Poetic License Horoscope for Oct 15-21

Poetic License Horoscope Oct 15-21



Libra (Sept. 24-Oct. 21): Take yourself home early tonight, Libra. Light a candle for each bauble in your jewelry box heart—diamonds to costume—and drink hot cocoa amidst the conflagration. Happy birthday, again.



Scorpio (Oct. 22-Nov. 22): Sally Draper’s one friend in the world is Glen, a football-playing misfit and fellow child of divorce. He listens to her talk about her dreams. Let’s pretend Betty isn’t about to separate them!



Sagittarius (Nov. 23-Dec. 22): You would travel all the way across town to root for a friend, even if she’s just singing karaoke. Pick your favorite song and join her. Bonus points if it’s “Don’t Stop Believin.”



Capricorn (Dec. 23-Jan. 20): The other day my wife and I waited in line for four hours to see The Roots and President Obama at the “Moving America Forward” rally. Both have themes of change and ask “Why do haters separate us like we Siamese?”



Aquarius (Jan. 21-Feb. 19): “Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, /the world offers itself to your imagination, /calls to you like wild geese, harsh and exciting-/over and over announcing your place/in the family of things.”—Mary Oliver



Pisces (Feb. 20-March 20): In The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake, Rose, the main character, can taste the emotions of the people who’ve prepared the food she eats. She is usually 1. Very hungry. 2. Eating very processed foods for their factory anonymity. and 3. Envying her friend Eliza, whose sandwiches taste like happiness.



Aries (March 21-April 18): Volunteer to work in the upcoming election. It may not work, but it’s more fun than helplessness.



Taurus (April 19-May 18): When I first moved to Philadelphia, I worked with children from Fulton Elementary School. When the President spoke at that same school the other day, we ended up behind my favorite Fulton student. Out of a crowd of 18,000! It felt like a nod from the Universe.



Gemini (May 19-June 21): Take an extra walk today. The air smells like acorns and ozone. The fall flowers are bejeweling the place—blue salvia, fuchsia and purple aster, sunflower and dried hydrangea. Take a break from your headphones and listen to birds.



Cancer (June 22-July 23): A pal of mine included special pre-party suggestions in her party invite, to keep people from being too early and awkward. Somebody’s gotta arrive first, though, and those are your best friends.



Leo (July 24-Aug. 23): Enjoy this quote from Le Petit Prince: "To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world. . ."



Virgo (Aug. 24-Sept. 23): I had a dream that you were sitting around a table talking on the subject of “belonging.” Everyone in the group was saying things like “I don’t know how to make friends.” “I don’t know how to make connections.” and “I feel kind of extra.” You all bonded on having the exact same fears, then went out for drinks.


by Jane Cassady

Poetic License Horoscope for Oct 8-14

Libra (Sept. 24-Oct. 21): Oh, darling. You need a good, bossy wife, someone to keep the fridge full of nutrients, let you spend what you need to, make you sleep regularly, to check if you’re taking actual lunch breaks at work, which should preferably be spent reading.



Scorpio (Oct. 22-Nov. 22): Parents whose children have achieved You Tube fame should leave well enough alone. I don’t need to see “Kittens Inspired By Kittens Girl Explains World War II” or “Deleted Scenes from Jessica’s Affirmation.” Let the kids go outside, already.



Sagittarius (Nov. 23-Dec. 22): Make yourself a mix called “Positive Expressions of Negative Emotions.” You may want to include “I Don’t Love Anyone” by Belle and Sebastian, which includes: “I met a man today/And he told me something pretty strange. There's always somebody saying something/He said, "The world was as soft as lace."



Capricorn (Dec. 23-Jan. 20): At the end of this week’s Mad Men, Dr. Faye has sold herself out for the good of Don’s company. She lays her head on his shoulder and “Welcome to my World” plays over the credits. Influence is real. Avoid snuggling up to handsome shapeshifters.



Aquarius (Jan. 21-Feb. 19): I’m bothered by the Lifetime-ization of this season’s Project Runway—you can hardly tell its promos from Reviving Ophelia’s. Let’s leave aside the broken heroines and get back to the sewing, please.



Pisces (Feb. 20-March 20): Rumi wrote: “Each has to enter the nest made by the other imperfect bird.” Collect your twigs and ribbon, your delicate detritus, your molted feathers. Use your little mess to decorate someone’s heart.


