MAR 21 — APR 19
Ah to be a young poet again. To wake in a sun-bright room only to realize it’s on the way down and you watch the light change from gold to rust and you leave the house with a notebook and the last $12 you have and manage to get drunk somehow and you don’t actually write anything down and you get up again and call yourself a poet. That, Aries, is a fun time in anyone’s life, but it cannot last.
APR 20 — MAY 20
In the town where I grew up, there was an enormous wartime air raid siren that would blast every Friday at noon. I liked the bright sound of it when I was a little kid, but by the time I was 12 I hardly ever noticed it; it had faded into the background of life. Every now and then when I’m walking around the city, I think I hear it. Maybe childhood is an actual place, Taurus, and we just can’t find it.
MAY 21 — JUNE 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.
JUNE 21 — JULY 22
A crumpled piece of paper with a few scrawled words on it floats down a brackish sewer. You pick it up and stop on the sidewalk to read it: “The twins need a new set of long pants and some chalk for their art project.” The twins=Gemini. Long pants=grown up responsibility. Chalk=creative outlet. So, you see what I’m saying… or rather the paper is saying? Sort it out.
JULY 23 — AUG 22
Three’s a crowd, isn’t it? Someone always gets hurt in the end, no matter how honest or mature we think we are. The triangle may be the strongest of shapes, but the universe is built on binaries and balance (we of it and it of us), so go wisely there in the land of three, dear Leo. Take care of yourself first, and leave not your happiness to the whims of maleficent actors.
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
No man is an island? Seriously? Not true. What does that even mean, Libra? Look, we’re all islands unto ourselves, occasionally wandering out to the water’s edge to wave our brightly colored underpants at ships passing on the horizon, but no one can really see us. Why don’t we just stay inland for while, barbecuing wild boar, drinking the cool rainwater?
OCT 23 — NOV 21
A good fight is a valuable thing. Don’t give me your milkwater pacifism, your turning of the other cheek — GIVE ME BOTH CHEEKS! Don’t back down, Scorpio, stick up for yourself and say what you want to say, do what you want to do. We’re all so goddamn conciliatory it’s starting to make me sick. So that’s your mission this week, get in a good roarer of a fight. It’ll make you feel better.
NOV 22 — DEC 21
Man am I tired of all these goddamn vampires. Vampires on ma’ tv, vampires in ma’ music videos, vampires on ma’ movie screen, vampires in ma’ video games, vampires on ma’ wallpaper, vampires in ma’ teenage girl books… I’ve had enough. Can I get a little werewolf love please, Sagittarius? All of that pale, translucent skin is freaking me out.
DEC 22 — JAN 19
Two men stand creepily at the gate. The dog won’t stop barking. We are about to observe a bourgeois crisis. At what point do you allow that violence has entered your life and that the rules you’ve followed since you were a child are meaningless? Making that decision at the right moment could be all that preserves the very fabric of your world. Will you be able to do that, Capricorn?
JAN 20 — FEB 18
Sailing lessons? Tennis? Can I top up your gin and tonic? Hey, why don’t we pull the comfy chairs out to the dock and just let the rest of the day drift off into the end of summer? Sounds good to me. At this point, Aquarius, I really think that’s all you need to know, so why don’t we just spend the rest of this horoscope imagining that gin and tonic… m’kay?
FEB 19 — MAR 20
The campfire is a deep and resonant symbol of all that is safe and true in the human universe. We gather round, we talk, we sing, and in some deep atavistic part of our brains we feel safe for a moment against the wild and savage night. And then we pull out the marshmallows, and those symbolize sweet deliciousness. Or rather, Pisces, they just are sweet and delicious. Yum!