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.
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.
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.
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
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
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.
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.
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?