Aries (March 21-April 18): It’s GBLT History Month! Celebrate by visiting “It Gets Better,” Dan Savage’s You Tube channel where LGBT grown-ups post videos encouraging our youth to hang in there. The wife and I are gonna make a video for it, just as soon as we clean the house.


Taurus (April 19-May 18): In the immortal words of Tracey Jordan: “I lost my mood ring and I don’t know how I feel about it.”


Gemini (May 19-June 21): I went and visited my childhood home last week. The latest owners had fixed it up so nice and cheerful. It was freshly painted and expanded, and they added more trees, a pond, and a carriage house—fancy! Seeing it that way made my soul feel refurbished.


Cancer (June 22-July 23): See how many versions of “I Can’t Stand the Rain” you can find/ I think you’ll discover that not only are you super fly, but you are, in fact, super duper fly.



Leo (July 24-Aug. 23): The radio edit of Cee Lo Green’s “Fuck You” sounds really boring. While redubbers-of-80s-movies-for-TV may disagree, “Forget” is not a synonym for “Fuck.”


Virgo (Aug. 24-Sept. 23): I’m having trouble thinking up any slogans to put on a placard for my trip down to Jon Stewart’s “Rally to Restore Sanity”—I think maybe that’s because I am immoderate. Oh well, emotional lefties change the world all the time for the better.

by Jane Cassady

Poetic License Horoscope for Oct 1-7

Libra (Sept. 24-Oct. 21): Happy Birthday Month, Libra! Make 100 wishes, fill them out on laminated cards, and read them like the Tarot to strangers.


Scorpio (Oct. 22-Nov. 22): Will Sally Draper actually get to go see the Beatles at Shea Stadium like her father promised, or will her ticket go to Don’s pretty new secretary? It’s really the only plot point that matters.


Sagittarius (Nov. 23-Dec. 22): Stand up to the sitcom bullies of your life, get back your lunch money, your heart, your publication credits; hold them like treasure in your fists, like weight.


Capricorn (Dec. 23-Jan. 20): Martin Seligman, founder of Positive Psychology, began his path to positivity by discovering that tortured dogs often do not take the chance to leap over a partition to freedom. This is called learned helplessness. Some of the dogs did leap, though. That’s you.


Aquarius (Jan. 21-Feb. 19): Katy Perry said that being on Sesame Street was the best thing that ever happened to her in her life. Watch her chase Elmo around in the banned-from-Sesame-Street-video. Meditate on opposites.



Pisces (Feb. 20-March 20): Experiment with space like this: leave a crowded room full of noise and go walk around the block with someone you trust. See what you find. When you get back, the noise won’t matter.


Aries (March 21-April 18): In the debut issue of Apiary (a journal of Philadelphia poets), Laura Spagnoli wrote a gorgeous and funny poem about the PECO building, which includes the following: “We are 40 foot LED words/digital dolls, rainbow colorized/We are local time and temperature.”


Taurus (April 19-May 18): They used to only make tinsel for Christmas, but now there’s everything: heart tinsel, bat tinsel, Easter egg tinsel, etc. Build yourself a fortress of it.


Gemini (May 19-June 21): The world is your apple orchard. there’s no need to pay for the hayride, we can walk to the trees. Fill up your bushels and carry them, have sweetness ‘til January.


Cancer (June 22-July 23): A few years ago I was babysitting my nephew Kieran. Even though it was a FREEZING April morning at the edge of Lake Ontario, we went to the playground. His little nose got very runny and I didn’t have a tissue, so I pulled my sweatshirt sleeve over my hand and told him to blow, then folded over the operative cuff. I wish I were always that loving.


Leo (July 24-Aug. 23): In Jonathan Franzen’s book Freedom, there’s only one character who is not a jerk. She loves unconditionally and un-martyr-like. (SPOILER ALERT) She gets a songbird preserve named after her. That’s you.


