Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Horoscope
Posted by Läps Trinity on Wed, Feb 18, 2009 at 12:00 AM
ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19
You should probably scale back your dreams of creating the perfect man-machine hybrid, especially considering your “plan” consists primarily of improvised derma-grafts involving scuba gear, snowblowers and AppleWorks. Seriously, Aries, cognac is not really an effective sedative for the kind of work you propose — I would recommend word jumbles or Civil War reenactment videos.
TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20
There are the predictable things of which most of us are afraid: spiders, old mansions, psychopaths hiding under tarps in the back of the Chevelle. And then there are the bizarre phobias unique to the individuated consciousness: for me this would include a deep fear of landscaper riots (imagine the carnage). What are you most afraid of, Taurus? Now, go forth and face down your fear.
GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20
To hell with that, I actually think French can sound pretty good in a rock and roll song. The key, though, is that it be sung by a pouty redhead with a strong Parisian accent. The redhead in question may be either male or female, but must be thin and pretty and possessed of a febrile sexuality always on the edge of burning out. We don’t talk enough, Gemini, about what we want from life.
CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22
One of my best memories of youth was taking the repurposed VW Bug down the hill for a “carboggan.” Somehow keeping the frame intact, we’d stripped as much weight as possible from the Bug and fitted a big pair of runners to the steering column — it took two of Per Malmqvist’s prize draught horses to get it back up the hill, but we had fun, Cancer. Isn’t that the most important thing?
LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22
It might be time to change your name, Leo. Look, I guess it’s been going pretty good for you so far (I don’t know, that’s kind of relative) but you haven’t exactly hit it big, have you? I’m normally against making superficial alterations in situations that seem to call for more substantive change, but maybe you need to reinvent from the outside in. Your new name should be Lucky Devereaux.
VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22
Despite what some people have written in online forums, I am very good when it comes to paying bills. Just because I’ve had the “temerity” to dispute charges that were less than clearly outlined on the bill does not make me a “dodge” or a “cheat” or a “lover of lying naked on bearskin rugs in front of large-screen images of fireplaces.” Don’t believe everything the internet tells you, Virgo.
LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22
What do you think is the one song you’ve listened to the most in your life, Libra? What track did you play endlessly in your bedroom as a heartsick 15-year-old grappling with a frothy new sea of hormones? Or did you travel overland from Patna to Nanchang in a truck filled with Marlboro Lights sitting beside a one-eyed smuggler obsessed with “Loser” by Radiohead? Well, Libra, which?
SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21
A sharp knife, comfortable shoes and a bit of soap. That’s all you need, according to my grandfather, to make it through a month in a Bhutanese jail. Are you prepared for the worst, Scorpio? I mean, “rioting in the streets/Hobbesian chaos” worst. You should come up with an apocalypse contingency plan with your nearest and dearest, as in, “Everyone head north and we’ll meet at Jed’s cabin.”
SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21
That’s a little obvious, don’t you think, Sagittarius? And lord knows we have enough of the obvious floating down the river each day mucking up the shoreline. If you’re going to open your mouth, if you’re going to contribute to the endless flow of noise and fiddlesticks, why not at least try to be new? Better yet, really, why do any of us have to say anything? Too much noise.
CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19
The best ghost story I have ever heard ends with a pair of gym shoes dangling from a beam in the basement. The problem is that I can’t remember the first part. It’s all fragments now, Capricorn, non-linear quanta of fact and fiction zapping around my brain. They say you can augment your memory with a good diet and focused mental exercises. Wait, why are you in my kitchen?
AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18
“Piss or get off the pot.” “Fish or cut bait.” These are two very coarse, unpleasant homilies that say the same thing. I think it’s time we rescued the sentiment at work here and reframed it in a more poetical manner, like, say, “Pass the crème fraiche and enjoy your bialy,” or “There’s a knife in the silk!” It’s not easy making up your own truism, Aquarius, but giving up is not an option.
PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20
Standing at the edge of a tall cliff looking out over the roiling surf you looked deep within yourself and saw there a secret book filled with tiny tiny writing telling you how it was all supposed to be but every time you tried to read that writing your eye lost track of the line and the words swam together and all meaning was lost. Well, Pisces, looks like you fucked this one up, hey?
