ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19
Ok, so you know I’m not a big fan of, like, people. This includes me and you, Aries. But before you tell me that’s a crummy way to be and that I’ll end up unhappy, I already know that. The thing is, not liking people allows me to tell them the truth, because I don’t care what they think. See what I mean?

TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20
We sort of abuse our pasts, don’t we, Taurus? We excavate them and expose them to sunlight and pick around through all the little dirty bits as if somewhere in there is the answer that will redeem us, save us from ourselves. NO. There is only one Indiana Jones in this world, and he’s fictional anyway. Try looking forward for a change.

GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20
I’ve been hearing the same song in my head for three days: The theme song from Perfect Strangers, the show about the immigrant cousin, Balki? You know what I’m talking about. Well, this line is stuck in my head: “Sometimes you get a feeling like you need some kind of change.” A-fucking-men, Gemini.

CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22
If faith doesn’t work, Cancer, you might have to use the sword. And by faith I mean wearing sexy pants, and by sword I mean baking a cake. So, if sexy pants don’t get you what you want, you’ll probably have to bake a really delicious cake. Does this have any bearing on your present situation? If not, sorry, it’s been cloudy of late.

LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22
Some of us are good at some things, but not at other things, and that’s ok, Leo. Take me, for example: I am a truly great astronomer, able to read the constellations like others read the origin stories on the back of soy milk cartons. However, this great skill is compensated by a weakness: I am unable to pee standing up. It’s hard, but I persevere.

VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22
Harder days are coming, Virgo. Are you ready? Things are going to come fast and furious, by air, by land, by sea. Some days you won’t even know if you’re coming or going as a barrage of deadly fire rains down upon you and your loved ones. But you shall survive, and you shall prosper. And as the last ember fades you will rise again.

LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22
I used to watch a lot of Star Trek: The Next Generation. It was awesome, mainly because Jean-Luc Picard was such a bad-ass, half tough-as-nails leader, half refined French gentleman. Also, the one who could feel what other people felt? I thought she was hot. I didn’t like Riker, though. Oh yeah, Libra… uh, trouble at work this week, or some shit.

SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21
You know when people drag out that old stat that “getting in a car is five times more dangerous than getting on an airplane”? Well, I don’t like to get into cars, either. So how about that, smug stat-droppers? People will hear what they want to hear, Scorpio, sometimes reason just doesn’t work. That’s when you drug them.

SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21
It is hard to understand the pain of others. All we can do is relate it to our own, to the years of suffering felt through the unique personal language of our own bodies. But no translator can match the idioms; there is no perfect translation. Understanding the pain of others is a humanizing act of faith, Sagittarius, and we must never stop trying.

CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19
Some day, a long time from now, the husks of our billion cars will have receded into the dusts of history, save for a few relics preserved by the dry sands of the inland deserts, worshipped as ancient skeletons of once-mighty god creatures. And your descendents, Capricorn, will totally crack jokes about it. Why can’t you just be serious?

AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18
Oh the mistakes we make. The missteps we take. The feelings we fake. The brownies we bake. The thirsts we slake. The leaves we rake. The promises we break. We are fragile, weak creatures, Aquarius, this we know. But we’re also capable of truly wonderful things… Love can get us through a lot, you know.

PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20
Don’t you turn your back on me Mr./Miss! You are going to stand here and listen to what I have to tell you, whether you believe in astrology or not. First of all, tuck in your shirt. And wipe that grin of your face. Damn it, Pisces, you’re throwing it all away, and for what? Some dumb need to rebel? Stop being such a child.

ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19
See how the curtains billow into the room, even though the window is closed? That means you have ghosts; or possibly a crack in the window frame. Obviously, I’m going to go with ghosts. Aries, you need to think about who might be haunting you this month, then you should ask them to stop—you don’t need that right now.

TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20
Being able to feed yourself is an important life-skill, Taurus. And by “feed yourself” I don’t mean “microwave a burrito.” I’m talking about the honest pleasures of cooking a meal, for yourself and for friends. When’s the last time you had a dinner party? Have one soon, and good things will happen.

GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20
Jai alai continues to be my preferred metaphor for modern existence: it’s fast, only right-handed players can do it, and it uses a tiny hard ball. I really don’t have to spell that all out, do I, Gemini? Good. Take those analogs for what they are, and use those lessons in your life. Jai! Alai!

CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22
You can smell the snow on the wind—like metal that’s been kept in the freezer… reminds me of home. You know, Cancer, I actually miss shoveling snow: the scrape of the shovel on the driveway, removing layers of clothing as you get hot… Winter’s coming, so you’d better dry-clean your sweaters.

LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22
Buy your tickets now. Whether for a winter getaway, Rangers game, or simply “to ride,” you need to plan ahead, Leo. How many times has the thing you really wanted to do just slipped through your fingers, leaving you doing the thing you kind of want to do? That feeling sucks. Quit short-changing your funtimes.

VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22
Do you smell sorrel? I smell sorrel. I also smell pomegranate. Do you smell pomegranate? Is there a giant spike sticking out of my head? Why does everything look green? Virgo, if there was, in fact, a giant spike in my head interfering with my brain, would you tell me? WOULD YOU?

LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22
Where are all the honky tonks? The raucous saloons filled with loose women and men in hats? I’m asking you, Libra, because now that darkness has fallen across the land, we really need to make sure we have fun in loud, well-lit places, lest we become depressed and lose all hope. Time to party.

SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21
I was sailing around the North Sea over the summer, a solo expedition in search of the mythical lundehund, a rare Scandinavian canid blessed with the gift of being able to gossip while still retaining respect among its peers. Nobody likes a gossip, Scorpio, so unless you’re a lundehund, you should ease up.

SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21
Have you been down lately? You seem down. Are you eating enough fruit? Your natural inclination at the moment is probably just to eat cheese and potatoes all night long, to fatten yourself up for winter. DO NOT DO THIS. It will make you sad and fat, and I don’t like you sad and fat, Sagittarius.

CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19
Where I come from, there is no Thanksgiving in November. As such, with no holiday to look forward to, it really is one of the saddest months: the darkness is oppressive, the weather is cold and painful, without the mitigation of pretty snow… I’m glad I came to America, Capricorn. I do not hate your freedoms!

AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18
Don’t give up, Aquarius. As the poet says, it is always darkest before dawn. And, I guess it can’t get much darker than this, right? So you should probably start getting ready for the great dawning! Oh what fun we’ll have, making pancakes, staring at the sun! Dawn! Dawn! The dawn is beautiful.

PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20
My dog Lance was struck by lightning. He’s ok, but it blew him 25 feet—luckily he landed in a cab pick-up truck carrying old jean jackets. The weird thing is that I had to follow that pick-up clear across the state of New York before I could get Lance back. All of which is to say, Pisces, cherish what you have.

