ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19
Has New York changed that much, Aries? Ok, obviously, in specific parts, it has. But my point is that this is the Hometown of Heterogeneity, the Metropolis of Metamorphosis—except that it’s always been that way. So, it hasn’t changed at all. See what I did there? Stop changing for the sake of changing.

TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20
You might think it a noble quality, Taurus, doing what you’re told, but frankly, it doesn’t become you. What happened to the fierce, independent firebrand, the tireless tyro who used to set fire to the night to burn down the day? You were a hero… But all is not lost, some things can be reborn: it starts with growing your hair out.

GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20
Sometimes we forget things, Gemini. We leave them on the bus or in the zoo or beside the big weird dude at the campfire who smells like a cross between maple butter and deep, retrenched loss. Once we forget these things, let them leave our orbit, we can’t always get them back. This is one of life’s chief lessons.

CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22
Life is like an old computer: always at risk of crashing, memory getting used up, there’re a lot of unwanted memories files kicking around on the hardrive, and the A key is sticky. Not sure what the A key being stuck has to do with it, but I’m sure it’s something important. Oh yeah, Cancer, DON’T ADULTERATE.

LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22
From now on, you may address me as the Lord High Star Peeper, a distinguished title given to only 800 astrologers a year. This means three things: discounts at the annual conference, ten percent off books at Futures ‘R Us, the right to interfere with someone’s future. With that last in mind, Leo, DON’T TAKE THE BUS TODAY.

VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22
Questions. So many questions. And people don’t care about the answers, they just want to hear their own voices and feel as if they’ve said their piece. Bah. Do you ever truly despair for the future of the human race, Virgo? Don’t feel too guilty if you do, because sometimes it doesn’t look good, does it? Oh well, keep trying.

LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22
I knew a man with a fear of drowning. I knew a woman with a fear of drying up in the desert. I introduced them and it was a success. Their phobias cancelled out. But then I tried it with fear of crowds and fear of solitude and they almost killed each other. The world is smarter than our formulas, Libra, don’t forget that.

SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21
You talk about keeping the rabble at bay, of building an enormous wall to separate yourself from the great hordes that beset the world with coarse demands and INAPPROPRIATE BEHAVIOR. Well, Scorpio, what if it’s the hordes that want nothing to do with you? Huh? Ever thought of that? Maybe you’re just boring.

SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21
I knew a man who stayed in bed for a year. He had a fridge, a hot plate, a bed pan, and plenty of books. He wasn’t fat. He wasn’t depressed. He was independently wealthy. He would do yoga under the covers and prank call the library. He was living his dream, Sagittarius, and didn’t care what anyone thought. This is a virtue.

CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19
One man’s vandalism is another’s art. One woman’s wit is another’s cruelty. One boy’s game is another’s religion. One girl’s triumph is another’s defeat. One astrologer’s attempt at profundity is another’s automatic writing project. Capricorn, there are two ways of seeing every situation. Make sure you see both.

AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18
I followed a firefly into to the night. I followed it into the woods and was surrounded by blackness, only the tips of my fingers visible as I reached out to touch it. And then it all went dark. The firefly was gone. I was lost. I’m still there, Aquarius, in the dark, waiting, waiting for help. WOULD IT KILL YOU TO CALL ME BACK?

PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20
There are moments in life—small, easily isolated—that change everything. It could be the most casual of off-handed answers to the simplest of questions, and all of a sudden you find your existence unraveling, pulling apart in a thousand different ways. It sucks when that happens, Pisces. But you can’t prevent it.

ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19
Life is like Pointillism, the Fin de Siècle painting technique whereby images are comprised of infinitesimal points of light that, seen from a distance, create unified fields of color—solid pictures made from discrete marks. This, Aries, is a lot like life, because sometimes, when you’re too close to the painting, all you see is little dots. Step back, take a breath, and drink a bucket of absinthe.

