This Week's Horoscope
New babies in Bali don't touch the ground. For almost the first year of their lives, they're held in the arms of family members. By the time their tiny toes first contact the earth and begin to learn the language of setbacks, of falling, they're already fluent in the dialect of love and nurture. Your recent familiarity with the vocabulary of failure depresses me. You've gotten so used to cutting your feet on the broken glass of old dreams that you've forgotten how it feels to waltz on the warm air of new hopes. This week, remember.
I predict that the next New Yorker to win a good chunk of dough will buy me a desperately needed new laptop. While I have no reason to believe this will actually happen, besides my fervent desire for it to be so, I'd like to point out that many of our hopes are perceived as unrealistic, foolish?often extremely unlikely. Luckily for me and everyone else, there are some folks like me who enjoy proving that life can be full of phenomenal surprises, not just the dismal disappointments that cynics pretend to expect. Expect serendipity this week.
I read about a curiously practical fashion that has become common among men in some Middle Eastern countries, where direct contact between guys and gals is strictly forbidden. These studs haven't forsaken the art of flirtation. Instead they take it to new levels. They equip themselves with an extra cell phone. When in the proximity of a subtly encouraging woman, they toss her a phone and ring her up, thus neatly circumventing this inconvenient cultural taboo. Your own nagging quandary begs a similarly creative and elegant solution. If you succeed in discovering it, you'll probably not only get laid but also have a chance at riches greater than most virgins' dowries.
I loved obstacle courses when I was a kid. I'd gamely skin my knuckles on tree bark, carefully but quickly insert my sneakered feet into discarded car tires and rub my palms raw on coarse rope. I've received complaints from disillusioned Caps who believe that the ordinary pandemonium of the universe has of late actually organized itself in direct opposition to their own efforts. It's true, my sweet Goats. Your reality is conspiring to trip you up. But this obstacle course is not designed to break you, only make you stronger. Happy swinging, leaping, crawling, climbing and running!
One of my favorite Aquarians just sent me a long e-mail, chronicling his recent life. I was pleasantly shocked to hear him recount, in satisfied and joyful tones, his growth on the gorgeous farm he lives on now, devoted to the practice of mindful living in the Zen Buddhist tradition. This more quietly contemplative existence is in sharp contrast to the frenzied anarchy of his life when we first met?he was way too into speed and sex. I doubt that the nature of your life's imbalance is quite this extreme, but I don't doubt that it might be time to add a little sanity to your insanity, or vice versa. You'll probably find that it's exactly the chocolate that your peanut butter needs.
Lucky for the rest of us, most of you Fish don't market or advertise your genius. This leaves a lot of room for those who are merely brilliant but a lot better at aggressive self-promotion. Thank you, Pisces, for leaving your talents unplumbed, fettered and hidden from the world. Fortunately for you, there are a few fuckers like me who are willing?no, eager?to deliver the solid, soul-satisfying kick in the ass that you've been asking for all along.
I could spend the entire summer gorging on peaches. There's something sensual about my favorite fruit. Maybe it's the fuzzy skin, or the way the abundant juice of the best peaches dribbles down my chin, or flows down my forearm, dripping off my elbow. Right now, your own beauty is just about as delicious as perfectly ripe fruit in season. Maybe you should advertise your cherry, or offer to let someone slurp on your mango or peel your banana. Your sweet gorgeousness may attract unwanted attention. With your ability to attract real bees with sexy stingers, don't hesitate to tell those fruit flies to go fuck a pineapple.
I had almost completely finished my first edit of this week's "Sign Language" when I fucked up and erased the entire thing. My brilliant rough draft abruptly entered the realm of extraordinary myth. I despondently attempted to reconstruct the fading memory of inspired words, in vain. The sad fact of the matter is that the reality could never live up to the fantasy stored in my head, just like the genuinely amazing person who's trying to get your attention is overshadowed by the mythological god/dess you've spent years developing inside your own head. Once I accepted this fact, I realized that the new words I wrote were actually better than the originals, just like s/he is at least 10 times more qualified to love you than the figment you thought up.
The nun lectures them, her finger wagging like plump, cooked shrimp, pink and succulent. They all stare at her studiously, pretending to give a shit. Their plaid skirts whisper to their knees. These girls are not interested in what the scolding sister has to say. Instead they are dreaming of trying on pilfered lipstick in the bathroom, talking about sex and refuting guilt, Catholic or otherwise. The moral exhortations of stodgy, celibate prudes can't contain their lust for life any more than the playground chainlink can hold back their imaginations. Pull the crank on restrictions imposed early on in your life: This week your stars, cherries or gold bars are sure to line up and deliver the jackpot.
Round and round the rapidly spinning wheel you go, you silly gerbil. Sometimes you feel motionless despite your efforts, like an ant running on a turntable. Even when you can achieve the illusion of actual motion, you're inevitably disappointed when you find yourself turning the same bend for the umpteenth time. There's not much even a powerful seer like myself can do to change the cyclical, carousel nature of your life. There's reason for hope, though. Events set in motion months ago will at long last conclusively reveal that what you thought to be a futile playground merry-go-round is actually an immense, corkscrewing spiral staircase, and I devoutly believe you can make it all the way to the top.
Every night he would go to the garden wall, which seemed as impenetrable as the Great Wall of China, bristling with soldiers. Without fail the lonely woman inside would toss him flowers, tumbling down like used tissues. Today, rose of Sharon; yesterday, hibiscus; tomorrow, nasturtium. Only her silhouette and the fragrant gifts she flung like pieces of herself?blessed nail clippings?were familiar, so he was anxious when she requested a meeting. Soon, one of your heart's true desires will point out their hitherto unnoticed status as such. When face to face with a fantasy, it's best to not question. Just pick up a flower and hand it over.
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