ARIES (MAR. 20-APR. 19): You've been
acting like a real BITCH lately. And you can't quite figure out why. Well,
it comes back to that old truism: if you're having trouble coming up with the answers ... it
simply means you're not asking the right questions. Perhaps I can be of some assistance.
Question: do you believe that there is a class of
people that is so evolved that for them technology is merely magic? Question: do you believe in the
existence of a type of sapient creature so psychically advanced that to them an object is
an opportunity and a star is only a miracle waiting to happen?
You don't? I see. All of a sudden you're not so fucking
gullible. Well, they're called the Vituperians, and they live next to one of the stars in the
constellation Aries. A star called Sutra-19, which they recently relocated in order to extend
an especially pleasant summer.
So you've been acting like a BITCH lately ... and will continue to
do so for the rest of your life ... because Aries, The Ram ... is now shaped like a Dog.TAURUS
(APR. 20-MAY 20): Like all professional astrologers, I love rugged manual labor and in
particular I love to garden. Working with living things in a nurturing environment ... there's nothing more satisfying. When I tell my little green friends that they will "soon be pruned by strong, confident hands," heh-heh, and then I prune them, I can really sense that I am honing the accuracy of my astrological forecasts. If plants had money I would need no other clients.
So I had
just gotten through with an afternoon of gardening when my brother comes out to say hello.
"So, Merlin," he said, opening his billfold, "I was
wondering if you had, you know, predicted that I would dock you four hours' pay for running the
Ride-a-mower over Nan's African Violets."
I smiled
quixotically. Let him wonder. "Just three words for you, dear brother. 'Buy. Starwave. Stock.' As
much as you can get your hands on. Starwave. Yeah, man. Came to me in a dream."
He looked at me as if to say: I have to pay my analysts top
dollar for that kind of advice. "So if that's such a hot tip, Kreskin, why don't you take that
crumpled fiver there and buy some Starwave of your very own?"
I smiled again and spoke slowly. "I am a Scorpio, Brent. You are a Taurus.
Starwave will only increase in price for Taureans. Lunar position emphasizes creativity,
spirituality, romance. Good luck to you." And I suppose he promptly went down to the stock market
and bought some Starwave stocks, I don't know. I was gone. I had done my part. I had an appointment
to keep. With a lovely lady named Emerald Downs.
Now, like all professional astrologers I like to go
to the race-track on occasion and watch the ponies go through their paces and wish bitterly that I
had any interest at all in material things and "making money," so I could quickly make my fortune
and stop being a wet-nurse for the needy and confused. But no. I'm in the people-helping business.
Anyway, on this particular afternoon I was
enjoying the sunshine and cheering on the great, hard-charging steeds and quietly making
prognostications to myself when ... I just "happened" to glance down at a discarded racing form, and
... "What the ...?"
I could scarcely believe it.
That ... name. There it was ... again! And in the very next race! This was more than just a
coincidence!
I strolled to the nearest betting
window, laid down my fiver and all the bus change I could muster on the gilded charger, and retired
to my seat to watch the race with an air of ennui I suppose. And when, as it leaned snorting into the third
corner, the filly in question broke its leg and had to be destroyed, and while all about me looked
on in dismay and -- what other word is there for it? -- surprise, I just sat there, smiling the
smile of one who has taken the trouble to know the future, and who upon its arrival greets it
laconically as one would an old friend. Been there done that. That's the gift of foresight.
Oh, and the name of that horse? But surely you've guessed
it by now.
That's right. African Violet.
GEMINI (MAY 21-JUNE 20): Had this friend, Meredith. Sweet little nubbins of a girl.
Had this annoying habit. She would get a melody in her head -- not an idea, god forbid, just a
melody -- and then not be able to get rid of it. And I gave her this bit of advice: "When you get a
melody in your head, Meredith, and this goes for you, too, Gemini, and you can't rid of it, simply
replace it with another, sweeter melody. Like ... Kumbaya." You know the tune. "Kumbaya, my lord.
Kum-bay-a ..." And she said thanks, and sure enough it worked, except that five minutes later she
complained that she couldn't get that melody out of her head. Heh-heh. Anyway, it became kind of a
running gag between us. Anytime she would forget herself and grow overly chatty or otherwise
wearisome, I would calmly say, "Meredith? Kumbaya." And she'd go, "Darn it!," and proceed to spend
the rest of the day with that hateful (continued in Cancer)
CANCER (JUNE
21-JULY 22): (continued from Gemini) melody in her head. And it evolved to the
point where I'd simply have to say "Meredith?" And then to the point where all I had to do was clear
my throat. And soon just put that expression on my face. Eventually I could just stand near her and
put that melody into her head. Well, Meredith moved away. We would talk occasionally on the phone,
and just the sound of my voice reminded her of that awful Kumbaya. So she wouldn't answer the phone,
and eventually she couldn't be anywhere near a phone because just the sound of it ringing would make
her think it might be me and then it would start again. So she moved to a commune near Austin that
didn't have phones, but every day that she was there she was reminded of why she had moved there,
which was to try not to think about Kumbaya. "Oh, lo-ord, Kum-bay-a." And now I hear she is heavily
medicated. That is sometimes what happens when you pester me for advice.
PISCES (JAN.
20-FEB. 20): I'm a Scorpio, and we don't give stock-market advice because we think that's all about money and we're more into helping people. But something interesting happened to me last night.
Last night I dreamed I was a Pisces. Frail, small, emotionally immature, I
crept fearfully through the streets of Belltown handing bus change and cigarettes to vagabonds in
the hope of receiving a small smile or a mumbled "God bless you," the sort of pathetic reassurance a Piscean
must seek from strangers since he cannot get it from friends or family.