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.

ARIES
MAR 21 — APR 19
So many things in this world sound really, really great when you first hear about them, but slowly (and surely) you come to realize they require a lot more work than was first suggested, and you’re already at a breaking point, and life just seems to suck. What are you supposed to do then, Aries? Well, you should probably just figure out a way to work from home, in your underpants.

TAURUS
APR 20 — MAY 20
If only we could all breathe underwater. If only we could dance on the ceiling like Lionel Richie. If only we could make two plus two somehow equal five. If only we could walk through the space between raindrops. If only we could talk to dogs. If only, Taurus, you could get out of your current rut, you could do some great things. If only you would all just take my advice.

GEMINI
MAY 21 — JUNE 20
It’s time, Gemini, that you branched out beyond the Missed Connections section on Craigslist. Writing anonymous, hopeful messages to unnamed strangers might satisfy that lonely, romantic part of your personality, but it’s not going to make you any happier in the real world. In fact, the gratification you feel from “reaching out” is actually false comfort. It’s an illusion. Don’t die alone.

CANCER
JUNE 21 — JULY 22
So it looks like China is aiming to plant a forest the size of Norway in an effort to balance its horrendous carbon emissions. I, for one, feel bad for the state of New Jersey, which has traditionally been the go-to geographic unit of measurement, as in, “China today announced plans to plant a forest roughly 15 times the size of New Jersey.” Things change, Cancer, and they change fast. Get used to it!

LEO
JULY 23 — AUG 22
The morning will come. The spring will come. The bad times will give way to good. Honestly, there are very few things I actually know, but one of them is that all things pass—time really does heal wounds. In some ways, Leo, the power of time can be a frustrating thing, because even those purest of feelings will erode one day as the endless river of days washes over us.

VIRGO
AUG 23 — SEP 22
Uh, danger. Fire dude. FIRE! There’s a fire behind you but you can’t see it, Virgo. It’s like you’re one of those really drunk people who stands too close to the bonfire and can’t tell that you’re singeing your arm hair. And then you’ll try to cook a wiener using your beer bottle and you’ll burn your hand, and only then will you get it. Fire hurts. Maybe you need to get hurt to understand?

LIBRA
SEP 23 — OCT 22
I was watching a bunch of sparrows squabble with some pigeons over pizza crusts the other day. This one sparrow kept trying to pull an enormous slice off to his sparrow lair, despite its enormous size. He’d only get a few inches before the big, dumb pigeons would come a-stompin… but he kept trying. Libra, you’re either the sparrow, the pigeon, or the pizza in this story. Not sure which.

SCORPIO
OCT 23 — NOV 21
Dig me a shallow grave, Scorpio. I may not be ready to go, even if it seems like my time has come. I’ll admit, though, there’s something comforting about the thought of laying around in the loose earth, with no expectations from anyone except just straight-up chilling for eternity. But no. I think I like it here, so I wanna stay as long as possible. Your theme this week: morbidity.

SAGITTARIUS
NOV 22 — DEC 21
Have you ever just walked out into the middle of the midnight desert, lain down, and let the stars pull you out of your body? It’s not easy to do, it takes guts and concentration and a mattress. But I’ll tell ya, Sagittarius, there is no feeling like it in this world. I suppose if you’re too far from a desert you could row out into a lake. Failing that, you’re just going to have to get drunk.

CAPRICORN
DEC 22 — JAN 19
Professional envy isn’t going to help, Capricorn. In fact, it’ll just leave your mouth dry and your eyes red and your shoulders tight and your whole general vibe will be poisonous and peevish and no one will ever laugh at your jokes again. You don’t want that, do you? No, you do not. So, the best way to deal with professional jealously is to become more successful. You have a lot of work to do.

AQUARIUS
JAN 20 — FEB 18
There is love in your future, Aquarius. A love you forgot was possible, a way of seeing the world you thought had long disappeared with the end of youth. DON’T GIVE UP. Get up in the morning, face the sun, feel its warmth, and tell yourself this love is possible, and that it will be here soon. You have to be ready for it, though, which is going to take a bit of work. You can do that, right?

PISCES
FEB 19 — MAR 20
You’ve had a good run over the last while, Pisces. You’ve caught some lucky breaks. It might not feel like it, but you have no idea of the good graces that have kept you from harm’s way, no sense of the benevolent intercession of fate. But this is how it is with most of us, a kind of narcissistic pessimism… That’s why we should all just be grateful all the time.

ARIES  MAR 21-APR 19

We are all soldiers of fortune. We are fighting a war against the end of our lives. Our weapons are self-delusion, courage, humor, anger and resignation. We must be careful about which weapons we choose to fight with. There are times when the weapons become who we are, when we lose control of their power. Do not let this happen, Aries, for it will break your heart.

TAURUS  APR 20-MAY 20
Forgiveness can be tough to ask for. At its heart lies the need to confess, to admit how wrong you were. In dire situations, Taurus, when forgivness is vital, the guilty party may be forced to itemize all the stupid things they've done, and that can't be easy. But as an act, forgiveness has a real power: two people, going together back into the past to address a wrong. That strong magic.

GEMINI   MAY 21-JUNE 20
“Count them again!” said the voice, loud and angry against the quiet fall night. “Aw c’mon, we’ve already been through this a hundred times!” said another voice, plaintive and shrill. “Please, just once more,” said the first voice, conciliatory. “Oh all right: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9… that’s it.” And that, dear Gemini, was the night Joey the 9-Fingered Clown was born.

CANCER   JUNE 21-JULY 22
Some mistakes just keep looking worse and worse the further you get from them: I’m talking mind-bogglingly, “what the hell were you thinking” dumb. And that’s what happened in this case, Cancer, absolute stupidity. It’s all too easy to convince yourself of a certain feeling if you try hard enough—but c’mon, let’s be honest here, none of that was real. It was fake.

LEO   JULY 23-AUG 22
Despite what they all say, love is a rare and special thing. It should be guarded zealously, preserved at all costs, fought over and rescued, no matter the cost; you need to think really hard, Leo, before you do anything to jeopardize it. You see, it’s all too easy to take love for granted, to assume it’ll just be there for you at the end of the day, like a favorite pair of slippers. Because it won’t.

VIRGO   AUG 23-SEP 22
You can hear some unusually true things if you just pay attention to the voice of the crowd. This is not an easy thing to do, Virgo, but it will yield magnificent results if you can perfect your technique. Start like this: go to a place with lots of people; find a spot to sit or lean or stand unobtrusively; open up your ears, shut your eyes and let the words seep in. The world is trying to tell you something.

