ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19
So it turns out you can go home again. A recent study by scientists wearing floppy white lab coats has revealed that over 80 percent of people who attempt to find their way back home actually make it. Good news, Aries! Now you can go dig up your lucky spoon from the backyard!

TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20
Grass between your toes might not be enough to save your soul, but it's probably enough to save your sanity. You've been putting it off long enough, Taurus: get your ass out of the city and take it easy. I'm not talking about a three-day BBQ and beer fest, I'm talking peace and quiet in nature.

GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20
Gemini, it's totally ok that you anthropomorphize everything in your life, and that you actually go so far as to imbue the inanimate objects dearest to you with personalities (and voices!), but you definitely cannot start dating the kitchen table. Look, I know human beings can be cruel, but don't give up.

CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22
Do you feel that your life is not your own? That vast, sinister forces are using you like just another checker piece? Yeah, Cancer, I'm afraid you're right. But why freak? Look, whether you believe in the primacy of God, the Illuminati or Higgs-Boson, you're going to die soon, so you might as well live now.

LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22
An early summer evening, Little League, ice cream, the sound of crickets, the soft, sweet smell of the linden blossoms… AND THEN BLAM-O, tree frogs, millions of them, all over you and your Mustang convertible; you slam on the brakes in vain and careen into a pillow truck. Tree frogs suck, huh Leo?

VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22
I was playing chess the other day with an Azeri hunchback dressed in an Azzedine Alaia suit (it was old and tattered) and 
I was having a hard time concentrating on the match. Atom looked me in the eye and said: "Will you please stop worrying about Virgo's happiness and pay attention?" 
So I did.

LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22
The Sargasso Sea is a vast metaphor, applicable in numerous emotional and material situations: "That office is a Sargasso Sea." "That marriage became a Sargasso Sea." "That pond is like the Sargasso Sea." "Libra, the next two weeks of your life will be like the Sargasso Sea." See?

SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21
The word for dawn is pretty, whatever language you speak. Aube. Aurora. Amanecer. It makes sense, you know, insofar as the dawn has two attributes that appeal to us: it's objectively beautiful, and it takes a bit of effort to see it. When's the last time you really took in the dawn, Scorpio?

SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21
I used to wanna be a helicopter pilot. Then I wanted to be a cowboy psychiatrist. Then I wanted to be a pool boy. Then I wanted to farm oxygen on the Moon. Then I wanted to be Liv Tyler's personal breakfast chef. Sometimes, Sagittarius, it's important to set realistic goals.

CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19
The best way to cook a freshly caught rainbow trout is to pack it in foil with butter, lemon slices, salt, pepper and rosemary and throw it in the fire. Doesn't that sound good, Capricorn? Damn. There's a reason why I try not to write these horoscopes when I'm hungry. AND WHAT ABOUT MILKSHAKES!? So good.

AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18
It's been a little while, hasn't it, Aquarius? Well, I'm glad I'm back, if for the very least to be able to tell you how I'm feeling each fortnight. How am I feeling right now? Besides being hungry, I gotta say the cool breeze coming in off the river has me feeling pretty good. You know, hopeful…

PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20
The best bartender I ever knew—her name was Hanka—was convinced that water polo was, in fact, a bunch of rich white men riding around on swimming horses. No matter how hard I argued, no matter how much evidence I provided, she refused to believe me. I tell you, Pisces, she was a really good bartender.

ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19
One of my many nicknames back at the Teutenberg School for Astrological Finishing and Home Repair was "Mr. Twister," because of this way I had of dancing to the works of Rod Stewart. I pretended not to like the moniker, but was secretly delighted. I don't know why I pretended, Aries, it seems silly now. You don't need to pretend anymore.

TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20
Are you paying attention to your friends these days, Taurus? Are you remembering the little things, the details that enrich any friendship? You know, making sure to note mileposts and remembering that your friend(s) don't like cucumber so that maybe you could make your gaspacho without so much of it? Selfish jerk. Also, yuck, cucumber.

GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20
More velvet. When in doubt, that's the answer, more velvet. More velvet in your wardrobe, more velvet in your paintings, more velvet in your cheese, more velvet in your approach to life. I respect your natural inclination toward abrasive candor, Gemini, but you need to ask yourself if it's helping you get everything you want from life.

CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22
Cancer, Cancer, Cancer… Did you know you're the only sign of the Zodiac that's also a deadly disease? How does that make you feel? I've often thought it would be good to come up with an alternate sign name… Crabula? Hermex? Canevia? Xeo? Rupertronica? Rebranding yourself isn't easy, but sometimes it's what has to be done.

LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22
Imagine if people were like cell phone reception or Wi-Fi access. As in they just sort of went in and out, only working some of the time? Oh wait, people are totally like that. Seriously, Leo, why can't you work harder? If you spent as much energy focusing on the stuff you cared about rather than having dumb tantrums all the time, your life would be better.

VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22

Do you know how to pick a lock? Hot-wire a car? Jump-start a Vespa? Clean a fish? Prepare a duck? Knit a hoodie? No, you probably don't. So what are you going to do when the shit hits the fan, Virgo? Go running to the corner locavore general store? No, because you don't even KNOW HOW TO RUN. You should learn how to run, Virgo.

LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22
Follow your nose, Libra. When in doubt, just let the smell of "good times" and "big fun" be your guides to living. What do those things smell like? The former is like popcorn and fabric softener, while the latter is like a hot dog being cooked over an open fire while stuck in the end of a beer bottle. I really don't think I can get more specific than that.

SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21
What do you want me to say? What do you want me to do, Scorpio? I'm sorry I confused the cardboard cutout for a real policeman… I just get so nervous around authority. But please tell me you at least enjoyed that crazy "chase" across the rooftops of Brooklyn (even though, yes, we weren't actually being chased). I've never felt so alive.

SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21 Once upon a time I thought I would become a tugboat captain, but then my mother told me that tugboat school would cost too much money… That was a long time ago, and I only recently discovered that back when I was a kid, tugboat school would've been subsidized by the government. My mother is dead now, Sagittarius. This whole thing makes me sad.

CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19
There's a reason the Sun is at the center of the Solar System, Capricorn. And no, it's not just because it's the largest gravitational mass around, it's because it makes an effort with its appearance. Think about it: shiny, bright, warm, colorful, vivacious… No wonder the Sun is at the center of things all the time! You could use a bit of sprucing up yourself.

AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18
A well-built dinner table is an important part of any home. It becomes the locus for all of our family joy and sadness, it holds up our hopes and gives stage to our dreams, and, most importantly, it is the place we go to for our late-night mac ‘n' cheese. It's important, Aquarius, that you give your table a name, so it feels loved. How about "Gordon"?

PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20
There's nothing wrong with learning a trade. These days in America, everyone thinks they have to go college—this is ridiculous. Sure, post-secondary education is a billion-dollar business selling the mythical status of a "college degree," but the amount of debt incurred by each graduating class is fast becoming criminal (oh wait, it is). So, Pisces, can I borrow 30 grand?

ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19
Do you remember ten years ago when "lucid dreaming" was really popular? You know, where you teach yourself to realize you‘re in the dream state and then take control of the oneiric arena to enjoy yourself at will? I got close, Aries, to being able to fly every night, but got so obsessed I started sleeping 15 hours a day. Too much of a good thing.

TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20
How many continents have you been to, Taurus? I've only been to three and I'm starting to get nervous. Because really, this life of ours is but brief waking amid the eternal night of the universe, so if you don't do it now, when are you going to do it? That's why I'm building a rocket ship in my backyard. And that's why I'm going to fly that sucker some day.

GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20
I don't often give this kind of advice, but maybe you should think about taking more pills. It just seems like you could use more stability in your day-to-day moods, because the whole "crazy Gemini/sane Gemini/which one are you gonna get Gemini" thing is starting to get a little tired. Maybe you just need more exercise, or a better diet. You gotta do something, though.

CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22
So, spring is officially here (sure, there were some warm days at the beginning of the month, but I'm talking about the official start). Are you ready? I think this one's going to be a little different, Cancer. It's a new decade, a new start... I can't really explain it but I'm feeling optimistic. That's right, you heard me, optimism. And I think you should be too.

LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22
"It was a bright, clear morning, just after dawn. There were two of us in the rowboat, sitting in silence, waiting for the bell to sound. And as the tocsin rippled across the water to the far side of the lake we dipped our oars and began to pull." We dipped our oars and began to pull. C'mon, Leo, when is an anecdote about rowing ever just an anecdote about rowing?

VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22

What's with all the cursing, Virgo? You've been swearing up a storm lately, and it's not pretty. Do you think your newfound use of profanity gives you more personality? Do you think it makes you cool? Because you know it doesn't, right? It makes you look like a ten-year-old trying on Daddy's suit—which is to say really stupid. Now quit your fucking cussing.

LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22
Dude, are you high? WTF? Look. I don't have any fundamental problem with mind-altering substances (I love, love, love Sour Patch Kids. for example) but I think you might be in need of a spring cleansing, if you know what I mean. Can't you just enjoy the world for what it is, Libra, even if for only a moment? Try seeing with clear eyes for a few hours.

SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21
I would kill for a plate of spaghetti right now, Scorpio. And you know why? Because it would serve as a perfect metaphor for your future. The noodles represent the infinitely entangled paths that fate provides you, the sauce represents your general zest for living, and the cheese is a symbol of how you seem to be improving with age. All good things. Buon appetito!

SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21 Have you noticed lately the large number of grown women in their forties pushing around on a scooter? I have. I can only imagine these are parents who are "borrowing" their children's playthings during the school day out of some misplaced grab at childhood whimsy. Don't they look ridiculous, Sagittarius? Yes, they do. YOU PEOPLE LOOK LIKE IDIOTS.

CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19
Now that the weather's gotten warmer we can all finally get back to what we do best here in New York City: lying on our backs in the park divining animal shapes from the clouds. Look! There's a monkey! There's a narwhal! There's a monkey riding a narwhal? You see how much fun that is. My point here, Capricorn, is that you need to relearn fun. Or you will die.

AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18
Barge travel is the future, Aquarius, it's inevitable. As our roads crumble and our oil runs out and our planes refuse to fly, humanity will take to the canals, zooming all over the place in adorable little barges. Mark my words, this is what's going to happen. So why not be in the avant-garde for once? Yup. I'm pretty much telling you to buy a barge. Now.

PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20
Beach season is around the corner, Pisces... are you ready? Have you been doing 1,000 crunches a day? Are you lean, mean and depilated? If you're like me, you've been wearing a blanket around the house for the last six months and are pale, wan and sickly. I know it's gonna hurt, but I think you need some summertime boot camp.

ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19
I don't wanna know, Aries! I don't care! You have your reasons, I'm sure, well-cultivated justifications for doing all the little selfish things you do, but I really don't want to hear them—you know I'll just get angry if I do. Maybe you should listen to yourself some time, try to get a sense of just how self-deceiving you can get. Wake up, change.

TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20
I was walking in the woods one day when I discovered a trap door at my feet. I tried to open the door but found I could not. I came back with a sledgehammer and still the door held fast; dynamite... nothing. I came back each day and struggled in vain to open the trap. To this day, Taurus, I return each week and try to open the door. And still I fail, and still I return.

GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20
I knew a woman who used to catch her tears in a beaker and when she had enough liquid she'd make them into ice cubes and serve them in cocktails to her enemies. Those cocktails were really delicious, and even now I crave one. You see, Gemini, there is a dark part of us that is relieved by—enjoys even—the pain of others. Because for a moment it is not us.

CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22
Why does volleyball always get the short end of the sporting stick? Or is it netball I'm thinking of? Which is the one with the spandexed horse and the burlap helmet and the ten-mark scoring system? Don't believe me, Cancer, don't trust that this is a legitimate sport? Well I'm here to tell you that loomballing is the next big thing. Watch out, NHL.

LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22
When's the last time you just straight-up fell asleep at your desk, Leo? I swear I just did while writing this VERY IMPORTANT HOROSCOPE. It's not that I'm bored, underslept and constitutionally unable to focus on any one thing for longer than 45 minutes, it's that in channeling the sidereal voices, one becomes exhausted; which leads to sleepiness. G'night!

VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22
Man oh man. I had to wait for three different subway trains this morning, they were all so crammed up to the gills with commuters. It was horrible. And when I finally squeezed on I was surrounded by crates of geese and ducks, and giant amphorae of olive oil. Then I realized I was actually on a Roman ship, c. 27 B.C. What a weird morning I had, Virgo.

LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22
Just because you have a superpower, Libra, doesn't mean you should flaunt it—and btw, being able to walk three miles in 25 minutes isn't all that impressive a power. You know what is an awesome power? Shooting laser beams of predictive information out of your eyeballs... now that's impressive. (I can't actually do this, though I've tried.)

SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21
Whoever first said â�‚��“old habits die hardâ�‚�� would be a rich man if he'd managed to copyright the thing. Problem is, he had this terrible old habit of avoiding his responsibilities and lost the copyright application under a scattering of papers. So, the moral of this, Scorpio, is that no matter how much you screw up, you'll have something to make an excuse of.

SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21
It's time we had old-school European trams on the streets of New York, Sagittarius. Big yellow trams attached to a complex series of overhead cables that occasionally shoot sparks down upon the heads of unsuspecting pedestrians who then think they are having epiphanies. Epiphany! Maybe all the problems you're having with your roommate are your fault?

CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19
Thank you, thank you for coming. There really is a lot of love in the room tonight, I can feel it... So, on to tonight's show: our first guest is Envy, a tenacious veteran of your personality who makes sudden and upsetting public appearances at least once a month... let's hear it for Envy!!! Let's hope this is Envy's last appearance for a while, Capricorn, shall we?

AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18
These really do feel like anxious times, don't they, Aquarius? With Europe now seemingly on the brink of economic collapse, an American civic discourse that's been hijacked by nativists and naysayers, and a totally polluted China, the future doesn't seem a bright one for our funny little species. But don't let that get to you. You're in for some nice times ahead, I promise.

PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20
You gotta let yourself hope... You can't live your entire life expecting little, hoping for less. I know you're pathologically terrified of disappointment, but enough is enough. I want you, Pisces, to start visualizing the best possible outcomes in any given situation. I know that'll lead to the occasional upset, but if you don't try, you won't get anything from life.

ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19
Excuses. You’ve been making a lot of excuses lately about your behavior, and it’s not helping. Seriously, you expect me to believe you’ve joined an East German death cult that meets on Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays? Damn it, Aries, if you don’t want to hang with me, just say so. (If you are telling the truth, please don’t kill me.)

TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20
There are some who think a good stretch in the morning is really all you need for a long, healthy life. Others will tell you that stretching wrecks the blood flow and will lead to degenerate behavior. I’m on the fence, Taurus, but I think it’s probably a good thing to be able to pick up your keys without bending your knees. Hey, a rhyme! Gabbagabba.

GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20
This is the most depressing time of year, Gemini. Seriously, science has proven it, it’s not up for debate. Think about it... we’re still weeks away from fucking March, a month which isn’t even that great, anyway. And Valentine’s Day? Self-loathing for the single, and thwarted expectations for the committed. Why can’t we hibernate like bears? WHY?

CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22
When I was a little kid, I really wanted to be a plutocrat. I thought this was some kind of astronaut who ventured to the farthest rings of the solar system; you know, the most hardcore of all the deep-space explorers. Oh how my childhood dreams were mere delusions. Now, Cancer, all I want is to not screw up my toast. Aim lower.

LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22
You ever just sneak up on your kitchen? You know, in the middle of the night, creep silently along the hall, slipping through the shadows... and then BLAM you throw the lights on and try to catch the room in the act! You’ve never managed to catch the kitchen in the act, have you, Leo? I think you should switch to felt slippers.

VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22
"Glockenspiel! Glockenspiel! Glockenspiel! Papa, papa, papa! The Glockenspiel has arrived! Oh papa, play us a song on the Glockenspiel, oh please, papa, won’t you, can’t you, will you!!?" said the children. "No, no I cannot, I will not play you a tune on the Glockenspiel." "WHY??!" "Because that is a xylophone." Think about it, Virgo.

LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22
I admit it, Libra, I was in a band in high school called "Dagoba." In my defense, this was before the "prequel" trilogy, when Star Wars still had a little dignity. We did a pretty wicked thrashy cover of "My Name is Luka" by Suzanne Vega. I was younger then. Do you look back in anger, sadness, or contentment? Don’t be afraid to feel all three.

SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21
I think you should just lay low for a while, Scorpio, take a breather on the high intensity public appearances, lest you overexpose and become tiresome to your nearest (and your dearest). Leave em guessing a bit, restore some mystery to your existence... Being silent and withdrawn can be a really easy substitute for being interesting, which is hard.

SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21
Is your office colleague addicted to collecting instructional sex books and stacking them on his desk? Is this worrying to you? If you aren’t worried, perhaps you should be... Studies show that how-to sex books lead directly to Roaring 20s theme parties and affected antique slang. These are all bad things, Sagittarius, so maybe it’s intervention time.

CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19
Cross-country skiing is the perfect antidote to the winter blues. Nothing comes close to the exhilaration of gliding through snow-tipped pine woods, the sun daggering through the forest canopy, a thermos of whiskey-infused coffee in your pack, your cheeks red, your breath misting in your wake... What were we talking about, Capricorn?

AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18
Oh Aquarius, you’ve made me pretty happy. Maybe I have a hard time expressing this, convincing you just how much you matter... I know words aren’t always enough, and that action is the clearest statement in the end, but please let this humble horoscope serve as the briefest reminder of how great I think you are. The end.

PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20
I accidentally texted someone the other day—:not such a big deal, right? Except the text I sent was a bitchy joke about the person I’d sent it to... OH NOEZ! Now this person, who happens to be a Pisces, like you, won’t talk to me, and is refusing to return my riding crop. Now I have nothing to mix my batter with. The moral? Don’t be such a bitch.

ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19
I used to believe in reincarnation. I used to believe in the Tooth Fairy. I used to believe that you could shovel snow from an entire driveway just using your “mind force.” I used to believe that the Internet would be a mere passing fad. I’ve been wrong before, Aries, but this time I know you’re going to have a shitty week. Sorry.

TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20
A desire to do bad things, Taurus, does not make you a bad person. We are all complicated, highly fallible machines given to breakdowns, screw-ups, and general errors in judgment. So, lest you fully flay the skin from your back I need you to ease up on the self-castigation. Also, it’s totally fucking boring and self-obsessed. Your transgressions aren’t that interesting.

GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20
So all the oranges in Florida froze to death. When I was a kid, my favorite Freezie flavor was orange, so child-me would probably see this deep citrus freeze as a good thing. The thing is, Gemini, child-me was really stupid, even by the low standards of child-astrologists. At this point I forget what this is about because, you know, I’m still stupid.

CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22
We are pleased to inform you that you’ve been selected as the inaugural grand prize winner of our most popular prize ever! To claim your prize, simply mail this magazine to Nigeria and include ten billion Gambian dalasis sprinkled with powdered sugar and a little bourbon. And then, Cancer, everything will be all right. (Actually, it won’t.)

LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22
As I get older, Leo, I feel more inclined to use violence. I’m a little surprised by this—I’d always thought of aging as a mellowing process, an arrival home to a peaceful country. I don’t know, maybe I’m just tired of ambiguity and crave the abrupt clarity of a solid shot to the nose. THWACK! See, there I go again. Sorry. Shit, you ok?

VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22
A life on the High Seas isn’t quite as glamorous as you might think, Virgo—it’s not all cabin boys and cutlasses and grog. Look, someone has to iron the mizzen sail and declaw the king crab and talk to the Dutch (ugh). But if you’re really sure that this is what you want to do with your life, become a pirate—you should always, ALWAYS, follow your heart.

LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22
I have a confession to make, Libra, a painful one I must make so I can move forward in my life and begin healing. Here’s the thing: during the writing of my horoscopes in the fall of 2007, I knowingly took performance-enhancing drugs (coffee spiked with absinthe) to help me write. Mea culpa. Cheaters never win (if they get caught).

SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21
Blindly following your “friends” is just not cool, Scorpio. I don’t care if they’re paying you a lot of money to take orders. Wait, what? Your friends are paying you to hang out? Are they nice to you? Really? Wow. That actually doesn’t sound like such a bad gig in this economy. Overtime? Benefits! Really. Shit. They need more “friends”?

SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21
You’ve packed a lot of living into your life, Sagittarius, but if you’ll permit me a little candor, some of it seems to be catching up with you. Remember when you used to stay up for days just partying and talking and eating and ingesting whatever was put in front of you? If you keep that up, you’ll be decrepit by 2012. So yeah, cleanse.

CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19
It’s always something, Capricorn. You fix the refrigerator and the oven breaks; you quell the unrest on the coast and all of a sudden the jungle tribes act up; your foot finally stops aching and then your hair catches fire. Life right!? I know. The only way you’re ever going to escape the hassle is if you freeze yourself for a thousand years. Obvs.

AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18
Money has a funny way of actually making people happy. Well, not exactly happy in the purest sense of the word… I guess what I’m talking about is finding relief from anxiety. I don’t care what people say, Aquarius, there is a certain level of material stability required to go through life without constantly stressing the fuck out. So don’t feel bad about feeling good about money.

PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20
I got your family newsletter last month and I must say it was great to hear all about little Murray’s success with the new piano teacher. Also, please give Aunt Nancy a big, wet kiss on the cheek for me! On a more serious note, I’m afraid I have to ask for the return of my barbeque tongs… I just can’t get along without them, Pisces!

ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19
You know what’s wrong with sending drunk emails? Well, you’re drunk, and you’re sending emails. For chrissakes, Aries, get a grip on yourself. Stop trying to get attention from people who are out trying to live their lives. Make some real friends, face to face: that’s what Odin made bars for.

TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20
I love big piles of beautiful white snow everywhere, bright and cool under the blue sky. But then people start to hide their garbage in the piles, and the snow becomes dirty and black; and then it melts, Taurus, revealing the bleak filth of a thousand discarded Sunday afternoons. I don’t love that part.

GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20
A friend recently told me that I might have a little color blindness in the red spectrum. THE RED SPECTRUM! I’m pretty sure this person was accusing me of fraternizing with communists! Seriously, Gemini, what if I am and I don’t know it? Does that matter? No, not really. You can never know everything about your friends, so why worry?

CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22
Gasping for contact (and grabbing for attention, while you’re at it) is pretty unattractive, Cancer. Also, the contact you end up getting may not be the kind you want: when you’re desperate, sometimes people are more interested in the project of fixing you than in you, yourself. That’s the fix you find yourself in.

LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22
My grandmother told me never to trust a reindeer herder with smooth hands. To which I’d add, don’t trust a dermatologist with bad skin, a writer who splits infinitives, or a designer who dresses like an old lady. Sometimes appearances aren’t deceiving, Leo: go ahead and judge that book by its cover for once.

VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22
Some songs stay with you forever, coming into your head at the strangest, most intense moments, soundtracking your memories as they happen. For example, Virgo, as I write this horoscope I can’t help but hear “Divine Hammer” by the Breeders, which tells me that you’ll be “building” something new this month, like debt or a birdhouse.

LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22
You don’t need to plan out every little second of your life, Libra, it’s getting pretty obsessive compulsive, really. Just because you don’t have an exact blueprint of your route from the ice cream truck to the kiddie pool does’t mean you’re going to get lost. Seriously, you could have so much more fun if you just relaxed and let the world happen.

SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21
I know someone who moved to England a while ago and immediately started using all the British terms for things: you know, she put things in the boot of the car, her apartment became her flat, etc. In, like, the first week. She’s probably spelling gray “grey,” too. Shun the pretentious, Scorpio, affectation is a poor mask for insecurity.

SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21
So what if I over-identify with 19th-century maritime aesthetics? Are you trying to tell me that you don’t like striped shirts and curly mustaches and wool coats? Just because someone is obviously stealing their look does not necessarily make that look bad. Everybody steals, Sagittarius, it just depends on who you steal from.

CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19
Sometimes that quiet person sitting on the sidelines isn’t cool and mysterious— sometimes they’re just socially inept and uninteresting (and a terrible dinner guest). Sometimes that person who’s all alone deserves to be: not everyone is misunderstood, some people are just dull and unoriginal, Capricorn.

AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18
It’s a new year. Let’s make it better, shall we, Aquarius? Things to do this year: become smarter, fitter and spend more time trying to relax. Also, let’s organize all of our material possessions into colorful piles and set the whole crazy thing on fire! And then we’ll never have to worry about this kind of crap again.

PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20
You know why I like dogs? Loyalty. Dogs know about loyalty. Dogs remember who feeds them, who lets them sleep under the covers and who picks the burrs off their tails. They also remember who tries to steal their toys, and who smells bad. Misbehave, Pisces, and you may just get bitten.

ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19
We are like artichoke hearts, Aries, our leaves peeled and dipped in mayonnaise one by one, until there are no protective layers left between us and the world. Those leaves are our parents, teachers, bosses. Our exercise riders, our session bassists. Our astrologers. One day, you will have to write your own horoscope.

TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20
Shortly after graduation, I lived next door to a saxophonist. I would return late at night from my apprenticeship at the observatory, and I would hear the sax wailing as I turned onto my street and watched my long shadow float through pools of streetlamp. Then he moved out, and a prog-rock drummer moved in. I detest prog, Taurus.

GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20
A neatly packed duffel is a sentence. A duffel (with shirts and ties jammed in and rumpled) is a sentence with a parenthetical. A duffel—stuffed—a garment bag, a rolling suitcase (for toiletries; extra layers; laptop in case there’s time to get work done): sub-Jamesian jibberjabber. Action is language, Gemini; efficiency is eloquence.

CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22
New acquaintances were invariably impressed that I had read Finnegan’s Wake, and would press for details about Joyce’s late opus. Then one day, it was suggested that the saga of stolen leprechaun gold I had described sounded more like Finian’s Rainbow. Our self-knowledge, Cancer, is often constructed upon a faulty foundation.

LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22
It’s true that we are all of us like snowflakes. That stuff about no two snowflakes being exactly alike, though, is bunk: many snowflakes are in fact identical. (It’s been proven. By science.) You think a snowflake cares about its specialness, though? Of course not, Leo: it’s too busy being urinated on by dogs.

VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22
Did you know that for years Austria was left off maps of Europe? The mapmakers just cold forgot one year, then neglected to doublecheck their preexisting templates. But looking at it another way, Virgo, what’s Austria done lately that anyone should remember it? Don’t be like Austria. Or those mapmakers. Or your father.

LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22
It was so thoughtful of you to buy me that kimchi fridge last Christmas—you knew what a hard time I was having with the dogs digging it up. People who complain about gifts reducing relationships to transactions have a point. But here is another point, Libra: It is really, really hard to find a place in Fort Greene Park to bury kimchi.

SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21
I once loved an aerialist, Scorpio. For hours I would sit raptly, neck craned upwards, thrilling to her every Ankle Return, Double Swan and Angel Drop, the spotlights burning through the chalk dust to make a halo ‘round her curls. Thighs like yams, that girl had. Then, after a week, she moved on to another town. The circus is like that.

SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21
Hot coffee and the sunrise—that’s all I need. Well, a muffin would help (blueberry is nice), and today’s Times. A sheepskin jacket if I go out to clear brush. Bisque for lunch I guess? A good book, an aged single-malt. A Michelin-rated chef to cook dinner. A private screening room, for after. A masseuse named “Ute.” Simple pleasures, Sagittarius.

CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19
I’m innocent I tell you, innocent! Sure, there were witnesses and DNA samples; sure, my Facebook status that night was “Out Committing Crimez.” But I say I was framed! Denial may be undignified and cowardly, Capricorn, but sometimes it’s the only way to avoid the stigma of a conviction for impersonating an anesthesiologist.

AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18
After his funeral, it emerged that my people’s greatest poet was notorious among the local whores for requesting “the mielkki special” (a role-play involving the demure milkmaid, the lusty rural mail carrier, and an actual live cow). Scandal! There’s a lesson here, Aquarius. “Get your kicks, don’t feel guilty, soon you’ll be dead,” maybe? Sure, why not.

PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20
Oh to glide along the snow, the wind biting your cheeks, your body tucked snugly within a blanket, the Arctic vista spread out on all sides as your master mushes your fellow-dogs ever forward—but wait, why aren’t you out there with them? Of course, your sore paw. A sick day is a wonderful thing, Pisces. Take one, you’ve earned it.

ARIES MAR 21 — APR 19
We are like artichoke hearts, Aries, our leaves peeled and dipped in mayonnaise one by one, until there are no protective layers left between us and the world. Those leaves are our parents, teachers, bosses. Our exercise riders, our session bassists. Our astrologers. One day, you will have to write your own horoscope.

TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20
Shortly after graduation, I lived next door to a saxophonist. I would return late at night from my apprenticeship at the observatory, and I would hear the sax wailing as I turned onto my street and watched my long shadow float through pools of streetlamp. Then he moved out, and a prog-rock drummer moved in. I detest prog, Taurus.

GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20
A neatly packed duffel is a sentence. A duffel (with shirts and ties jammed in and rumpled) is a sentence with a parenthetical. A duffel—stuffed—a garment bag, a rolling suitcase (for toiletries; extra layers; laptop in case there’s time to get work done): sub-Jamesian jibberjabber. Action is language, Gemini; efficiency is eloquence.

CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22
New acquaintances were invariably impressed that I had read Finnegan’s Wake, and would press for details about Joyce’s late opus. Then one day, it was suggested that the saga of stolen leprechaun gold I had described sounded more like Finian’s Rainbow. Our self-knowledge, Cancer, is often constructed upon a faulty foundation.

LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22
It’s true that we are all of us like snowflakes. That stuff about no two snowflakes being exactly alike, though, is bunk: many snowflakes are in fact identical. (It’s been proven. By science.) You think a snowflake cares about its specialness, though? Of course not, Leo: it’s too busy being urinated on by dogs.

VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22
Did you know that for years Austria was left off maps of Europe? The mapmakers just cold forgot one year, then neglected to doublecheck their preexisting templates. But looking at it another way, Virgo, what’s Austria done lately that anyone should remember it? Don’t be like Austria. Or those mapmakers. Or your father.

LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22
It was so thoughtful of you to buy me that kimchi fridge last Christmas—you knew what a hard time I was having with the dogs digging it up. People who complain about gifts reducing relationships to transactions have a point. But here is another point, Libra: It is really, really hard to find a place in Fort Greene Park to bury kimchi.

SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21
I once loved an aerialist, Scorpio. For hours I would sit raptly, neck craned upwards, thrilling to her every Ankle Return, Double Swan and Angel Drop, the spotlights burning through the chalk dust to make a halo ‘round her curls. Thighs like yams, that girl had. Then, after a week, she moved on to another town. The circus is like that.

SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21
Hot coffee and the sunrise—that’s all I need. Well, a muffin would help (blueberry is nice), and today’s Times. A sheepskin jacket if I go out to clear brush. Bisque for lunch I guess? A good book, an aged single-malt. A Michelin-rated chef to cook dinner. A private screening room, for after. A masseuse named “Ute.” Simple pleasures, Sagittarius.

CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19
I’m innocent I tell you, innocent! Sure, there were witnesses and DNA samples; sure, my Facebook status that night was “Out Committing Crimez.” But I say I was framed! Denial may be undignified and cowardly, Capricorn, but sometimes it’s the only way to avoid the stigma of a conviction for impersonating an anesthesiologist.

AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18
After his funeral, it emerged that my people’s greatest poet was notorious among the local whores for requesting “the mielkki special” (a role-play involving the demure milkmaid, the lusty rural mail carrier, and an actual live cow). Scandal! There’s a lesson here, Aquarius. “Get your kicks, don’t feel guilty, soon you’ll be dead,” maybe? Sure, why not.

PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20
Oh to glide along the snow, the wind biting your cheeks, your body tucked snugly within a blanket, the Arctic vista spread out on all sides as your master mushes your fellow-dogs ever forward—but wait, why aren’t you out there with them? Of course, your sore paw. A sick day is a wonderful thing, Pisces. Take one, you’ve earned it.

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.