Taurus (April 20-May 20): If you'd like one of the nuns of St. John Bosco to say a little prayer for you every day this year, you have to donate $100 to their group, the Salesian Sisters. If, on the other hand, you want my team of Prayer Warriors to argue with God in your behalf, we'll do it for you absolutely free. This is, I remind you, the prime time of the year for you Taureans to issue your demands to the Divine Source -- as well as to humbly beg for assistance and intervention. Mail your requests to Prayer Warriors, PO Box 150247, San Rafael, CA 94915.
Gemini (May 21-June 20): It would be a good week to try doing handstands on barstools and to challenge nemeses to arm-wrestling matches and to come to work with hickeys on your neck and shoulder. It wouldn't be such a great time to give old-lady-style hugs to charismatic new acquaintances or to speak with a forked tongue simply to save yourself a little time or to crawl into foggy swamps with people who'd like you to share their misery. Be gutsy, feisty, and tasty, Gemini, not timid, niggling, and sniveling.
Cancer (June 21-July 22): Harper's magazine recently reproduced a warning given to junior high school students in Tallahassee before a school dance. I take the liberty of publishing it in your horoscope this week because I'm very certain you should do the exact opposite of everything it says. Here it is. "No spoon dancing, no hip grinding against another student, no kissing, no hands below the waist, no riding on another's back, no conga dancing, no throwing someone in the air, no being passed around bodily by a group, no slam dancing, and no jumping around on top of others."
Leo (July 23-Aug. 22): "Separation anxiety" is a term used by psychologists to refer to the distress a baby feels when its mommy or main caretaker is gone too long. We all experienced that primordial worry. For most of us, it became an archetypal source of trauma that is touched, even when we're adults, by any event that vaguely stimulates the fear of being abandoned. By my astrological reckoning, Leo, you've been having to deal with separation anxiety to an uncomfortable degree lately. But I believe you're about to find a cure.
Virgo (Aug. 23-Sept. 22): On more than one occasion in the last few years, you've reminded me of the ancient Roman holy man St. Simeon Stylites. Famous for his stupendous mortifications, the dude spent 36 years wearing an iron collar as he lived full time on a 3-foot-in-diameter platform at the top of a tall pillar. While you've never quite approached his heights, your renunciations and immolations have nonetheless earned you the right to be considered for sainthood. Having said all that, though, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you now to lay aside your sacrificial shtick. Your astrological aspects are just too good to justify you doing the iron-collar thing any longer.
Libra (Sept. 23-Oct. 22): Studies show that a substantial percentage of childhood traumas occur during recess at school. There on the playground, where adult supervision is lax and pent-up energy is explosively released, is when peer pressure often exacts its cruelest torments. Think back now to any events in your own life when other children inflicted deep wounds on your tender psyche; bring that pain all the way up to the conscious level. There's an abundance of healing in the air this week, and I predict it will show you exactly what to do in order to repair the ancient damage.
Scorpio (Oct. 23-Nov. 21): You can stay out all night partying and playing chicken with your fears, but I wouldn't recommend it. You can jump into battle mode at the slightest sign of agitation and have fun messing with every gossipy distraction that tickles a nerve, but I beg you not to. If I had my way, Scorpio, you'd retreat into your sanctuary for a good long talk with yourself. You'd stroke yourself with feathers and fantasize about what you'll be doing in 10 years. You'd post signs on your door that read "By invitation only" and "Trespassers will be eaten," and make sure no one enters unless they agree to all of your rules.
Sagittarius (Nov. 22-Dec. 21): It's a tiptoe-past-the- cranky-people kind of week, Sagittarius. A-don't-sneak-up-from-behind-and-yell-boo kind of week. Keep a very light touch and put a heavy emphasis on subtlety. Cock your ear and sleep with one eye open, if possible. Cover your ass at least two different ways, and hide important secrets in the equivalent of a Chinese box within a Chinese box within a Chinese box. Got all that? At the same time, however, I urge you to remain blithe and lighthearted and casual. That'll be the perfect disguise for all your cagey strategy.
Capricorn (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): Surveys show that 60 percent of all liberals regularly consult newspaper horoscopes, whereas only 38 percent of conservatives do. In the case of my column, the statistics are even more extreme. Upward of 75 percent of my readers are bleeding-heart, left-wing, pagan, tantric feminists. I certainly don't hold it against you if you don't fit that demographic, though. And it's likely that as a Capricorn, you don't. But just to prove I love you as much as all my wacko commie fans, I'm going to slip you the following inside dope: If you really must act like an acquisitive, power-hungry, money-grubbing, macho individualist, the next few weeks are a relatively karma-free time to do it.
Aquarius (Jan. 20-Feb. 18): A drum roll sounds and the crowd hushes. A spotlight quivers at the edge of the stage as if teasing the star from out of the wings. The air is pregnant with an almost delirious expectancy, as if the Second Coming were about to materialize and perform a miracle. And then, from the unlit side of the stage, a baby lamb wanders out. It raises its head to sniff curiously and then turns to face the audience, provoking a titter that quickly swells to a gale of laughter. Whereupon you wake from your dream and wonder, "What the hell was that all about?" Later you read this astrology column, where I tell you the baby lamb is, for all intents and purposes, your version of the Second Coming.
Pisces (Feb. 19-March 20): My astrological research indicated to me that the Wolf Moon, which is now upon us, would mess with your grip on reality more than any other lunar event in 1997. To prepare, I did research on cures for full-moon lunacy. Here are a few. 1) Balance an apple on top of your head while leafing through Carl Sagan's The Demon-Haunted World upside down and chanting "I am not kooky" exactly 33 times. 2) Place one foot in a bubble bath and the other in a bucket of red wine while visualizing yourself waving bye-bye to your mother. 3) Put on all red clothes and run up and down a flight of stairs 10 times while listening to a tape of Johnny Cash doing a dramatic reading of Kahlil Gibran.