Virgo (Aug. 24-Sept. 23): You were last seen lighting a match—was it to burn bridges or sit vigils? Either way, keep walking.

by Jane Cassady

Poetic License Horoscope for September 24-29

A Mini Tarot Reading


(Note: If you enjoy made-up advice and pop-culture mysticism, come visit me at the Mount Airy Village Fair this Sunday, September 26th! You can get a totally made up Tarot reading, make September Valentines, and peruse my brand new book of love poems, Adventures of A Lazy Polyamorist. XOXOXOX-Jane)

Virgo (Aug. 24-Sept. 23): Four of Cups-: Gloria Steinem said “Women have a terminal case of gratitude.” I recently switched my Gratitude Journal to a Happiness List. I felt like being so grateful made me disappear and get taken for granted. Dial back the thank you notes, but still notice what you’re given.


Libra (Sept. 24-Oct. 21): Force- A fancy lady is grasping the lion’s jaw. The lion looks kind of abashed. You are wearing infinity as hat—grasp the application process, your bank balance, your forgotten novel, any untamable thing.


Scorpio (Oct. 22-Nov. 22): The Sun- Your egg has hatched, your community garden is exploding with tomatoes, and your tweets are retweeted to rival Rob Cordry’s. Like Lady Gaga bringing her asked-and-told soldiers onto the red carpet and into the news cycle, use your weird voice for good.

Sagittarius (Nov. 23-Dec. 22): Ten of Wands- If you’re feeling overwhelmed, it might be a good time to remember that gold is heavy. Delegate some of your riches; pass it on like coins along the road.


Capricorn (Dec. 23-Jan. 20): The Lovers- Your interloper might not be an arrow-wielding centaur, but nonetheless you need some element of hybridizing, some alchemy, even if it only means switching to half-decaf, making art in mixed media, or being a little two-faced.

Aquarius (Jan. 21-Feb. 19): Five of Cups- Something you put a lot of stock in is starting to lose some of its meaning—that very well COULD be you in the spotlight, losing your religion. Be lost. Be a little at sea and see what floats by next.


Pisces (Feb. 20-March 20): Wheel of Fortune- I married a woman who is excellent at making paper boats. I would advise you to do the same. It doesn’t matter if you lose your crown or ascend to the seagulls; these temporary vessels keep you strangely grounded.


Aries (March 21-April 18): The Moon- Once, when I was 20 or so, I stayed up all night painting The Moon card for Joe Prisco, a boyfriend of questionable value. He dumped me that very weekend, but a least I had the painting.


Taurus (April 19-May 18): Five of Coins- In the words of LCD Soundsystem, “Drunk girls know that love is an astronaut. It comes back but it’s never the same.” Try again anyway.

Gemini (May 19-June 21): Nine of Wands- Choose nine things you can’t do anything about this week. Don’t do anything about them.


Cancer (June 22-July 23): Queen of Cups- According to heartthrob folk singer Peter Mulvey, “The trouble with shoes is they come untied. You might take a fall down the stairs. Then a poet might come along and say “Isn’t that just like life?” The trouble with poets is they see poetry everywhere.” Be like that.


Leo (July 24-Aug. 23): The Magician- Intuition isn’t just blindly letting your feelings make your decisions. It’s using the information already stored in your brain. Blink like Malcolm Gladwell, Leo, and trust your decisions.

Poetic License Horoscope for Sept 17-23

A Little Surly in Places


Virgo (Aug. 24-Sept. 23): My last trip to the ocean this summer was all about getting pummeled by waves, falling into the surf over and over, struggling to the left or right as the lifeguard whistled us to safety. It was sandy for my bathing suit and cleanse-y for my soul.

Libra (Sept. 24-Oct. 21): Channel your inner Steven Slater, who over the summer became a national hero when he quit his flight attendant job in a flourish of swears and beer. No need to quit, but do take a break from the corporate yolk of forced cheerfulness, before you get trapped in the air with it.

Scorpio (Oct. 22-Nov. 22): A fake Buddhist guest speaker at church a few weeks ago suggested that the Gulf Oil Spill was a result of bad Karma that came from us not trying hard enough to stop the war. Didn’t she hear the dolphins picketing, the turtles quietly lighting themselves on fire? People are as careless with the word “Karma” as they are with the word “literally.”

Sagittarius (Nov. 23-Dec. 22): Can we dispatch a fleet of educators just to talk lovingly and instructively to children on the bus? Instead of telling them to shut up? That would be a good job for you.

Capricorn (Dec. 23-Jan. 20): Like a parent who finds the house too quiet now that his or her brood has gone back to school, take time to fold the laundry in silence. Read a book. Read seven. Watch inappropriate things on the television. Swear yourself silly.

