ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19
Now and then it's pretty important to scratch that itch. You're a human being, right, Aries? You feel, you bleed, you get sad, you forget... so I don't think it's wise for you to be repressing all that, all the time. I'm not suggesting you pull the bandages off all at once — that would be just plain masochistic. One little thing at a time, let the world come to you, and embrace it when it does.
APR 20 — MAY 20
The high plains are no place for a ball gown. The supermarket is no place for a Gatling gun. Aruba is no place for a snowboard. This life is no place for timidity. Listen to me, Taurus, there is no inherent value in your prideful ability to sit tight and weather the storm. You see, it's all storms. Avoiding storms is avoiding life. So yeah, obviously, you need to go out and get wet.
MAY 21 — JUNE 20
Oh it's dark alright. But just because it's dark doesn't mean dawn will come, Gemini. But if you can't sleep, you might as well do something, right? Why don't you put some lentils on to cook? They smell great and they're really handy to have around for curries or stews or soups or even bean salads! And they're also probably the best protein bang for the buck... Not so dark after all, is it!
JUNE 21 — JULY 22
It's fort-building time, dude. Pull the cushions off the couch, drag out the comforters, put your underpants on your head and hold siege to the kitchen. For too long the fridge has taunted you, the cupboards have mocked your overtures to peace... if it's war they want, it's war they'll get. Sure, they might have the food, but you have the TV. You can win this fight, Cancer. I believe in you.
JULY 23 — AUG 22
It sucks to be out of a job. The unemployed life might appear enticing to those of us locked into the 60-hour work-week scurry, but it's not all mid-morning lattes and reading The Economist in the bathtub. Not having money is stressful. There really isn't any way to explain it to the people who've always had a safety net. Get back up and get out there, Leo. You were made to work.
AUG 23 — SEP 22
You know that thing they say about cats, Virgo? Well, basically, a cat has a better chance of surviving a fall from five storeys than it does one from two storeys. You see, given the right amount of fall-time, the average alley feline can right himself to prepare for impact; without it... splat. My point here is that we can get through anything if we just get ready for it... Start planning now.
SEP 23 — OCT 22
It just takes a little particulate to poison the whole system. You can't even see it, but it's there: a small bitter drop that divides and divides and divides until we are all squinting with malice in our sleep, saying the wrong thing as a matter of principle. How do we purify things, Libra? What is the first step toward kindness for kindness' sake? Probably chocolate, or beer.
OCT 23 — NOV 21
We're always kind of standing on the border between the past and the future, Scorpio, checking our paperwork, exchanging currency, wondering where we're going to stay that night. We are travelers, you know, with all the uncertainty and possibility that entails... But here's a phrase you should learn, that you won't find in any guide book: "There is hope, but not for us." Learn that one..
NOV 22 — DEC 21
The turducken has become a part of the American holiday tradition, even if it's mainly a punch line or a signifier of excess. But what are we to do in the summer months? I propose a multi-level frozen treat extrapolated from the Baked Alaska: gelato within sorbet within ice cream within whipped cream, each layer flash fried in a paper-thin layer of pastry. Dream big, Sagittarius.
DEC 22 — JAN 19
An empty bar in the middle of the day has a gloriously distinctive smell — trying to describe it is like rhyming with orange, but I will try: there's a bit of stable, traces of perfume and popcorn, wet paperbacks, ash, cheap soap. It is one of my favorite smells and it only lasts while the sun is high. And you know, the sun sets on us all, so breathe deep, Capricorn.
JAN 20 — FEB 18
I picture you sitting in a deep windowsill, surrounded by pillows and books, maybe a dog is there with you; it is winter, but the light is warm and anyway, you're wrapped in a heavy sweater (maybe it's mine) and a blanket, and there is a steaming mug of tea on a stool beside you. I don't think you've noticed me yet, and that's how I like it. You seem happy, Aquarius, and it is nice to see.
FEB 19 — MAR 20
I dare you to climb up on the roof and yell to the sky exactly what you really think, Pisces. No one else has to hear it, that's fine, but you just have to do it. Take your time with this, think about it: how do you feel, exactly? Fuck, even if you're happy, you can just yell that to the clouds and the airplanes and the confused-looking gulls. Release yourself into the wider world..