You should probably scale back your dreams of creating the perfect man-machine hybrid, especially considering your “plan” consists primarily of improvised derma-grafts involving scuba gear, snowblowers and AppleWorks. Seriously, Aries, cognac is not really an effective sedative for the kind of work you propose — I would recommend word jumbles or Civil War reenactment videos.
TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20
There are the predictable things of which most of us are afraid: spiders, old mansions, psychopaths hiding under tarps in the back of the Chevelle. And then there are the bizarre phobias unique to the individuated consciousness: for me this would include a deep fear of landscaper riots (imagine the carnage). What are you most afraid of, Taurus? Now, go forth and face down your fear.
GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20
To hell with that, I actually think French can sound pretty good in a rock and roll song. The key, though, is that it be sung by a pouty redhead with a strong Parisian accent. The redhead in question may be either male or female, but must be thin and pretty and possessed of a febrile sexuality always on the edge of burning out. We don’t talk enough, Gemini, about what we want from life.
CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22
One of my best memories of youth was taking the repurposed VW Bug down the hill for a “carboggan.” Somehow keeping the frame intact, we’d stripped as much weight as possible from the Bug and fitted a big pair of runners to the steering column — it took two of Per Malmqvist’s prize draught horses to get it back up the hill, but we had fun, Cancer. Isn’t that the most important thing?
LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22
It might be time to change your name, Leo. Look, I guess it’s been going pretty good for you so far (I don’t know, that’s kind of relative) but you haven’t exactly hit it big, have you? I’m normally against making superficial alterations in situations that seem to call for more substantive change, but maybe you need to reinvent from the outside in. Your new name should be Lucky Devereaux.
VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22
Despite what some people have written in online forums, I am very good when it comes to paying bills. Just because I’ve had the “temerity” to dispute charges that were less than clearly outlined on the bill does not make me a “dodge” or a “cheat” or a “lover of lying naked on bearskin rugs in front of large-screen images of fireplaces.” Don’t believe everything the internet tells you, Virgo.
LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22
What do you think is the one song you’ve listened to the most in your life, Libra? What track did you play endlessly in your bedroom as a heartsick 15-year-old grappling with a frothy new sea of hormones? Or did you travel overland from Patna to Nanchang in a truck filled with Marlboro Lights sitting beside a one-eyed smuggler obsessed with “Loser” by Radiohead? Well, Libra, which?
SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21
A sharp knife, comfortable shoes and a bit of soap. That’s all you need, according to my grandfather, to make it through a month in a Bhutanese jail. Are you prepared for the worst, Scorpio? I mean, “rioting in the streets/Hobbesian chaos” worst. You should come up with an apocalypse contingency plan with your nearest and dearest, as in, “Everyone head north and we’ll meet at Jed’s cabin.”
SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21
That’s a little obvious, don’t you think, Sagittarius? And lord knows we have enough of the obvious floating down the river each day mucking up the shoreline. If you’re going to open your mouth, if you’re going to contribute to the endless flow of noise and fiddlesticks, why not at least try to be new? Better yet, really, why do any of us have to say anything? Too much noise.
CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19
The best ghost story I have ever heard ends with a pair of gym shoes dangling from a beam in the basement. The problem is that I can’t remember the first part. It’s all fragments now, Capricorn, non-linear quanta of fact and fiction zapping around my brain. They say you can augment your memory with a good diet and focused mental exercises. Wait, why are you in my kitchen?
AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18
“Piss or get off the pot.” “Fish or cut bait.” These are two very coarse, unpleasant homilies that say the same thing. I think it’s time we rescued the sentiment at work here and reframed it in a more poetical manner, like, say, “Pass the crème fraiche and enjoy your bialy,” or “There’s a knife in the silk!” It’s not easy making up your own truism, Aquarius, but giving up is not an option.
PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20
Standing at the edge of a tall cliff looking out over the roiling surf you looked deep within yourself and saw there a secret book filled with tiny tiny writing telling you how it was all supposed to be but every time you tried to read that writing your eye lost track of the line and the words swam together and all meaning was lost. Well, Pisces, looks like you fucked this one up, hey?
