so you’re trying to make yourself seem cooler than you really are? C’mon, Aries, everyone needs a space where they can be brutally honest, if only to themselves. Confess, and move on.
TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20
It was a cold, dark night on the mountain. The fire had been washed out in the driving rain, and it looked to freeze come morning. We huddled under an enormous pine tree, stamping our feet and cursing the hard, black night. Time slowed and we sat. The cold was in our bones and your eyelids began to flutter… Then, suddenly, the rain stopped. I started the fire. We lived, Taurus, but barely.
GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20
I was into heraldry one summer. I designed my insignia and shield, and I even came up with a motto: Semper Asinorum (look it up). My insignia featured a fat sleeping cat (chat lardant) and, when worn prominently on my outerwear, was good for letting people know they should LEAVE ME ALONE. It’s important to project your moods, Gemini. How else will people know how you feel?
CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22
Bathing in ten cubic yards of daffodil petals might sound nice, but did you ever stop to think that a certain astrologer might be allergic to a certain flower? No, no you did not. There’s a great Llorca line that perhaps speaks precisely to what I’m getting at here: “My throat was parched and my lover gave me cake.” The point is, just because you want something, Cancer, doesn’t mean he/she will.
LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22
The early video game Pitfall was an affecting multisensory experience available to nuanced philosophical interpretation and third-wave Lacanian analysis: watch out for snakes; avoid quicksand; crocodiles will eat you. Are these not prismatic metaphors for modern existence, apprehending meaning only to release cascades of possibility? Anything is everything, these days, Leo.
VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22
I am a different person when I’m speaking Spanish. I’m more direct, more aggressive, than when I’m honking out word-pies in English. You should teach yourself another language, Virgo — it might be the reinvention you’re looking for… (Go with something exotic, like Finnish. And then when you meet the only other Finnish speaker in your town/dorm/cell block, you will have a friend.)
LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22
Deep winter, huh, Libra? This is it: dark, cold. Why bother leaving your apartment, right? I honestly can’t say you should. Look, I love making happy predictions about the future, but I just can’t lie to you: stay inside, snuggle up to your lover/TV/mug of Tab. Build a fort out of cushions, catch up on your correspondence, spy on a neighbor. Whatever you do, please use your inside voice.
SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21
One of my all-time favorite concepts is the Vampires vs. Werewolves storyline. I’m a really big fan of the whole “thousand-year-old secret war going on all around us” narrative — it adds a little spice to otherwise dreary days spent shuffling from door to subway to work and back. But have you ever wondered, Scorpio, if the plumbers are at war with the electricians? Could happen.
SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21
Don’t let anyone ever tell you that classical guitar is for pansies. I got stuck in a freight elevator once, in an abandoned building in downtown Almeria, with all these guitar students, and dudes just opened up their cases and started playing crazy contrapuntal baroque shit, and they had wine and cheese and olives... Look past the obvious, Sagittarius, and it’ll get you drunk.
CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19
There’s an area in Australia called the Gold Coast where, I’m told, there is nothing but silicon-filled palm trees and obnoxious giant condominiums with sharp twangy accents and all they talk about is having sex with crocodiles and filling buckets with beer and shooting manta rays from atop their surfboards as a thousand didgeridoos play Men At Work on the strand. Don’t go there, Capricorn.
AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18
Oak trees are truly beautiful things. I spent a week living in an old oak forest in Burgundy, sleeping on a bed of leaves and moss, drinking straight from an ancient spring, sustaining myself on wild boar jerky and trail mix. The sound of the wind through the trees was all the entertainment I needed. Maybe one day, we can go back there, Aquarius, and begin to live again.
PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20
There’s an old story about Soviet audiences who, when “taking in” a speech by ol’ Joe Stalin, would clap for hours and hours because nobody wanted to be seen as the first person who stopped clapping for the Beloved Leader. But somebody had to be brave and stop right? Yeah, and they ended up in a garbage dump in Omsk. No need to be a hero right now, Pisces. Lay low.