Aquarius (Jan. 21-Feb. 19): Things to do before you trade in your old phone: mourn your grandfather’s last number. Forward your talisman-texts to someone you trust. Appreciate the size of the buttons. Put your photos someplace safe.

Pisces (Feb. 20-March 20): Monday night I was walking in Love Park with my wife when a presidential motorcade happened by. The next morning I saw the Secret Service metal detecting kids on their way into school. It was like someone was noticing us. (But he never texts anymore…)

Aries (March 21-April 18): The absolute value of a number is its distance from zero on the number line. The absolute value of -7 is 7. The absolute value of work is its closeness to sincerity. I don’t know how to graph that.

Taurus (April 19-May 18): You get Mad Men this week! Don Draper realized that he may not be able to handle the new generation of women because they tend to speak more freely. At the same time, he realized they were pretty willing to give blow jobs. I guess the moral here is, let people speak.

Gemini (May 19-June 21): Last week on Project Runway, Mondo was dismayed to find himself paired with Michael C. until they actually started the project and he discovered that his partner was much more competent than groupthink dictated. Weren’t they ADORABLE snuggling at the end?

Cancer (June 22-July 23): This week, think about forbidden things. Tack up pictures of lost loves on your bulletin board. Go ahead and hate on some virtuous people. Covet covet covet! Think some beloved bands are overrated. The world probably won’t end.

Leo (July 24-Aug. 23): I am considering graduating myself from therapy for this reason: The lady suggested that I interrupt my wife’s job-hunting to talk about how unhappy her current job makes us.

Poetic License Horoscope for September 13-19

From the Last Day of Summer

Virgo (Aug. 24-Sept. 23): I’m writing this from a bench in the Wissahickon. In front of me, a family is applauding. Behind me, a child is playing “Yellow Submarine” on the violin. Congratulate yourself on a summer well spent.

Libra (Sept. 24-Oct. 21): (SPOILER ALERT?) Don Draper: "Somebody very important to me died. "Peggy: "Who?" Don: "The only person in the world who really knew me." Peggy: "That's not true." Don’s at his best when he’s with his gal pals, and so are you.

Scorpio (Oct. 22-Nov. 22): Learn to identify birdsongs so that you can think of them as portents. The purple finch means “all is well.” The oriole means “Are you KIDDING me with how beautiful this is?” The blue jay means “You’re waking up at home.”

Sagittarius (Nov. 23-Dec. 22): Once you start birdwatching, you’ll realize how little detail you were seeing before. You’ll realize that what you thought were sparrows were actually chickadees, house finches, winter goldfinches, juncos, and sparrows. Start seeing the whole spectrum of birds.

Capricorn (Dec. 23-Jan. 20): A Capricorn pal asked me to write cooler predictions for her, but think of it as a Rorschach test—I could press a butterfly into the ink between the folded pages, but you could see absolutely anything.

Aquarius (Jan. 21-Feb. 19): This month’s Glamour features an article called “How to Get Over the Guy You Can’t Get Over.” It is illustrated by a picture of a girl with a Polaroid in her polka dot undies. The advice goes from “Go Ahead and Wallow,” to “Move the Eff on Already.” To avoid whatever you need to get over, you won’t have to miss many parties.

Pisces (Feb. 20-March 20): Big lug Lane on Big Brother had this to say when housemate Britney won $10,000: "Damn it, she does not need 10 Gs. She's gonna use that for lipstick and leggings." Help yourself to as many alliterative luxuries as you can this week.

Aries (March 21-April 18): In Carolyn Parkhurst’s novel The Nobodies Album, the protagonist is a novelist in the process of rewriting the endings of all her books to try and fix her life. You don’t need rewritings, though, just sequels.

Taurus (April 19-May 18): Make a list of your summer accomplishments. Include tomatoes grown, currents fought, TV series watched in one sitting. Light the list on fire for one more set of S’mores.

Gemini (May 19-June 21): Go ahead and pray for the things you want. Your deity of choice will certainly accept your crumpled list. Don’t ask me how I know this.

Cancer (June 22-July 23): Anne Lamott said “Write like your parents are dead.” but that is too grisly for me. How about “Write like your in-laws aren’t on your Facebook.” (Confidential to Lawsons: LOVE YOU!)