Suddenly before me appeared a friendly cherub garbed in
loincloth and sandals. "Hello," I said. "Here ... have a cigarette. Please."
"I am
Chandra," he said. "Cherub of the Pisces sign. I offer you my services as your personal astrological
guide."
"Chandra, why am I so frail and down on my
luck?"
He said, "If you are not finding the
answers that you seek ... it simply means you are not asking the right questions."
"O Chandra, Cherub of the Pisces sign, I have no idea what
you just got through saying."
Chandra smiled.
"Lunar cycle indicates activity, restraint is in order. Opportunities arise in area of finance.
Accent on change, unusual personal move is promising."
"That just made no sense at all."
He
leaned forward and spoke more slowly. "SELL YOUR STARWAVE STOCK. Get rid of it. If you can't sell
it, give it away. IF YOU CAN'T GIVE IT AWAY, DESTROY IT. Tear it into pieces and flush it down the
toilet."
"Destroying it seems a bit rash," I said
thoughtfully. "Perhaps if I just sold it with complete disregard for the selling price, and what
effect that would have on the value of Starwave stock in general, which of course would plummet if enough of us were receptive to your wisdom."
"That'll be fine," said the cherub. "Then your life will improve."
Then I awoke. Now, I am a Scorpio, and Scorpios don't give stock-market advice. But cherubs do ... and I can tell you it's usually super advice!
AQUARIUS (MAY 21-JUNE 20): Let's say, for the sake of argument, that you neglected to read this column one
week. And at some point soon thereafter an acquaintance informed you that he'd noticed that my
forecast for you for that week mentioned that you would be murdering your children. Nonsense, you'd say to
yourself. I'm not like that. And you might even avoid your children, as your little way of trying
to "prove me wrong."
Then, when it would turn out
that you went ahead and murdered your children, you'd be more than a little impressed with my powers
of prognostication. And you would read my column with a bit more care in the future, in case I
should make occasional predictions about your cell-mates, and their changing moods and feelings.
Now, I love kids: I am not about to predict that you will
"murder your children." I don't even know if you have any children. But that doesn't mean I'm not
going to make a prediction for you this week. In fact, I already have. It's ... all right, I'll
spare you the details. You can't do anything about it anyway. But I will tell you this much.
When it happens, you will not be very impressed.
You will think: jeez, I could've predicted that. You'll stop reading my column. More important
things to do with your time, and all that.
Ah,
well. All I can do is try my best. Sorry I wasn't entertaining enough for you. Oh ... did I say your children? I
meant your neighbor's children. Little slip-up. Didn't mean to frighten you. You see, they're out
there in the yard making so much [continued next week]
LIBRA (JULY
23-AUG. 22): Every astrological sign corresponds with a particular part of the body. For
example, Scorpio is commonly known as the sign of the genitals. I should know: as a Scorpio, I
produce a long, lean, chiseled erection, with one of which I begin each day as a matter of lifestyle.
Until this morning. Oh dear. You should've been
there.
I woke Roberto with a light tap, and he
turned toward me with a smile of expectancy. But upon seeking the tell-tale bulge in the sheets,
where now lay not even a pucker, he let out a little shriek.
"Wait, dear, let me explain," I said. "You see, just because someone is born, say, a
Scorpio doesn't mean that person will always remain a Scorpio. If you are a growing, changing, learning
person it is possible you will evolve into a different sign. It's something I've tried to prevent by
not growing and changing, but ... damn it, that's what I'm best at." My voice choked. How
could I tell him that our worst fears had been realized? "Roberto, honey ... I'm a Libra now."
"A Libra??! Scales!??" He recoiled. "You disgust
me!"
"Please don't," I sobbed. "I'm more emotional
now. Also, I now have strong, confident hands, perfect for a sensuous massage."
"I am leaving you!" And he gathered his things and left.
I spent the rest of the morning weeping in bed,
and finally got up to take a shower. It was only then that I noticed: it seems that somehow in the
course of the previous night's activities my penis had become pinched in a large alligator clip. Removal
of the offending object set things right again. So, anyway, disregard the previous. I mean, come on.
Change signs? You wish.
VIRGO (AUG. 23-SEPT. 22): Go ahead and swap signs with
a Leo today. You have my permission.
LEO (SEPT. 23-OCT. 22): If a Virgo offers
to swap forecasts, don't do it. Christ, look at what you'd be getting in return. You'd be right back
here again. And this is a shitty forecast.
VIRGO (AUG. 23-SEPT. 22): Okay, that
didn't work. No forecast. Take the week off.
LEO (SEPT. 23-OCT. 22): Whoa! On
second thought, go ahead and swap. You could use a week without a forecast.
SAGITTARIUS
(NOV.22-DEC. 20): Once again this week you will read my prediction for you, have a hearty
laugh, and prove me wrong in front of all your friends and co-workers. For the love of god, can't
you just leave me alone?
CAPRICORN (DEC. 21-JAN. 19): Your glaucoma is acting
up again. Pain, blurred vision. If you are reading this, you are not a Capricorn. Can't you mind
your own fucking business?
YOU WHO TOOK SO LONG TO COME OUT THAT YOU WERE BORN UNDER TWO
SIGNS: I would like you to cut out this forecast and show it to your psychoanalyst.
HOROSCOPE FOR PEOPLE BORN ON THE SPACE SHUTTLE: Kind of an astrology joke. Nobody's
been born on the shuttle yet. But it's well-known in astrological circles that anyone born in earth
orbit will absorb a concatenation of all twelve cosmic miasmas simultaneously. And will spend life
in a vegetative state fibrillating between astrological signs at a rate of six miasmas per
nanosecond. NASA has a shuttle birth planned for 2012. We can't wait!
