Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Horoscope
Posted by Läps Trinity on Wed, Aug 19, 2009 at 4:00 AM
ARIES
MAR 21 — APR 19
Poetry read across a table in a Havana nightclub three years before the Revolution, read quickly between songs, breathless, a little drunk. A bottle of soda sprays past the whiskey glass and hits a corrupt policeman in the back. He turns and smiles, but the smile fades in an instant. The band stops playing. This is it, Aries, your moment of truth… Are you a badger or a bear?
TAURUS
APR 20 — MAY 20
Oh this pernicious vale of tears, how it wears us down to but a trickle of our youthful torrent. Why do we let it, Taurus? Why do we just sag against the ropes absorbing the endless body shots? Do we not have a few punches of our own? It’s a tiring business, being alive, fighting — but honestly, sometimes even a wild swing is better than no swing at all.
GEMINI
MAY 21 — JUNE 20
I really want one of those awesome Prussian helmets with the crazy spike on top. I feel like if I had one of those, people would start to respect me, and it wouldn’t matter that they weren’t even listening to me and just staring at the spike. You see, Gemini, it’s ok to let the external dictate the internal sometimes, even if the external is a spiky helmet.
CANCER
JUNE 21 — JULY 22
There is a path, I’m sure of it, that twists down to the sea across an old abandoned pasture, through a leafy copse of linden trees, right to the edge of a great bluff. Don’t worry, it’s not a cliff, you can make it down if you’re very careful. The strand is narrow and covered in soft white sand, and you can be alone if you want to be — but you shouldn’t be alone, Cancer.
LEO
JULY 23 — AUG 22
Giving is the most powerful force in the universe. This sounds trite, I know, but think about the most wonderful feelings you’ve had in your lifetime: love, sex, pride… Sure, those all have some pretty neat neurochemical advantages, but think of those moments when you’ve really touched someone with generosity: Was there anything so transcendent, Leo? It’s ok to feel good doing good.
VIRGO
AUG 23 — SEP 22
Some songs are just too sad to listen to. You’re not a teenager anymore, Virgo, you don’t need to cultivate despair, there’s enough of it in the world already. Maybe you should try to be happy for a change? Let yourself smile, let yourself laugh… You might not really feel it at first, but if you can habituate the behavior, there’s a real good chance you can arrive at the real feeling.
LIBRA
SEP 23 — OCT 22
Tesla, Wittgenstein, Harry Partch… The cool kids have a weird way of reaching back into the past for iconic figures who probably wouldn’t really be down with that particular kind of adulation. Here’s the trick, Libra: Even though the tendency to retrofit coolness is irritating, you can’t argue with good taste. And honestly, this applies to all things: Good taste is like gold in the river.
SCORPIO
OCT 23 — NOV 21
The end of summer can be crushingly depressing, so don’t be fooled by all the sun dresses and espadrilles and sexy little tan lines: Youth dies once again as September shakes itself awake. Everybody grows up and the heat begins to steal from us, mounts into a cascade of lethargy and THERE’S NOTHING YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT. Well, Scorpio, I guess you could prepare for it.
SAGITTARIUS
NOV 22 — DEC 21
Looking a little stormy outside, Sagittarius, might want to bring the jet skis in. And then maybe we can climb into the tree fort and watch the lightning skirl across the sound. And if we’re lucky, the power will go out across the bay and when the storm passes, the stars will come out and their reflections will fall into the water and we’ll finally get some answers. You need answers, don’t you?
CAPRICORN
DEC 22 — JAN 19
My mother kept a suitcase full of old photos under the bed. They weren’t in any particular order, and whenever I pulled that case out it seemed to be packed with a different batch of photos, all of them just slightly changed: Different angles, adjustments made to outfits, new characters… It was freaky. It’s been years, Capricorn, since I’ve opened that case. And that is sad.
AQUARIUS
JAN 20 — FEB 18
It’s like a wall, isn’t it? It rises implacably from the horizon, grows taller as we grow nearer, until it seems to cover the entire vault of the world. We stop, look up, and then we sit. The temptation is to just sit at the foot of the wall and try to scratch out a life in its shadow, foraging for happiness and purpose in its nooks and ledges. Avoid that temptation, Aquarius, the only way forward is through.
PISCES
FEB 19 — MAR 20
When I die I want my wake to be held at a Medieval Fair. There will be mead and figgy pudding and a jester and a whole gaggle of wenches. And the history nerds will sing me to my rest with their throaty, faithless versions of olde English songs, and my shade will smile at their silly jerkins and polyester tunics, their Sauconys poking out beneath their cloaks. And I will be happy, Pisces.