Leo (July 24-Aug. 23): I have been meaning to learn the names of butterflies, but I’ve been putting it off. So I Googled “Butterfly identification” and saved some directories to the desktop. 1. I feel a little richer that way. 2. I think I saw a Mourning Cloak.

by Jane Cassady

Poetic License Horoscope Sept 3-9

Who Watches Giles?

Virgo (Aug. 24-Sept. 23): Write your ten birthday wishes out in sparkle-icing on a sheet cake. Learn to make frosting roses, it’s about time. Count your hopes in sugar petals. Avoid red food coloring, it’s bitter.

Libra (Sept. 24-Oct. 21): By way of alleviating stress, call up ten people you love and say nice things about them. Be emphatic. Your aches and pains will decrease.

Scorpio (Oct. 22-Nov. 22): The motto of Harry’s Occult Shop over on South Street is “We aim to help.” You get the feeling that by “we” they don’t mean “We the guys behind the apothocary counter,” but more like “We and all the unseen forces of the universe.” Ask for that kind of help.

Sagittarius (Nov. 23-Dec. 22): This week, be like Giles from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Be a Watcher to every wild force for goodness, every supernaturally strong slangy archetype. Don’t wish you were somewhere that’s else.

Capricorn (Dec. 23-Jan. 20): You are a calendar of how to make strawberry shortcake. On Monday, decide biscuits or sweet sponge cake. Tuesday, slice the strawberries, etc.

Aquarius (Jan. 21-Feb. 19): How to have a lovely Baroque-pop catharsis: 1. Set up Google Chrome as your browser. 2. Close all other windows. 3. Go to www.thewildernessdowntown.com. 4. Type in your first address. 5. Search.

Pisces (Feb. 20-March 20): It might be difficult for Mad Men to make rock bottom look stylish. Luckily, you have no such worries. You are as fresh and bright as a new hat.

Aries (March 21-April 18): This week, a guru of mine very quickly became an un-guru when she made fun of a man who kept his dog on a very long leash. This is at least a failure of imagination.

Taurus (April 19-May 18): I forget the name of the artist who installed a tree branch over the gate at Dia:Beacon as a piece of art. Turning the branch upside-down fooled it into thinking it was alive and blooming one last time.

Gemini (May 19-June 21): Something I learned while napping to Radiolab: until very recently, like the 1970s, zoos were nothing but wire cages and concrete. Be like whoever it was who came up with naturalistic animal habitats—still a zoo, but still.

Cancer (June 22-July 23): In her poem “Other Prohibited Items,” Martha Greenfield lists items confiscated at airport security, including a sentimental wrench, rare rosewater, breast milk still warm. What should you travel with? What should you risk?

Leo (July 24-Aug. 23): Some ponderings about Gretchen from Project Runway: 1. Do you think she knows she’ll be edited this way? 2. She’s just saying out loud what our Monkey Mind is always yammering about. 3. How does one go on after having been yelled at by Tim Gunn?

by Jane Cassady

Poetic License Horoscope for August 27-September 2

“Art is the center of the real world. Philadelphia is the center of the art world.”-various mosaics

Virgo (Aug. 24-Sept. 23): Happy birthday month, fellow Virgos, and thanks for being good sports about however I decide to self-soothe on any given week. Anyway! Number of years I’ve been going to clubs: 20! Amount that house music has changed: 0. Appreciate your patterns, your looped samples, the comfort of your constant beats.

Libra (Sept. 24-Oct. 21): Today my therapist gave me a note card that says this: “Don’t fight with yourself. Let yourself be wrong and sometimes stupid.” She knew it was the right advice when I started laughing my ass off.

Scorpio (Oct. 22-Nov. 22): This is what the fortune cookie that came with my iced coffee says: “You will make many changes before settling satisfactorily.” It makes me a little antsy, but it might work for you.

Sagittarius (Nov. 23-Dec. 22): There’s a pop song stuck in my head. I just Googled it, it’s by La Roux. It goes “This time baby/I’ll be/bulletproof.” That is a silly but very appealing idea. Indulge it!

Capricorn (Dec. 23-Jan. 20): This month I’ve resolved to be less Allison and more Peggy. In case you don’t watch Mad Men, allow me to translate: let’s be less the brokenhearted secretary and more the arty copywriter in the midst of a consciousness-awakening.

