Wednesday, September 2, 2009


Posted By on Wed, Sep 2, 2009 at 4:00 AM

MAR 21 — APR 19
Death doesn’t really need to assert itself. It knows it will win in the end. It knows that everyone walking around right now — eating ice cream, talking on their cellphones, playing Frisbee, peeing with the seat down — is going to die. You see, Aries, Death could be right behind you, right now. Or around the next corner, or a dot on the horizon… You’ll just never know.

APR 20 — MAY 20
You ever watch those dudes down by the river on their windsurf skateboards? You know, windsurfers on wheels, in a big parking lot. They all have rattails and wear Blundstones and tiny pink shorts… What’s up with those dudes, Taurus? And why do people so easily form into gangs? Is it because they’re afraid of being alone? Yeah, pretty much. You don’t need to fear that though

MAY 21 — JUNE 20
Advice is everywhere, and very little of it is good. People charge a lot of money for advice, they pronounce it in dulcet self-important tones as if they were God’s own lawyer. But here’s the secret behind it all: YOU SHOULD ONLY LISTEN TO ME. I am the true source, and here’s my advice to you, Gemini: learning to be happy is like learning a language… you have to study.

JUNE 21 — JULY 22
Oxygen on Mars? Yes. New studies have revealed that the Red Planet may just be capable of sustaining certain kinds of life, namely, the kind that is really good at holding its breath. This means that skin divers, garbage men, and chicken wranglers should all be fine. It will be an adventure, Cancer… and the best part will be when you go to the bar. THE MARS BAR!!! Haha.

JULY 23 — AUG 22
Love or nothing at all. Really, Leo, that’s kind of the thing. I’m not talking strictly about grand, storybook love, necessarily — I mean any of the many types of love: fraternal, paternal, intellectual, vocational... you just need to love something or someone to an insensible degree. If you do not, you will always be unhappy. (Me? I love astrology, netball and flatbreads.)

AUG 23 — SEP 22
Go ahead and jump in with your eyes closed. Let it go. Let it take you. QUIT HESITATING. I mean, fuck, Virgo, if you make a mess you can always clean it up, right? Summer’s almost gone and you have yet to dive fully into the deep end, and that’s just sad. I promise to help you out if things go awry… I’ll get you out of trouble. I just need to see you try.

SEP 23 — OCT 22
Haven’t you worn the same costume for Halloween for the last four years, Libra? I can’t tell you how totally lame that is. So I’m bringing it up now so you’ll have plenty of time to come up with an idea for a killer outfit that won’t bore people to death. It’s important to keep people guessing about your true nature; predictability is one step away from the end.

OCT 23 — NOV 21
You’ve got me inspired, Scorpio: Maybe I should start wearing my hair… up? I’ve had a long, luxuriant head of hair for so long, just cold flowin’ down my shoulders, I really don’t know how it would feel to rock a chignon (and yes, dudes can pull off a chignon, trust me). You’ve been pretty bold of late, and it’s inspiring, even if you haven’t realized it. Keep it up you crazy bastard.

NOV 22 — DEC 21
Even the tallest unicycle in the world won’t be enough to save you this time, Sagittarius. Your wonderfully quirky personality is starting to wear, and your penchant for non-sequitur is no longer compelling, merely infantile. I hate to say it, but you need to grow up. Wait, don’t panic. Growing up doesn’t mean selling out, it just means being a bit more aware of the world around you.

DEC 22 — JAN 19
I knew a tarot card reader once, who always dressed in black. She lived in an attic apartment and would shower at the Y. She smelled like caraway and always talked about her old life on a houseboat in Paraguay. One night, after a few too many Goldschlagers, I asked her what she saw in your future, Capricorn: “You need a crisis to feel alive. So you’d better instigate one.”

JAN 20 — FEB 18
Taking off before the sun comes up. You can see your breath as you fumble with the keys, trying to start the car. Last night, first cold one of fall. The two of you stop for coffee at a roadside diner, the dogs too tired to bark as you walk across the gravel lot. You draw a map on the back of a placemat, transforming a coffee ring into a compass rose. It’s going to be a good day, Aquarius.

FEB 19 — MAR 20
Even though you don’t really play an appropriate instrument, Pisces, I think it’s high time you joined one of those Brooklyn brass bands that all the kids have been crazy about over the last decade. Look, it’ll get you out of the house, you’ll get a little exercise and, who knows, you might even make some new friends. Maybe you could be one of the baton twirlers, or maybe just do somersaults?


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