MAR 21 — APR 19
Poetry read across a table in a Havana nightclub three years before the Revolution, read quickly between songs, breathless, a little drunk. A bottle of soda sprays past the whiskey glass and hits a corrupt policeman in the back. He turns and smiles, but the smile fades in an instant. The band stops playing. This is it, Aries, your moment of truth… Are you a badger or a bear?
TAURUS
APR 20 — MAY 20
Oh this pernicious vale of tears, how it wears us down to but a trickle of our youthful torrent. Why do we let it, Taurus? Why do we just sag against the ropes absorbing the endless body shots? Do we not have a few punches of our own? It’s a tiring business, being alive, fighting — but honestly, sometimes even a wild swing is better than no swing at all.
GEMINI
MAY 21 — JUNE 20
I really want one of those awesome Prussian helmets with the crazy spike on top. I feel like if I had one of those, people would start to respect me, and it wouldn’t matter that they weren’t even listening to me and just staring at the spike. You see, Gemini, it’s ok to let the external dictate the internal sometimes, even if the external is a spiky helmet.
CANCER
JUNE 21 — JULY 22
There is a path, I’m sure of it, that twists down to the sea across an old abandoned pasture, through a leafy copse of linden trees, right to the edge of a great bluff. Don’t worry, it’s not a cliff, you can make it down if you’re very careful. The strand is narrow and covered in soft white sand, and you can be alone if you want to be — but you shouldn’t be alone, Cancer.
LEO
JULY 23 — AUG 22
Giving is the most powerful force in the universe. This sounds trite, I know, but think about the most wonderful feelings you’ve had in your lifetime: love, sex, pride… Sure, those all have some pretty neat neurochemical advantages, but think of those moments when you’ve really touched someone with generosity: Was there anything so transcendent, Leo? It’s ok to feel good doing good.
VIRGO
AUG 23 — SEP 22
Some songs are just too sad to listen to. You’re not a teenager anymore, Virgo, you don’t need to cultivate despair, there’s enough of it in the world already. Maybe you should try to be happy for a change? Let yourself smile, let yourself laugh… You might not really feel it at first, but if you can habituate the behavior, there’s a real good chance you can arrive at the real feeling.
LIBRA
SEP 23 — OCT 22
Tesla, Wittgenstein, Harry Partch… The cool kids have a weird way of reaching back into the past for iconic figures who probably wouldn’t really be down with that particular kind of adulation. Here’s the trick, Libra: Even though the tendency to retrofit coolness is irritating, you can’t argue with good taste. And honestly, this applies to all things: Good taste is like gold in the river.
SCORPIO
OCT 23 — NOV 21
The end of summer can be crushingly depressing, so don’t be fooled by all the sun dresses and espadrilles and sexy little tan lines: Youth dies once again as September shakes itself awake. Everybody grows up and the heat begins to steal from us, mounts into a cascade of lethargy and THERE’S NOTHING YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT. Well, Scorpio, I guess you could prepare for it.
SAGITTARIUS
NOV 22 — DEC 21
Looking a little stormy outside, Sagittarius, might want to bring the jet skis in. And then maybe we can climb into the tree fort and watch the lightning skirl across the sound. And if we’re lucky, the power will go out across the bay and when the storm passes, the stars will come out and their reflections will fall into the water and we’ll finally get some answers. You need answers, don’t you?
CAPRICORN
DEC 22 — JAN 19
My mother kept a suitcase full of old photos under the bed. They weren’t in any particular order, and whenever I pulled that case out it seemed to be packed with a different batch of photos, all of them just slightly changed: Different angles, adjustments made to outfits, new characters… It was freaky. It’s been years, Capricorn, since I’ve opened that case. And that is sad.
AQUARIUS
JAN 20 — FEB 18
It’s like a wall, isn’t it? It rises implacably from the horizon, grows taller as we grow nearer, until it seems to cover the entire vault of the world. We stop, look up, and then we sit. The temptation is to just sit at the foot of the wall and try to scratch out a life in its shadow, foraging for happiness and purpose in its nooks and ledges. Avoid that temptation, Aquarius, the only way forward is through.
PISCES
FEB 19 — MAR 20
When I die I want my wake to be held at a Medieval Fair. There will be mead and figgy pudding and a jester and a whole gaggle of wenches. And the history nerds will sing me to my rest with their throaty, faithless versions of olde English songs, and my shade will smile at their silly jerkins and polyester tunics, their Sauconys poking out beneath their cloaks. And I will be happy, Pisces.
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