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Horoscope
Posted by Läps Trinity on Wed, Feb 4, 2009 at 12:00 AM
ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19
Wouldn’t it be nice, just once, after all the sad-teeth looks and fallen lap-sits and Winnebago revelations, to finally get what you want? Without having to cajole and dissemble, without having to compromise? Yeah, that’s not going to happen. I know you like to feel that you’ve won an argument or made your point, but what’s the sense in that, Aries, if you don’t get what you want?
TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20
Wow. You really said the wrong thing back there. That was highly inappropriate. First of all, you have to have a much better sense of your audience if you’re going to make it as a “public speaker,” and wearing a necklace of dead fish heads is also unlikely to endear you to the ladies at the book club. Oh Taurus, when will you let the fire go out on its own? Quit throwing matches.
GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20
There’s nothing wrong with being a weekend warrior, Gemini. Nothing at all. Nope, it’s fine to defer and delay your passions to a strictly administered time period once every seven days. There’s no reason at all you should feel sad about spending your weekdays thinking about your weekends and your weekends trying to forestall the arrival of the weekdays. Nothing is wrong.
CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22
Oh glorious guitar anthem, you reveal so much to us about ourselves: how we like to nod our heads in a synchronized fashion; how we enjoy pretending we’re holding an instrument in our hands and that we, in fact, are playing music on the invisible instrument; how we like to stare across the room and lip read. Cancer, will you play me a guitar anthem, that I might feel again?
LEO JULY 23 — AUG 2
Do you still have your Christmas tree up, Leo? Don’t you think it’s a fire hazard? I realize you love the idea of letting the natural world exist inside the house, and that the piney smell of the needles reminds you of purity and innocence and that girl from Maine you met at sweater camp. But I’m here to say that none of that’s worth dying for in a conflagration of Santa flames.
VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22
Why can we talk about some things and not others? Why do people get awkward and childish when the conversation turns to serious topics, like death and polyandry? Is it because we’re raised with virtual paper bags over our heads, shame-sacks that prevent us from seeing, from hearing, from feeling the wind of truth upon our cheeks? Yes, Virgo, that and all the Splenda™.
LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22
Sure, I like to dance, but that doesn’t mean I’m prepared to cancan with you in the middle of the streetcar. Libra, your manic “quirkiness” and perpetual desire to be spontaneous and/or filled with wonder belie a deep void. Somewhere along the way you got your ass handed to you by life and now you try to avoid thinking about it by going topless at the Dairy Queen. Is it working?
SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21
Did you ever hear the story of the diminutive decorator who got wallpapered into the study wall by her overzealous assistant? The pattern was so bright and intense that no one noticed for five years. The study itself was the location of an unusual amount of drama, most of it interpersonal, and people always said it was a degree cooler than the rest of the house. Avoid that room, Scorpio.
SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21
Shucks and hellfire, Sagittarius, that is too much sand to be carrying all the way to the beach. Why do you have to try to improve everything around you, as if you could perfect the entire world by adjusting the light or propping up the table or switching seats? You should worry more about adjusting the only perspective you can control — your own. Or maybe it is too bright in here…
CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19
So, that’s that. And here you were about to write a long, stupid letter, half-drunk on such a weak elixir of nostalgia it’s pretty much just all ice water at this point. So. Don’t play the old songs or look at the photographs; don’t recite the old poems, either. Spring is coming you great sack of maudlin waffle, so you best start doing some sit-ups. That’s it, Capricorn, the new year starts now!
AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18
Fuck the haters, I love Wednesdays. You know why they call it “hump day”? Because that’s when the fun starts, when the anticipation of the weekend is at a perfect mix of the possible and the magical; but mainly it’s called that because people like to hump on Wednesdays. I guess my point here (ha!), Aquarius, is that the simple answer is usually the right one. No need to complicate things.
PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20
Dude, I think you could use a massive infrastructure investment. Your bridges are rusty, your roads are cracking up, your filtrations plants are crumbling and your water towers are most definitely leaking. You may say, Pisces, that you can’t afford the kind of money it will take to invest in such wide-scale improvements, but I’m telling you that you have no choice. Fix thyself.