TAURUS MAY 21 — JUNE 20
My German is rusty, but I’m pretty sure that dude just told you to “shut up and sit down.” Are you going to take that shit, Taurus? From a little German man? Because seriously, haven’t you taken enough abuse in the last few weeks, from the chickpea stew incident to the federal indictment? When are you going to stand up for yourself? Now. Now is when you take back some dignity.

GEMINI JUNE 21 — JULY 22
The dodo gets a really bad rap as a stupid animal, to which I say, “C’mon people, can’t we just leave the extinct alone, and let them rest in peace?” And really, lying on the beach all day eating shell fish and cold relaxin’ in the tropics seems like a pretty cool existence, sort of the opposite of dumb. Do you feel like you don’t get enough credit, Gemini? Well, stop making it look so easy, then.

CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22
It’s going to get cold, soon, Cancer, so you’d better get ready to wrap your toes up real tight. I once knew a man in Moose Factory, Ontario, who forgot to wrap his toes up one cold November night and he lost them all to frostbite. The cool thing was that he had his feet replaced with ice skates, and now he’s the leading scorer in the Tundra League. Moral? Keep your stick on the ice.

LEO JUNE 21 — JULY 22
We’ll try. We’ll try really hard. We’ll try really hard and we’ll probably succeed for a while. And then the lights will go down. You’ll pull a flashlight out of your knapsack but you’ll drop it and it will roll along between the desks creating a weird flickering light across the far blackboard. Why are we breaking into your old school, Leo? And why am I in your dream?

VIRGO JUNE 21 — JULY 22
The heart is a complicated organ. There are tubes and conduits that pump blood and water and wine and tea and heavy cream all through the body. Sometimes, if the wine and cream get mixed up, you’ll remember something you’d long ago forgotten, and you’ll stop right there in the street and you’ll stare at that thing in your mind’s eye until it’s all you can see. Don’t stare too long, Virgo.

LIBRA JUNE 21 — JULY 22
A “loss leader” in the restaurant business is something you serve to entice people, without worrying about making a profit. Like free coffee, or moose pie. I think you could use a “loss leader” of your own, Libra, something you could just sort of throw out there with little expense, like a new beret or a fake Australian accent. Once you attract attention, then you can use your charm.

SCORPIO JUNE 21 — JULY 22
You should take up rock climbing. That is my astrological advice to you, Scorpio. Normally I try to keep things suitably mysterious over here at stargaze corner, but I’m getting such a clear sense of you on one of those indoor walls with all the ropes, having the time of your life, that I have no choice. If you start rock climbing, I will guarantee that you will be a happier person.

SAGITTARIUS JUNE 21 — JULY 22
Not even lions would scare me away from the kind of opportunity that will soon present itself to you, Sagittarius. Not even giant, armor-plated, remote-controlled lions with lasers for eyes and missiles for teeth. You see, there’s something wonderful waiting for you just around the corner, but you’re going to have to be brave, because really, there will be lions waiting to pounce.

CAPRICORN JUNE 21 — JULY 22
Sitting in the dark with a slice of cold pizza and a banjo is just about my favorite thing to do. Munching on solidified mozzarella, pickin’ out great old tunes from the Blue Ridge Mountains, taking sips from the bottle… But the darkness is the best part: it’s like a gentle coat filled with special warm hot cross buns that will never let you feel sad or cold or lonely. Turn out the light, Capricorn.

AQUARIUS JUNE 21 — JULY 22
You are a peach, Aquarius. A delightful (if not a little messy) piece of sweet fruit that’s up for just about anything. You can be eaten straight from the farmstand on a sunny summer day, chopped up and preserved for cold winter afternoons, or made into a delicious cobbler for those special dinners where the top-shelf Zinfandel gets passed around. You’ll always be a peach.

PISCES JUNE 21 — JULY 22
Live fast or die old? Well, not exactly, Pisces. Take old Bill Burroughs for example. That sonofabitch lived to be 83 years old, after a lifetime of extreme fast living and totally irresponsible stewardship of his own body. And then you have people like, oh I dunno, some healthy dude, who just walks outside one day and gets hit by a milk truck. The universe is capricious, but offers much pleasure.