LIBRA   SEP 23-OCT 22
Michael Caine tried to Blame it on Rio, when he should have just blamed himself. The world is full of temptation and invitation to indiscretion; we’re all confronted at one time or another with the occasion for sin… THAT DOESN’T MEAN WE HAVE TO GIVE IN. Look, Libra, life can wear you down to a point of real self-pity, where you feel justified in self-indulgent. Well snap out of it.

SCORPIO   OCT 23-NOV 21
The overheard answering machine message is just about dead as a feasible plot device in your mainstream mystery-thriller-comedy. As much as I’ve always loved the big reveal playing back after the beep, Hollywood has to come up with something new… but what? Failure to log-off Gmail? Twitter hack? Will any one thing come to the fore? Sigh. Why must everything change, Scorpio?

SAGITTARIUS   NOV 22- DEC 21
Mark my words, Sagittarius, roller derby is about to sweep the nation. Where once we idolized giant football players we will instead idolize speedy little redheaded women with tattoos like sailors who listen to Sleater-Kinney and eat soy cheese—this will be a truly glorious day. The best way to prepare for this would be to go see some live roller derby. So that’s what you should do. NOW.

CAPRICORN   DEC 22-JAN 19
Be careful when digging around your brother’s closet—you never know what you might find: Is that a cardigan with short sleeves? A waterproof waistcoat? A Winchester repeating rifle? What the hell kind of shit is your brother into? And anyway, are you sure you’re not adopted? Look Capricorn, you gotta know where you come from before you can know where you’re going.

AQUARIUS   JAN 20-FEB 18
I always said I wouldn’t do you wrong, Aquarius, so I’m sorry I messed things up. You might have a hard time believing it, but it’s really still kind of true. I think, given the right amount of time and a break in the bad weather, I might be able to prove to you once again that it’s a true sentiment. Failing that, I’m prepared to bribe you with an ongoing campaign of gifts and back rubs.

PISCES   FEB 20-MAR 20
I should’ve been a physicist. There is something deeply appealing about engaging with fixed physical laws rather than the necessarily fluid strictures of human behavior. But as I looked into it more, I came to understand that even physics is open to vast mystery, that the universe is as seemingly unknowable as the heart of Man. And you know what, Pisces? I was kind of relieved by that.

ARIES
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.

TAURUS
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

GEMINI
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.

CANCER
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.

LEO
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.)

VIRGO
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.

LIBRA
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.

SCORPIO
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.

SAGITTARIUS
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.

CAPRICORN
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.”

AQUARIUS
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.

PISCES
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?

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.

ARIES 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.

TAURUS 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.

GEMINI 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.

CANCER 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.

LEO 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.

VIRGO 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.

LIBRA 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?

SCORPIO 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.

SAGITTARIUS 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.

CAPRICORN 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?

AQUARIUS 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?

PISCES 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!

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.

TAURUS 
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.

GEMINI 
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!

CANCER 
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.

LEO 
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.

VIRGO 
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.

LIBRA 
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.

SCORPIO 
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..

SAGITTARIUS 
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.

CAPRICORN 
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.

AQUARIUS 
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.

PISCES 
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..

ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19
It is an odd thing to run into old friends who you haven't seen, nor spoken to, in six years. Odder still is when the expected gulf of time and experience fails to materialize and, indeed, it's like you saw them just yesterday. It is my belief, Aries, that each friendship has its own unique timescale, an inherent setting outside the regular flow of minutes and hours. You can't hate what isn't there.

TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20
This kingdom of light is bounded on four sides by a mean, inhospitable country, a brackish place so choked with malcontented dust-huffers and weed-tangled ankle-twisters, that I see no reason why we should ever leave. Are you not happy here, Taurus? Why not? We have what we need: food, shelter... Is there much more beyond that? Happiness is a skill, it needs practice.

GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20
A broad, bright horizon, seen through a rain-dappled windshield, is a glorious prospect. Shall we stop for a break and eat some bread and cheese by the river? This is a nice question to hear. The freedom to stop when you want to is a rare and precious thing... I know I've said this a lot in my time as an astrologer, Gemini, but engaging with the journey itself will always make you a hell of a lot happier.

CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22
Have you seen those ads for individual "swimming pools"? Seriously, they're little resistance chambers filled with water that allow you to "swim" right there in your apartment; because you are obviously too fancy and important (and agoraphobic?) to venture to the outside world. Cancer, I know this kind of thing appeals to you, but you must resist. Time to go out, not stay in.

LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22
To hell with it... I'm pretty sure technology is the answer to all life's problems. I used to resist this idea in favor of some backward-looking paradigm based in mechanical causality and the innate efficiency of natural systems — until I came across the FutureStar 3000, a hand-held astrological aid that gets instant results, e.g.: "Leo, trouble at work leads to unexpected happiness." See!

VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22
I spilled scalding hot soup on my lap about 10 seconds ago, and in the bright searing heat of the pain, a vision came to me: Everyone was dressed in white, carrying white umbrellas on a street bedecked in white garlands and white bunting; it was very white. I don't know what this means, Virgo, but I think I scalded my inner thigh, which is just awkward and unpleasant.

LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22
Snakes are not evil. Ice cream is not universally beloved. Puppies can sometimes lie to you. Buddhist monks are actually pretty selfish. Listen to me Libra, THE WORLD IS NOT AS IT SEEMS. But look, that doesn't give you license to walk around playing the provocative contrarian in each and every situation you encounter. Stop playing Devil's Advocate for once, and just advocate.

SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21
I got a fast car and a slick guitar and I'm ready to take this party pretty far." This is the first line of a country song that I've been trying to write for about five years now. I keep getting tangled up in this line about a woman I once knew who had really great taste in outdoor hiking gear. But you know, Scorpio, there ain't no science to poetry, so we just gotta keep struggling till we get it.

SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21
Hey now look, I've admitted before that I'm not very religious (by which I mean I don't really believe in an active, interventionist God). But that doesn't mean I'm closed off to the wonder of the unknowable world, I just have a different way of describing it and understanding it. And part of that ongoing description is telling your future, Sagittarius, which is... effin great (this week, anyway).

CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19
I was pretty sure the Rock of Gibraltar was a professional wrestler until I was 11 years old. I thought alimony was a kind of delicious sandwich meat until I was 14. I still think the Blarney Stone is a strain of high-grade B.C. marijuana. The time has come for me, Capricorn, to face the fact that I am really just pretty stupid. And I'm ok with that. Are you ok with the way you are?

AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18
A houseboat, huh? You really have your heart set on living on one of those, don't you? And you think you'll just be able to drift across the great network of French canals, stopping on the riverbank for a lunch of fresh baguette, goat cheese and red, red wine? Well, maybe you can, maybe you can't, but you have to try, don't you, Aquarius? You heard me, START TRYING.

PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20
I have an office colleague who's a really difficult dude. Even worse, he sits right in front of me just cold rockin' this bitchy attitude all day, sighing and clenching his fists and throwing beer caps into exposed fan blades (dangerous!). I think he's sad that the local outdoor bar just closed down, and so there's no place nearby for a cold beer on a sunny day. I'm sad about that, too, Pisces.

ARIES  MAR 21 — APR 19
Do you miss high school even a bit? I know the horrid mix of hormones, cruelty and french fry grease made for some awful, humiliating moments, but wasn't there kind of a wonderful freedom to youth? A quicksilver torrent of hope and possibility? Or maybe my memories are off. Maybe I'm the one with the problem, Aries. Maybe you're right to just bury all the bad nostalgia. Maybe.

TAURUS  APR 20 — MAY 20
Did you know that Alan Alda almost wasn't famous? It's true. On his way to audition for the role of George Plimpton in Paper Lion, he ran into an old high school flame. The two chatted for a bit, rapt with reminiscence, and Alda suggested coffee. It wasn't until the old flame noticed she was late for an appointment with her florist that Alda recalled his audition. Fate is everywhere, Taurus.

GEMINI  MAY 21 — JUNE 20
I was driving around upstate New York last week, and the frequency of road kill was a real bummer: deer, raccoons, cats, ground hogs, a possum, a real estate agent, two Jehovah's Witnesses and the entire line-up of the 1986 Washington Generals. All of them had just wandered out into the road, and now they're dead. It reminded me, Gemini, that life is precious, so we must live it.

CANCER  JUNE 21 — JULY 22
Castles in Scotland are way overrated. Sure, they might appear glamorous and romantic, all those kilts and knotted brows, the mighty stags and mist-shrouded highlands, the sabers and the whiskey, but those places are cold and damp. Not sexy. It's like trying to get busy inside a giant stone fish. You can do better than that, Cancer. Spanish-style L.A. bungalow is the new hotness.

LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22
The image of Virginia Woolf's suicide is particularly haunting, among all the sad lady writer suicides (Sylvia Plath, Anne Sexton). One can very easily see her, proper and quiet in her London overcoat filled with stones: a quick indrawn breath as she steps into the cold River Ouse, walks slowly against the current, head held up, eyes straight ahead. And then, gone. Now I am sad, Leo.

VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22
The big question, Virgo, is whether or not you should cut your hair. I, for one, think you should. Further to that, you should consider yourself lucky that that's the most pressing thing you have to worry about at the moment. What if you had to decide whether or not you'd fly into space to save the Earth from an asteroid? That would be tough. Bruce Willis tough. Are you that tough?

LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22
"Stone Temple Pilots, they're elegant bachelors/They're foxy to me, are they foxy to you..." Steve Malkmus had a whole treasure-trove of free-associated lyrics plucked from the corn-syrupy soup of his subconscious, but that one has to be my favorite. Because, Libra, though I always hated their music, I did find STP pretty foxy. Sometimes we need artists to tell our truths for us.

SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21
Greater men have given in to less temptation than you now face, Scorpio. I admire your resolve, your flinty ability to ignore your corporal desires, your tenacious dedication to prudence and propriety. But are you having enough fun in your life? Fun is not something you can plan for; occasionally you have to be available to its partner, spontaneity. OR YOU WILL DRY UP AND DIE.

SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21
We've all dreamed at one time of owning a flying bicycle. Some of you have thought to use your imaginary flying bikes for good (saving kittens, delivering ice cream to people in highrises), while others obviously lean toward mischief (putting kittens in trees, stealing ice cream from highrises). What will you do, Sagittarius? With great power (or a flying bike) comes great responsibility.

CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19
The Solstice is nigh! King Arthur shall awake and smite the enemies of the British Kingdom! Faeries and fauns shall flounce o'er the Manhattan avenues! Mead! Thou shalt drink mead! And the flowers will rise up and march across the Manhattan Bridge in row upon row of bouquet! This is my favorite time of year, Capricorn. The sun never sets and crazy shit happens. Woot.

AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18
Crazy ups and downs are what you're all about, Aquarius — that pretty much goes with your sign. The key to surviving that roller coaster ride, though, is remembering this duality at all times. So when you're flying high, you're always aware that things could crash; and, more importantly, when things look grim, they'll eventually turn around. If you can really internalize this, you'll be fine.

PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20
Step on a crack, break your mother's back. I had a brief week-long run in the fall of my seventh year when I pretty firmly believed this to be a true fact about the world. So each day, as I walked to and from school, I danced along the sidewalk avoiding all the cracks. Until Jason Richie knocked me into Pam Dawber (no relation). My mother was fine when I got home. Stay rational, Pisces.

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.

TAURUS  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.

GEMINI 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!

CANCER  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.

LEO  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.

VIRGO  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.

LIBRA  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.

SCORPIO  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..

SAGITTARIUS  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.

CAPRICORN  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.

AQUARIUS  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.

PISCES  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..

ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19
You're kind of like the Neutral Milk Hotel of cool kids, Aries. You did that one thing a long time ago, which people still talk about; but most of those people actually think you're dead. You need to come up with something to let the world know you're alive (even just to let yourself know). Forget the concept albums, have you thought about a well-timed streak?

TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20
The next most terrifying animal-borne illness will assuredly be the the Adirondack Squirrel Stutter. The first cases will appear in the Catskill region and will sweep down the Hudson River in a chattering deluge of incomplete sentences and awkward communication. The pandemic will culminate in the collapse of the radio industry. Are you prepared, Taurus?

GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20
It takes a little bit more than that to make it in this city, Gemini. It troubles me that you actually think you've put in the necessary time and care to be ready for your "big break," as you call it. It takes years of cultivating contacts and waiting for the right moment to strike. I'm still waiting. Yup. Waiting for the perfect time to become rich and famous. Can you recommend an agent?

CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22
Is this time going to be different? Are you finally going to say, "Enough is enough, I'm tired of missing out on free ice cream samples"? Being assertive doesn't mean you're rude, Cancer, it just means you'll have few excused to complain about stuff. If you don't ever try, you can just blame the world for your woes, and that will just leave you bitter and alone in the end. Is that what you want?

LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22
Did you grow up on a crescent? A court? An avenue? Or better still, a boulevard, lane or cul-de-sac? Your psychological profile as an adult, some studies say, is directly linked to the psycho-geographical space you first inhabited as a child. Life on a "road" makes you independent but wary; on an "alley," secretive and dirty. You have to know the past, Leo, to change the future.

VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22
The Devil can't really make you do something you wouldn't normally do anyway. At least that's how I interpret my three weeks of Sunday school lessons from Lem Kock's daughter in the autumn of my tenth year. She was beautiful, Lem Kock's daughter, hair the color of dijonnaise, teeth like Canadian dimes. Oh, Virgo, don't blame the Devil for Lem Kock's daughter...

LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22
We all know that Nina Simone went pretty much straight-up crazy toward the end of her life in France. She shot at dudes and often wouldn't use fabric softener. Foibles like these, Libra, are, of course, the price of genius. But here's the real trick: just because you have foibles like these does not, ipso facto, make you a genius. Right now, you're just irritating. Get it?

SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21
Half way is better than not at all. But all the way is the best. You know what I'm saying, Scorpio... a triple is the most exciting play in baseball, but what everyone wants is the home run. Is this getting dirty? Is your sex life ok? Because a healthy sex life is important for happiness. This also includes masturbation. So, yeah, settle for the bunt single if you have to... just get on base.

SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21
So, you're an amateur cartographer now, eh Sagittarius, ready to explore the world and make maps of everywhere you go... I have bad news for you: everywhere has been mapped. It's been mapped in three dimensions, in four, in two, it's been mapped in chocolate, in butter — you're going to need a radically new angle. And that angle is stuffed animals! Maps made of plush. Do it.

CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19
Oh how we talk and just let the words come out without any thought to their sharpness, their raw wounding edges. And what seems like a mere scratch at first grows into a blooming infection, spreading through the host until there is no other option but to amputate and cauterize. You know, Capricorn, for a waitress, you can be really mean sometimes.

AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18
Just because the canoe doesn't look riverworthy to you, Aquarius, doesn't mean we shouldn't take it out for spin. C'mon, you'll love it. We'll pack a lunch — sandwiches, chips, a banana, a thermos of coffee and a bottle of wine — plop the dogs in the middle, and let the current take us into the late afternoon. Not so bad, right? There is no reason why this can't happen...

PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20
I've never really believed in the soul. The idea of an immaterial, eternal self that exists like hydraulic fluid in a backhoe, animating the corporal machine, seems patently absurd to me. But (and this is a big, important "but"), I understand that this idea might be important to you, Pisces, so I won't make fun of it too much. The only thing I'll say is that your "soul" needs a pep talk. It's flagging.

ARIES
Hey, if there's one thing history has taught us, it's that tall people are really successful in fields like library management, horse shoes, politics and netball. Are any of these fields of interest to you in your future endeavors? No, I didn't think so. SO WHY ARE YOU HANGING UPSIDE DOWN EVERY NIGHT FROM THE CEILING? You should stop doing that and find another hobby, Aries.

TAURUS
Really? Was I that bad? I didn't even realize it at the time... I honestly thought everybody loved me. But I guess what you're telling me, Taurus, here in the cold light of day, the cigarette smoke curling up over my top lip and deep into my brain, the alcohol fading slowly into the back eddies of my bloodstream, is that I was an asshole last night. Yeah, well so were you.

GEMINI
Why do they kill horses for things as minimal as a broken fetlock? How can such a perfectly evolved creature, so well fit to do one thing — run — be so disposable? Sometimes, Gemini, even taking the briefest moment to think about the world can cripple you with sadness. That's why it's important to work. I'm not talking any fancy St. Benedict "work as virtue" shit, I mean get a job. Loser.

CANCER
My true love gave me golden boots to cross the vaulted sky. My true love gave me a silver cape that I might hide from darkest rain. My true love gave me a ruby crown that I might pass the Bridge of Sighs. My true love gave me a magic beer to dull the aching pain. My true love also gave me a pretty serious headache, so that didn't really work out. Don't be fooled by fancy gifts, Cancer.

LEO
Are you just making shit up as you go along, Leo? Faking your way through every moment of every day to the extent that you're losing track of what's real and what's fake? Well, here's an important message for you: the line between "fake" and "real" is an antiquated construct devised to maintain a mass immiserated class of workers with no real freedom or franchise. So you're good, dude.

VIRGO
Once, my Uncle Susan ran out into a giant electrical storm with the intent of getting himself struck by lightning. He had this theory that God resides in electricity and that the only way to approach transcendence on the terrestrial plane is to fill your body with pure energy. He is now dead. I can't stress enough, Virgo, the importance of considering the consequences of your actions.

LIBRA
Dude, it's not lame to go to bed at 10pm. As the Buddha said, you gotta eat when you're hungry and sleep when you're tired. The key here, though, is that you shouldn't eat when you're not hungry (not to mention that excessive napping and/or sleeping is a sure sign of depression). Listen to your body, Libra, it knows a lot about itself (but ignore your brain, it is devious and needy).

SCORPIO
Breakfast in bed is more trouble than it's worth: crumbs end up in your pillow case and live there for weeks; egg yolks travel up the headboard in viscous amarillo streaks; thrice-roasted Columbian blend seeps deep into the mattress, caffeinating your dreams... My point, Scorpio, is that sometimes luxury is actually a burden. As Spiro Agnew said: "If you ain't got nothing, you're a poor."

SAGITTARIUS
I've always wondered what kind of guy our Sun is. I mean, he's just one in a billion, like the rest of us, hanging out, trying to get his work done each day (and solar days are loooong). Does he even realize he's sustaining all this life? And if he did, would he care? Is he popular, or is he thought of by the other stars as a little déclassé? And is it weird, Sagittarius, that I'm worried about his mood?

CAPRICORN
The hot times are upon us, Capricorn. This is good because: people wear less clothing, which is totally sexytimes all around; bars and restaurants open their windows and put their tables outside, so you can watch the sexy people; you can let your exotic pets outside. This is bad because: you will be covered in sweat; your friends will be covered in sweat; your exotic pets will be covered in sweat.

AQUARIUS
How fine your garden grows, Aquarius! How broad are your leaves! How bright are your strawberries! How sweet are your peaches! Is this starting to sound like sexy talk? I guess the sap is rising all over the place, don't you know. Well, you should give in. Just do it. Get carnal. Don't think. Have fun. Let it go. Cut loose. You'll only ever be this age once, so you might as well dive in.

PISCES
Sure, we live in boxes. I get the conceit: "Modern life is compartmentalized and our lives are reduced to infinitely regressive units of time and oh how it's all so dehumanizing and wouldn't it be great if we all lived like Arcadian shepherds tootling in the hills of Samothrace." Fuck that, Pisces — I like my box. It has my chair in it, and my books. Can't we just be happy with that?

ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19
Do you have nosy neighbors? The kind who invent some flimsy pretense to linger at the door trying to peek past you to see your meth lab/train set/bean bag chair? Or, Aries, and think about this… are you a nosy neighbor? Perhaps the reason so many people obsess about the small, mundane details of the lives of others is to compensate for a lack of vitality in their own.

TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20
When I was a child I used to go down to the lake. This wasn’t the kind of tiny pine-gilt pond most associate with the word “lake” — it was a giant, freshwater inland sea, and I would sit on the strand staring for hours out over the water, trying to see to the other side. I never saw a thing. But you know what, Taurus? For all those many afternoons I did see a lot. Mainly teenagers smoking cigarettes.

GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20
You know those people who say “matoor” rather than “machoor” when they’re pronouncing the word “mature”? I don’t like those people. I also don’t like people who try to high five me. I also don’t like people who ask waiters or waitresses “What’s good today?” I also don’t like people who badmouth astrology. Have you been badmouthing astrology, Gemini? Stop it.

CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22
Whoa, whoa, whoa… I just realized something: It’s stoop season, baby! (Or at the very least it’s stoop preseason.) Have you hung out on your or your friend’s stoop yet? Look, even if it’s 45 degrees out, I highly recommend you throw on a heavy sweater, crack open a forty and take in the early spring life blossoming on your block. Oh, and Cancer? Put on some pants this time.

LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22
I was recently locked in a defunct dining car from the old Albany-Quebec City train line. I was stuck in there for almost three days. Luckily, there was a box of Ritz Crackers and some old bottles of Genny Light to tide me over, along with a catalogue of designer orchid bulbs. Somehow, despite my depravation and isolation, I was really pretty happy with the weekend. Simplicity, Leo, is good.

VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22
You know those ancient cultures that have really ornate gestural dance rituals that tell epic foundational tales of love, war and divine retribution? Yeah, we don’t really have those, do we? No, we have the “Cabbage Patch,” the “Butter Churn” and the “Running Man.” Virgo, we need a richer gestural language that goes beyond “fuck you” and “peace.” Talk with the hand, not to the hand.

LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22
The key to starting a chainsaw, Libra, is throwing it away from you as you pull the starter cord — let gravity do the work, not your shoulder. You should also probably wait until at least sunrise before working the timber. You’ll also need some safety pants. Actually, are you sure you’re ready to handle a big mechanized tool designed to chew through giant trees? You’re a lover, not a fighter, dude.

SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21
You know what’s really fun? Dressing your dog up like a pirate. What’s that, Scorpio? Don’t have a dog? I have a solution. You can walk around certain neighborhoods in Brooklyn on any given weekend and find dozens of cute little pooches tied up outside of drugstores, bars and sporting goods stores. Why not dress them up on the fly? Superfun! Isn’t Brooklyn a magical, whimsical place!!!

SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21
We all feel pain, Sagittarius — emotional, physical, oneiric — it’s an ineluctable fact of life that we have to come to terms with. We do, however, have the opportunity to train ourselves in the Stoic tradition and keep our reactions internal. What’s gained by bottling up your feelings? Well, frankly, the main thing is that I won’t have to listen to you anymore, which would be great for me.

CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19
Look, look, there’s no such thing as an empty gesture. Everything has a meaning, Capricorn, and even if you know that no one’s going to hear what you’re saying, sometimes you still just have to say it. At the very least, you’ll know, and you’re still important. Right? You still think you have a purpose on this planet, right? Jeez, dude, c’mon, don’t quit yet.

AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18
Ok, Modern Science, I’m ready. I’m ready for flying cars and bionic limbs and computer-enhanced brain function; I’m ready for nanobots to get the stains out of my tuxedo t-shirt and teleportation and silicon capes that will make me sexy all the time. I am ready, Aquarius, for our coming robot overlords. Are you? Quit being such a technophobe and wire yourself in to the future.

PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20
You should try being a bit more of an asshole, Pisces. I hate to say it, but a little abrasiveness can go a long way toward getting what you want. People may not like you or come to your birthday drink event, but they will want to avoid getting yelled at, so in the end, they’ll probably do what you want. Basically, what I’m saying is more power equals less friends. Go for it!

ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19
I knew you long before we became friends. I saw you in the street, picking up old newspapers, talking to dogs, folding takeout menus into paper airplanes, dressed all the while in pink coveralls and an old, battered pith helmet. You looked totally crazy, Aries. You still look totally crazy, but now I trust you to do the right thing. You will do the right thing this time around, won’t you?

TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20
Must you turn every daily interaction into an opportunity for political grandstanding? Sometimes, Taurus, an innocent question about appetizers is just an innocent question about appetizers, and does not require a ten-minute disquisition on the history of the Asturian labor movement at the beginning of the Spanish Civil War. For reals, dude, stop taking yourself so seriously.

GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20
There are cities across America filled with alleys and back byways, unnamed thoroughfares that go nowhere and everywhere all at once. In the winter we are pulled along on sleds by angry snowcats; in the spring we float down the floodwaters of nostalgia on pizza boxes and guitar cases… One day, Gemini, we will get lost forever, and it will be a happy day.

CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22
There I am, in the back of the van, thumbing through old issues of Sports Illustrated, sipping on a gin and juice, back doors thrown wide open to catch the sunset, and some old dude just comes up to me and straight up starts talking about the time he went to Biarritz and ate mussels with Princess Grace, and I’m like, “I don’t care.” I don’t really care, Cancer, just do what you have to do.

LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22
Let’s say you’re an unusually scattered intellectual who’s exiled himself to Paris in the late 1930s to write about art, architecture and the implacable forward movement of history. You find yourself one day sitting out on the boulevard St. Germain, sipping a café au lait, writing a letter to Stefan Zweig as a group of fascists marches by… What do you do, Leo? Do you act?

VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22
You’ve been on the East Coast for too long, Virgo. You need to loosen the fuck up, go shoeless for a few consecutive days, climb a tree, eat a peach. I know, I know, spring is coming, yadda-yadda, but we all know what that means in New York: dog shit and garbage cooking in the weak March sun. You need to take a road trip south. Seriously, start planning.

LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22
Storage space is a sad but useful metaphor for modern existence. Just think of the myriad ways in which we try to fill the spiritual void: exercise bikes, fondue pots, VHS tapes of Sanford and Son. But really, Libra, there’s not enough storage room in the world to contain all the objects you need to distract you from the emptiness. Renounce your desires, have a Sanka. 

SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21
Those were the days, Scorpio. Tree forts, lemonade stands, lollipops and yoyos, puppet shows, The Goonies… What do you miss most about college? And how do we return to those carefree sensibilities? Face it, we can’t just squeeze our eyes tight and wish for the best, clicking our heels as the streetlights wink on one at a time. You see, we can’t ever return to those sensibilities. That’s it.

SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21
Everyone thinks they’re wise and tolerant. Everyone thinks they have a pretty good sense of humor. Everyone thinks they’re a good driver. Everyone thinks they have good taste in footwear. But you know very well, Sagittarius, that most people don’t have those things. The trick is, you probably don’t either, statistically speaking. It’s time you came to grips with your inadequacies.

CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19
Buttoned up to the top, or undone to near salacious levels? What’s your mood today, Capricorn, and how are you going to express that through your outfit? You’ve had a hard time communicating your feelings through words and facial expressions of late, so you should move to the sartorial realm. Let your cardigans do the pouting, your shoes do the bitch-slapping. Dress to express.

AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18
Hey, we should go hang-gliding, you and me. I know it seems pretty dangerous, but think of the adrenaline rush alongside the indescribable experience of flight — don’t you think you need a jolt to the system, Aquarius, something big and amazing to wrench you out of yourself and your routines? I don’t know, maybe just a long bike ride and a spicy curry will do the trick. Maybe.

PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20
There can be no greater feeling of relief than experiencing your friend’s art for the first time and actually, honestly enjoying it. I once knew a woman who refused to read her boyfriend’s writing; it was really weird, she loved him, and he had talent, but she didn’t want to enter into any kind of critical dynamic with him. I respected it at the time, but it didn’t work out. Lesson learned, Pisces?

ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19
Can’t you see that flowers aren’t going to cut it this time, Aries? Granted, forgiveness is a great ocean in a flow of perpetual renewal, but you can never really tell what’s going to sink to the bottom and what’s going to glide delightfully across the surface. Well, in this case I can tell that flowers are definitely going to end up in Davey Jones’ Locker. Upgrade to jewelry.

TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20
Your eyes are wide open, your mouth is shut. Your hair is combed back, your shoes are tied up. Your feet are on the ground, your hands gripped tight. You, Taurus, are ready to rock and roll… But just as you’re set to take the stage you hesitate, your breath held back in an anxious gulp. What happened? Why can’t you follow things to their logical conclusions? Be brave, dude.

GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20
I knew a girl in high school who was convinced she was a changeling. You know, someone with the power to take any form they can imagine, from professional polo player to goose. This girl (let’s call her Stephanie R. Webb) would show up at a party and start mewling, as if she thought she was a trapped bobcat. We tried, Gemini, to tell her she wasn’t, but she wouldn’t listen.

CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22
I want a boater, a stripey jacket, a pair of wide-legged houndstooth trousers, a monocle and a sterling silver cigarette case. You see, Cancer, I am about to reinvent myself. Honestly, it’s not as hard as it sounds. Just find some pictures from magazines you like, take them to the clothing place, and ask the nice people to outfit you. Also, try to be cooler and talk with a funny accent.

LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22
You think it’s bad that Mitt Romney tied the family dog to his car roof, well, get a load of this: apparently the ancient Sumerian Sparvak culture would tie the second-born child to the roof of the car whenever they went to war (which they waged in abandoned Wal-Mart parking lots), using the poor little creatures for ballast and luck. My point is, Leo, there’s always something worse.

VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22
One man’s vulgarity is another’s man’s bicycle. The world is a small place wrapped in gabardine. We can’t know a thing if we haven’t seen it in the light of day. Have you noticed your weird pronouncements have been getting a little gnomic of late, Virgo? Is there something you’ve been wanting to tell me? Are you trying to speak but it’s just not coming out right? Use a pad.

LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22
I had a complex, fully developed version of the afterlife when I was eight. (N.B. I no longer believe that consciousness carries on after the biological organism dies, so there.) Basically, Heaven was like an infinite sports stadium in which you could watch whatever you wanted, and angels would come around with your favorite food. Will you sing at my halftime show, Libra?

SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21
Floating down river on a rickety raft made of candy and foil and magicians’ underpants is not the best way to meet new and interesting people. Sure, you might run into the odd bobbydazzler who jumps aboard at the old mill crossing or what have you, but these friends are not going to last. Ain’t it time you made a commitment, Scorpio, and settled down in one spot?

SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21
Kentucky or Tennessee? I’m thinking of relocating further south, Sagittarius. There’s just something about the northeast that’s getting to me: maybe it’s the winters, maybe it’s the WASPs… I don’t know. Have you thought about jumping ship, hauling off to somewhere new and exciting? It may seem obvious, but a big change (especially now) is exactly what you need.

CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19
So you’re standing on a beach staring out in the direction that you think must point straight across to Africa (but in reality you’re actually just looking at the butt end of Cuba), and the sun is setting behind you, and there’s a beer in your left hand. This is it, the end of the world, your last day on earth. Tell me, Capricorn, what is going through your mind? Run with it.

AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18
That was nice, eh Aquarius? Do you feel at least a little relaxed now? I think you need to put things in context and realize that you function at a basic level of chaotic stress higher than most of the world. So when I ask if you feel calm, I know you’re never going to be one of those people who talks about how “chill” something is, but I just want to know you’re not going to explode.

PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20
The ancient Romans believed that Sicily was a gateway to Hell, a gray rocky anteroom where lost human souls wandered in search of salvation, only to yield in the end to the maleficent tug of fire and evil. And that is how pizza came to be. The end. Do you know what a non sequitur is, Pisces? Well, that’s how a lot of your behavior comes across right now.

ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19
You should probably scale back your dreams of creating the perfect man-machine hybrid, especially considering your “plan” consists primarily of improvised derma-grafts involving scuba gear, snowblowers and AppleWorks. Seriously, Aries, cognac is not really an effective sedative for the kind of work you propose — I would recommend word jumbles or Civil War reenactment videos.

TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20
There are the predictable things of which most of us are afraid: spiders, old mansions, psychopaths hiding under tarps in the back of the Chevelle. And then there are the bizarre phobias unique to the individuated consciousness: for me this would include a deep fear of landscaper riots (imagine the carnage). What are you most afraid of, Taurus? Now, go forth and face down your fear.

GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20
To hell with that, I actually think French can sound pretty good in a rock and roll song. The key, though, is that it be sung by a pouty redhead with a strong Parisian accent. The redhead in question may be either male or female, but must be thin and pretty and possessed of a febrile sexuality always on the edge of burning out. We don’t talk enough, Gemini, about what we want from life.

CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22
One of my best memories of youth was taking the repurposed VW Bug down the hill for a “carboggan.” Somehow keeping the frame intact, we’d stripped as much weight as possible from the Bug and fitted a big pair of runners to the steering column — it took two of Per Malmqvist’s prize draught horses to get it back up the hill, but we had fun, Cancer. Isn’t that the most important thing?

LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22
It might be time to change your name, Leo. Look, I guess it’s been going pretty good for you so far (I don’t know, that’s kind of relative) but you haven’t exactly hit it big, have you? I’m normally against making superficial alterations in situations that seem to call for more substantive change, but maybe you need to reinvent from the outside in. Your new name should be Lucky Devereaux.

VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22
Despite what some people have written in online forums, I am very good when it comes to paying bills. Just because I’ve had the “temerity” to dispute charges that were less than clearly outlined on the bill does not make me a “dodge” or a “cheat” or a “lover of lying naked on bearskin rugs in front of large-screen images of fireplaces.” Don’t believe everything the internet tells you, Virgo.

LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22
What do you think is the one song you’ve listened to the most in your life, Libra? What track did you play endlessly in your bedroom as a heartsick 15-year-old grappling with a frothy new sea of hormones? Or did you travel overland from Patna to Nanchang in a truck filled with Marlboro Lights sitting beside a one-eyed smuggler obsessed with “Loser” by Radiohead? Well, Libra, which?

SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21
A sharp knife, comfortable shoes and a bit of soap. That’s all you need, according to my grandfather, to make it through a month in a Bhutanese jail. Are you prepared for the worst, Scorpio? I mean, “rioting in the streets/Hobbesian chaos” worst. You should come up with an apocalypse contingency plan with your nearest and dearest, as in, “Everyone head north and we’ll meet at Jed’s cabin.”

SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21
That’s a little obvious, don’t you think, Sagittarius? And lord knows we have enough of the obvious floating down the river each day mucking up the shoreline. If you’re going to open your mouth, if you’re going to contribute to the endless flow of noise and fiddlesticks, why not at least try to be new? Better yet, really, why do any of us have to say anything? Too much noise.

CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19
The best ghost story I have ever heard ends with a pair of gym shoes dangling from a beam in the basement. The problem is that I can’t remember the first part. It’s all fragments now, Capricorn, non-linear quanta of fact and fiction zapping around my brain. They say you can augment your memory with a good diet and focused mental exercises. Wait, why are you in my kitchen?

AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18
“Piss or get off the pot.” “Fish or cut bait.” These are two very coarse, unpleasant homilies that say the same thing. I think it’s time we rescued the sentiment at work here and reframed it in a more poetical manner, like, say, “Pass the crème fraiche and enjoy your bialy,” or “There’s a knife in the silk!” It’s not easy making up your own truism, Aquarius, but giving up is not an option.

PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20
Standing at the edge of a tall cliff looking out over the roiling surf you looked deep within yourself and saw there a secret book filled with tiny tiny writing telling you how it was all supposed to be but every time you tried to read that writing your eye lost track of the line and the words swam together and all meaning was lost. Well, Pisces, looks like you fucked this one up, hey?

ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19
Wouldn’t it be nice, just once, after all the sad-teeth looks and fallen lap-sits and Winnebago revelations, to finally get what you want? Without having to cajole and dissemble, without having to compromise? Yeah, that’s not going to happen. I know you like to feel that you’ve won an argument or made your point, but what’s the sense in that, Aries, if you don’t get what you want?

TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20
Wow. You really said the wrong thing back there. That was highly inappropriate. First of all, you have to have a much better sense of your audience if you’re going to make it as a “public speaker,” and wearing a necklace of dead fish heads is also unlikely to endear you to the ladies at the book club. Oh Taurus, when will you let the fire go out on its own? Quit throwing matches.

GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20
There’s nothing wrong with being a weekend warrior, Gemini. Nothing at all. Nope, it’s fine to defer and delay your passions to a strictly administered time period once every seven days. There’s no reason at all you should feel sad about spending your weekdays thinking about your weekends and your weekends trying to forestall the arrival of the weekdays. Nothing is wrong.

CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22
Oh glorious guitar anthem, you reveal so much to us about ourselves: how we like to nod our heads in a synchronized fashion; how we enjoy pretending we’re holding an instrument in our hands and that we, in fact, are playing music on the invisible instrument; how we like to stare across the room and lip read. Cancer, will you play me a guitar anthem, that I might feel again?

LEO JULY 23 — AUG 2
Do you still have your Christmas tree up, Leo? Don’t you think it’s a fire hazard? I realize you love the idea of letting the natural world exist inside the house, and that the piney smell of the needles reminds you of purity and innocence and that girl from Maine you met at sweater camp. But I’m here to say that none of that’s worth dying for in a conflagration of Santa flames.

VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22
Why can we talk about some things and not others? Why do people get awkward and childish when the conversation turns to serious topics, like death and polyandry? Is it because we’re raised with virtual paper bags over our heads, shame-sacks that prevent us from seeing, from hearing, from feeling the wind of truth upon our cheeks? Yes, Virgo, that and all the Splenda™.

LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22
Sure, I like to dance, but that doesn’t mean I’m prepared to cancan with you in the middle of the streetcar. Libra, your manic “quirkiness” and perpetual desire to be spontaneous and/or filled with wonder belie a deep void. Somewhere along the way you got your ass handed to you by life and now you try to avoid thinking about it by going topless at the Dairy Queen. Is it working?

SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21
Did you ever hear the story of the diminutive decorator who got wallpapered into the study wall by her overzealous assistant? The pattern was so bright and intense that no one noticed for five years. The study itself was the location of an unusual amount of drama, most of it interpersonal, and people always said it was a degree cooler than the rest of the house. Avoid that room, Scorpio.

SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21
Shucks and hellfire, Sagittarius, that is too much sand to be carrying all the way to the beach. Why do you have to try to improve everything around you, as if you could perfect the entire world by adjusting the light or propping up the table or switching seats? You should worry more about adjusting the only perspective you can control — your own. Or maybe it is too bright in here…

CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19
So, that’s that. And here you were about to write a long, stupid letter, half-drunk on such a weak elixir of nostalgia it’s pretty much just all ice water at this point. So. Don’t play the old songs or look at the photographs; don’t recite the old poems, either. Spring is coming you great sack of maudlin waffle, so you best start doing some sit-ups. That’s it, Capricorn, the new year starts now!

AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18
Fuck the haters, I love Wednesdays. You know why they call it “hump day”? Because that’s when the fun starts, when the anticipation of the weekend is at a perfect mix of the possible and the magical; but mainly it’s called that because people like to hump on Wednesdays. I guess my point here (ha!), Aquarius, is that the simple answer is usually the right one. No need to complicate things.

PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20
Dude, I think you could use a massive infrastructure investment. Your bridges are rusty, your roads are cracking up, your filtrations plants are crumbling and your water towers are most definitely leaking. You may say, Pisces, that you can’t afford the kind of money it will take to invest in such wide-scale improvements, but I’m telling you that you have no choice. Fix thyself.