Wouldn’t it be nice, just once, after all the sad-teeth looks and fallen lap-sits and Winnebago revelations, to finally get what you want? Without having to cajole and dissemble, without having to compromise? Yeah, that’s not going to happen. I know you like to feel that you’ve won an argument or made your point, but what’s the sense in that, Aries, if you don’t get what you want?
TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20
Wow. You really said the wrong thing back there. That was highly inappropriate. First of all, you have to have a much better sense of your audience if you’re going to make it as a “public speaker,” and wearing a necklace of dead fish heads is also unlikely to endear you to the ladies at the book club. Oh Taurus, when will you let the fire go out on its own? Quit throwing matches.
GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20
There’s nothing wrong with being a weekend warrior, Gemini. Nothing at all. Nope, it’s fine to defer and delay your passions to a strictly administered time period once every seven days. There’s no reason at all you should feel sad about spending your weekdays thinking about your weekends and your weekends trying to forestall the arrival of the weekdays. Nothing is wrong.
CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22
Oh glorious guitar anthem, you reveal so much to us about ourselves: how we like to nod our heads in a synchronized fashion; how we enjoy pretending we’re holding an instrument in our hands and that we, in fact, are playing music on the invisible instrument; how we like to stare across the room and lip read. Cancer, will you play me a guitar anthem, that I might feel again?
LEO JULY 23 — AUG 2
Do you still have your Christmas tree up, Leo? Don’t you think it’s a fire hazard? I realize you love the idea of letting the natural world exist inside the house, and that the piney smell of the needles reminds you of purity and innocence and that girl from Maine you met at sweater camp. But I’m here to say that none of that’s worth dying for in a conflagration of Santa flames.
VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22
Why can we talk about some things and not others? Why do people get awkward and childish when the conversation turns to serious topics, like death and polyandry? Is it because we’re raised with virtual paper bags over our heads, shame-sacks that prevent us from seeing, from hearing, from feeling the wind of truth upon our cheeks? Yes, Virgo, that and all the Splenda™.
LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22
Sure, I like to dance, but that doesn’t mean I’m prepared to cancan with you in the middle of the streetcar. Libra, your manic “quirkiness” and perpetual desire to be spontaneous and/or filled with wonder belie a deep void. Somewhere along the way you got your ass handed to you by life and now you try to avoid thinking about it by going topless at the Dairy Queen. Is it working?
SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21
Did you ever hear the story of the diminutive decorator who got wallpapered into the study wall by her overzealous assistant? The pattern was so bright and intense that no one noticed for five years. The study itself was the location of an unusual amount of drama, most of it interpersonal, and people always said it was a degree cooler than the rest of the house. Avoid that room, Scorpio.
SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21
Shucks and hellfire, Sagittarius, that is too much sand to be carrying all the way to the beach. Why do you have to try to improve everything around you, as if you could perfect the entire world by adjusting the light or propping up the table or switching seats? You should worry more about adjusting the only perspective you can control — your own. Or maybe it is too bright in here…
CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19
So, that’s that. And here you were about to write a long, stupid letter, half-drunk on such a weak elixir of nostalgia it’s pretty much just all ice water at this point. So. Don’t play the old songs or look at the photographs; don’t recite the old poems, either. Spring is coming you great sack of maudlin waffle, so you best start doing some sit-ups. That’s it, Capricorn, the new year starts now!
AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18
Fuck the haters, I love Wednesdays. You know why they call it “hump day”? Because that’s when the fun starts, when the anticipation of the weekend is at a perfect mix of the possible and the magical; but mainly it’s called that because people like to hump on Wednesdays. I guess my point here (ha!), Aquarius, is that the simple answer is usually the right one. No need to complicate things.
PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20
Dude, I think you could use a massive infrastructure investment. Your bridges are rusty, your roads are cracking up, your filtrations plants are crumbling and your water towers are most definitely leaking. You may say, Pisces, that you can’t afford the kind of money it will take to invest in such wide-scale improvements, but I’m telling you that you have no choice. Fix thyself.
