Taurus (April 20-May 20): It may be impossible to avoid developing some new addiction in the coming days. I can almost guarantee that you will at least become obsessed with a pretty plaything you've merely been attracted to before. Since you're unlikely to find a way to escape this fate, try to arrange to get hooked on stuff that's good for you -- broccoli instead of heroin, for example, a master teacher instead of an abusive lover, strip poker rather than gambling on the stock market.
Gemini (May 21-June 20): In his book History of Torture, John Swain describes a subtle form of tribulation that seems almost benign compared with having bamboo splints shoved beneath the fingernails. In squassation the victim was fettered to a table and a thin, clingy cloth draped over his face. The torturer steadily dribbled water on the cloth, which slowly but relentlessly conducted moisture into the mouth and nostrils. Does this have more than a passing resemblance to what you've been enduring lately, Gemini? I bet it does. On the one hand it's not so bad; on the other it's about to drive you berserk. (P.S. You can and must escape.)
Cancer (June 21-July 22): Percentage of Cancerians who're in the midst of an experience having certain resemblances to falling in love: 67. Number of homes whose energy needs could be met for a month if there were a way to harness the animal magnetism now being radiated by the average Cancerian: 137. Rank of Cancerians, among all signs of the zodiac, in both reproductive and artistic fertility: 1. Percentage of Cancerians who'll be confused about the difference between frivolous diversions and healthy pleasures: 31. Distance covered by lining up, head to toe, all Cancerians who're entering their second childhoods: halfway to the moon.
Leo (July 23-Aug. 22): While on the whole I think your time in the Magic Theater will be well spent, you do have to be alert for deceivers and impostors. Also, the majority of the reflections you'll see in the Hall of Mirrors will be instructive, but a few will subtly distort your image in ways you can't afford to believe in. So enjoy your adventures in this alternative reality, Leo. Just keep in mind that a small proportion of the fantasies you encounter will not be in the service of beauty and truth.
Virgo (Aug. 23-Sept. 22): Drink in some dreamy music on the
headphones while you channel-surf the TV and devour an emotion-churning novel. Wear a Star of David necklace and clutch a Tarot card while praying to Kwan Yin in front of a statue of Mary Magdalene. Pour equal parts cappuccino, whiskey, and infant formula into a tall glass and gulp it down between bites of organic carrots and a McDonald's fatburger. Boast to your friends that while everyone else seems to be suffering from a shrinking attention span, yours is expanding.
Libra (Sept. 23-Oct. 22): I'm taking the week off from writing your horoscope to devote myself with more ferocious intensity to grubbing for money -- in an enlightened way, of course. You'll be relieved to know, though, that I've ransacked other sources and come up with two fortune cookie-style oracles that are completely in sync with your current cosmic mandate (which is not unlike the good greed that's driving me). Your fortunes come courtesy of James Finn Garner's book Apocalypse Wow! 1) You are wealthier in friends than rich in goods, Libra, so maybe it's time to get some richer friends. 2) Wealth is headed in your direction; so watch out for runaway armored cars.
Scorpio (Oct. 23-Nov. 21): A few years back, sculptor Rachel Whiteread was named best artist of the year during a show at London's Tate Gallery. The K. Foundation chose that same occasion, however, to bestow on her the sarcastic honor of being Britain's worst artist. I suspect something like this will happen to you in the next couple of weeks, Scorpio. Your efforts will be medicinal for some, upsetting to others; you'll be lauded and pilloried. But no matter what your influence, you'll be downright unforgettable -- and in some cases an object of obsession or a breeder of hypnotic trance.
Sagittarius (Nov. 22-Dec. 21): When I was shot in the butt in Durham, N.C., years ago, I was wearing the next best thing to bulletproof underwear. It was an evening in May. I'd just finished writing a 22-page poem. I folded up the text and jammed it in my back pocket, then headed downtown on foot. Halfway there, I was interrupted by a shotgun-wielding assailant. As the ER doctor ministered to me later, she pulled out the pellet-riddled pages of poetry and said, "These prevented a far more serious injury." And that's how poetry saved my ass, Sagittarius. I believe it could save yours, too, in the coming months, though not as literally. Here are some ass-saving poets to consult: Rumi, Neruda, Rilke, David Whyte, Mary Oliver, Gabriela Mistral. (Or write your own.)
Capricorn (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): You know what deferred payments are. You're probably familiar with the concept of deferred sleep. But have you heard about deferred pain? It's angst you can put off for a rainy day when you're more in the mood to benefit from it. And this week, Capricorn, I recommend a hearty, hedonistic week full of all the above deferments. Accumulate a little debt if you must, go without your usual amount of sleep, and refuse to recognize any torment that might interfere with your inalienable right to act like an open-hearted sex god. You've got a date to indulge in a cathartic romp on the frontiers of science.
Aquarius (Jan. 20-Feb. 18): Even if you're a woman, your job is to be like a spyboy this week. In Mardi Gras, a spyboy is the person who cavorts at the front of the parade, serving as a combination clown and troublemaker. His job is to get everyone riled up, to do whatever it takes to induce the giddy craziness necessary to escape normal patterns of thought and behavior. You've got to have a commanding presence to be a good spyboy, Aquarius, as well as an ability to provoke healing mischief.
Pisces (Feb. 19-March- 20): It's not utterly out of the question that you'll get stigmata this week. I wouldn't be shocked, for that matter, if a burning bush spoke to you, or a spiky-haired angel materialized at your bedside long enough to slip you a prophetic (though intensely practical) vision. In other words, Pisces, the spirit world is dying to deliver a very concrete statement. Invisible yayas are about to become bankable gagas. Let's hope that in the face of such explicit revelations you'll be willing to revise your religious beliefs.