If you can’t be honest with yourself when you’re writing in your journal, you are totally screwed, dude. Seriously, you’re worried about what people will think of you when you’re dead so you’re trying to make yourself seem cooler than you really are? C’mon, Aries, everyone needs a space where they can be brutally honest, if only to themselves. Confess, and move on.
TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20
It was a cold, dark night on the mountain. The fire had been washed out in the driving rain, and it looked to freeze come morning. We huddled under an enormous pine tree, stamping our feet and cursing the hard, black night. Time slowed and we sat. The cold was in our bones and your eyelids began to flutter… Then, suddenly, the rain stopped. I started the fire. We lived, Taurus, but barely.
GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20
I was into heraldry one summer. I designed my insignia and shield, and I even came up with a motto: Semper Asinorum (look it up). My insignia featured a fat sleeping cat (chat lardant) and, when worn prominently on my outerwear, was good for letting people know they should LEAVE ME ALONE. It’s important to project your moods, Gemini. How else will people know how you feel?
CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22
Bathing in ten cubic yards of daffodil petals might sound nice, but did you ever stop to think that a certain astrologer might be allergic to a certain flower? No, no you did not. There’s a great Llorca line that perhaps speaks precisely to what I’m getting at here: “My throat was parched and my lover gave me cake.” The point is, just because you want something, Cancer, doesn’t mean he/she will.
LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22
The early video game Pitfall was an affecting multisensory experience available to nuanced philosophical interpretation and third-wave Lacanian analysis: watch out for snakes; avoid quicksand; crocodiles will eat you. Are these not prismatic metaphors for modern existence, apprehending meaning only to release cascades of possibility? Anything is everything, these days, Leo.
VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22
I am a different person when I’m speaking Spanish. I’m more direct, more aggressive, than when I’m honking out word-pies in English. You should teach yourself another language, Virgo — it might be the reinvention you’re looking for… (Go with something exotic, like Finnish. And then when you meet the only other Finnish speaker in your town/dorm/cell block, you will have a friend.)
LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22
Deep winter, huh, Libra? This is it: dark, cold. Why bother leaving your apartment, right? I honestly can’t say you should. Look, I love making happy predictions about the future, but I just can’t lie to you: stay inside, snuggle up to your lover/TV/mug of Tab. Build a fort out of cushions, catch up on your correspondence, spy on a neighbor. Whatever you do, please use your inside voice.
SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21
One of my all-time favorite concepts is the Vampires vs. Werewolves storyline. I’m a really big fan of the whole “thousand-year-old secret war going on all around us” narrative — it adds a little spice to otherwise dreary days spent shuffling from door to subway to work and back. But have you ever wondered, Scorpio, if the plumbers are at war with the electricians? Could happen.
SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21
Don’t let anyone ever tell you that classical guitar is for pansies. I got stuck in a freight elevator once, in an abandoned building in downtown Almeria, with all these guitar students, and dudes just opened up their cases and started playing crazy contrapuntal baroque shit, and they had wine and cheese and olives... Look past the obvious, Sagittarius, and it’ll get you drunk.
CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19
There’s an area in Australia called the Gold Coast where, I’m told, there is nothing but silicon-filled palm trees and obnoxious giant condominiums with sharp twangy accents and all they talk about is having sex with crocodiles and filling buckets with beer and shooting manta rays from atop their surfboards as a thousand didgeridoos play Men At Work on the strand. Don’t go there, Capricorn.
AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18
Oak trees are truly beautiful things. I spent a week living in an old oak forest in Burgundy, sleeping on a bed of leaves and moss, drinking straight from an ancient spring, sustaining myself on wild boar jerky and trail mix. The sound of the wind through the trees was all the entertainment I needed. Maybe one day, we can go back there, Aquarius, and begin to live again.
PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20
There’s an old story about Soviet audiences who, when “taking in” a speech by ol’ Joe Stalin, would clap for hours and hours because nobody wanted to be seen as the first person who stopped clapping for the Beloved Leader. But somebody had to be brave and stop right? Yeah, and they ended up in a garbage dump in Omsk. No need to be a hero right now, Pisces. Lay low.
