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REAL ASTROLOGY For an Unreal World 

Wednesday, Jun 9 1999
Aries (March 21-April 19): "Opportunity is often difficult to recognize," said William Arthur Ward. "We usually expect it to beckon us with beepers and billboards." Amen to that, brothers and sisters. It's exactly what you need to hear now that you're on the verge of missing a quiet but juicy invitation that is slipping through the shadows. If you don't notice the good fortune soon, it might have to resort to tripping you up and making you fall on your face.

Taurus (April 20-May 20): Even as we speak, a talent scout who has the power to change your life is getting goose bumps. Figure out why, and capitalize on it. Meanwhile, a few miles away, a chameleon who's always had your number just lost it. Find out more, and take advantage of it. If that's not enough to keep you busy, I'll clue you in to the fact that two cool fools only recently realized you have something they want. Discover what, and exploit it. (P.S. I should also mention that there's a wild thing out there who would love to lick your hand. Ascertain who and why, etc.)

Gemini (May 21-June 20): The colors I usually associate with the sign of Gemini are sky blue, lemon yellow, and shiny silver: airy, adept, adaptable hues. These days, though, my mind's eye is awash in a lush swath of grassy green whenever I turn my psychic attention to you. I'm convinced that's because you're in the throes of one of your all-time greatest growing periods. You're a teeming flurry of blooms; a lavish swarm of exuberance; a fertile flourish of succulence.

Cancer (June 21-July 22): Although I regard TV as the most ingenious poison ever designed, I'll never put a "Kill Your Television" bumper sticker on my car. No matter how morally justified my anger is, hating hateful things just perpetuates the "Us vs. Them" thinking I crusade against. My 8-year-old daughter seems to have taken my stance one step further. On those rare occasions when we watch TV, she'll sometimes jump up and start dancing and singing along with the commercials. I don't think I'm reading too much into it when I say she's doing a mock celebration. And that's exactly what I recommend for you this week, Cancer. In the face of forces that oppose your values, show off your most cheerful, uproarious self.

Leo (July 23-Aug. 22): Do you know the difference between bullshit and horseshit? Village Voice writer Alan Cabal defined the former as "creative, inspired mythmaking intended to provoke growth," and the latter as "pernicious carny scams" or "bottom-feeder derivative manipulation." My horoscopes, for example, are fine examples of bullshit, while the lyrics and shtick of Marilyn Manson embody the essence of horseshit. I'm sure you'll soon be deluged by both, Leo, so start cultivating your power to tell them apart now.

Virgo (Aug. 23-Sept. 22): If you've been angling for a Fulbright scholarship, an invitation to play in a celebrity golf match, or a chance to get away with insulting a dude on a Harley-Davidson, this is the time of all times it's likely to come to pass. The planetary influences are inciting your ambitions to the max, while at the same time conspiring to maneuver the whole world into helping you quench those ambitions. So save the milk-and-cookie marathons in front of the TV for a less opportune moment. For now, give yourself gleefully

to the task of building your legacy.

Libra (Sept. 23-Oct. 22): In his book The World's Wasted Wealth, J.W. Smith notes that despite all of our supposed conveniences, we modern folks do more hard labor than any society in history. The average workday of the world's surviving hunter-gatherers is barely four hours, for instance. I realize it may be impossible for you to stage a permanent rebellion against the oppressive workload you're expected to shoulder, Libra, but it's crucial that during the next two weeks you carve out far more playtime than usual. Try to live up to Benjamin Franklin's proposal that if everyone toiled efficiently, five hours a day would be plenty.

Scorpio (Oct. 23-Nov. 21): I saw the Burmese priestess kiss the king cobra three times, stilling the beast's predatory fever with the grace notes of her dance. I watched the paramedic lower herself precariously off the bridge to nab the child in shock on the tiny rock island. In a dream I beheld you staring down a slimy gargoyle that had crawled out from under your bed, and I marveled as you summoned the gall to ask for and receive a boon from that ugly thing.

Sagittarius (Nov. 22-Dec. 21): Two talking Sagittarian porcupines are making love in a cactus garden. It's a prickly experience, but that's how they like it. Amid the love moans, one porcupine is heard to mutter, "I always get horny when things get thorny." Next door in a rose garden, a Sagittarian unicorn wearing a crown of thorns receives acupuncture from a Sagittarian hornet. The unicorn coos, "It only hurts when you stop." What's it all mean? It might be time for you Centaurs to gamble on a ramble through the brambles.

Capricorn (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): Your thought for the week comes from Michael Grosso's book Millennium Myth: Love and Death at the End of Time. "The great challenge to self- knowledge," he asserts, "is blind attachment to our virtues. It is hard to criticize what we think are our virtues. Although the spirit languishes without ideals, idealism can be the greatest danger." What I'm trying to tell you, Capricorn, is that your wonderful qualities, not your flaws, will be at the root of any difficulties you face in the next couple of weeks. In fact, the best way to prevent problems from erupting in the first place is to set aside a time to take a stern and critical inventory of your goodness and talents.

Aquarius (Jan. 20-Feb. 18): The makers of the rules would never admit it, but they'd perish without the breakers of the rules. Cliques become moldy without the cleansing action of mavericks and dissidents. And that's why, my creative troublemaker, I'm calling on your rebel skills now. Nobody calls bluffs and busts phonies better than you. No one can spearhead an insurrection with as much panache as you. So rise up, all you heretics and pioneers and rabble-rousers! It's your social duty to subvert the tyranny of the old-boy network. It's your righteous obligation to crack down against the crimes of mediocre traditions. Be the lone wolf who blazes all the trails the scaredy-cats are afraid to tread.

Pisces (Feb. 19-March 20): "Dear Dr. Brezsny: Help! My old Buick's transmission is dead, my credit cards are maxed, my kid's got to see the dentist real bad, and the one-speed bike I ride to work is about to collapse. I'm working two jobs already but I've applied for another as a strip-club dancer, only I'm having so much mysterious pain in my joints I'm not sure how sexy my gyrations could be. Please pray for me, or let me know when a good-luck streak is coming so I can pace myself. -- Pickled Pisces" Dear Pickled: You should have asked sooner! Just as the flapping of a butterfly's wings in Bangkok can impact the cloud patterns in Baltimore, your forcefully articulated plea for help has diverted a riptide of cosmic blessings in the Piscean direction. Its waves should start crashing over you no later than June 14.

About The Author

Rob Brezsny


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