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?