Aquarius (Jan. 21-Feb. 19): Have you ever been to The Blue Grotto in Philadelphia? Conceptual artist Randy Dalton wanted to give Philadelphia a blue ribbon for its arts contributions, so he made these beautiful environments of found objects bathed in varied blue lights. Give yourself a prize like that. Light up the color of swimming pools. Send the message to landing planes.

Pisces (Feb. 20-March 20): Draw a map of your childhood home. Be very specific—don’t forget the lilac bush, the sauce-stained sink, the rough wallpaper. Open the door and start redecorating, or at least wash the dishes.

Aries (March 21-April 18): The other day my wife and I were walking to the store when a drunk man started hollering at us, yelling comments about our asses and such. Usually I’d just scowl and walk away, but this time, it was very satisfying to swear back at him.

Taurus (April 19-May 18): According to The United States of Tara, we sometimes package our vulnerable parts and jettison them. Find and open all of these pretty little pathos-packages. Save the ribbons.

Gemini (May 19-June 21): In the words of Lucille Clifton, for my brother who’s leaving college soon: “may you/open your eyes to water/water waving forever/and may you in your innocence/sail through this to that.”

Cancer (June 22-July 23): I generally take advice from the poetry quotes in the church bulletin: "One day the sun admitted, I am just a shadow. I wish I could show you The Infinite Incandescence that has cast my brilliant image! I wish I could show you, When you are lonely or in darkness, The Astonishing Light Of your own Being!"-Hafiz

Leo (July 24-Aug. 23): Sometimes you can decide that you are quite edified enough, thank you very much, and that all you want to do after all these weeks of making beautiful things is to go home and see how things turn out with the Diamond Power of Veto on Big Brother. Your soul wants junk.

Poetic License Horoscope for August 20-26

Spending Warm Summer Days Indoors, Like the Smiths



Leo (July 24-Aug. 23): Once you pointed out that when the contestants on, say, The Next Food Network Star, are talking about how the camera makes them freeze up, they are, IN FACT talking to the camera, it kind of turned my world upside-down.

Virgo (Aug. 24-Sept. 23): Make no mistake: Sometimes we are all just Mad Men secretaries, crying in a Pond’s focus group about the fleetingness of the muse’s attention. Nothing to do but wash your face, smash a vase, and wait.

Libra (Sept. 24-Oct. 21): This week, inspired by the hack-bot that stole my email contacts, I am meditating on imperfection. Please take all implosions, sick days, and the way things are collapsing like an Inception cityscape as signs that the universe loves you and wants you to start fresh.

Scorpio (Oct. 22-Nov. 22): Last weekend I went camping with my family. One of the highlights was sitting around reading with my little niece. She was reading an incredibly well-loved copy of Harry Potter and the Order of the Pheonix. Love something/someone so much that the pages come out, the edges furl, the binding unglues, but the story is still legible.

Sagittarius (Nov. 23-Dec. 22): From Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way: “It is pretty clear that the creator itself did not know when to stop. There is not one pink flower, or even fifty pink flowers, but hundreds…this creator looks suspiciously like someone who just might send support for your creative ventures.”

Capricorn (Dec. 23-Jan. 20): In The New York Regional Mormon Singles Dance, Elna Baker hilariously weighs the dilemmas which arise between her secular self and her Mormon self. In the end, though, she can’t see the moon without saying “Hi, God.”

Aquarius (Jan. 21-Feb. 19): In Sloane Crosleys’ book I Was Told There’d Be Cake, she writes about working in the Museum of Natural History’s butterfly exhibit. Once, she didn’t check her coat well enough before clocking out—a tiny rare blue butterfly had ridden her lapel to freedom.

Pisces (Feb. 20-March 20): Feng Shui your life. Recycle you recyclables. Remove all old bosses, famous strangers, and nemeses from your email contacts. Return the stagnant Chi of unread library books.

Aries (March 21-April 18): Every time I watch The Real L Word, I think these three things: 1. This show is mostly about emptiness, and that’s okay. 2. I’m very grateful that my wife is accepted and loved as a member of my family. Shame on you, Tracy’s mom. 3. Natalie: run!

Taurus (April 19-May 18): One summer not too long ago, my friend Ty and I decided to fill plastic Easter eggs with various talismans: love notes, drawings, chess pieces, mini tarot cards, etc. We hid them all around the city of Syracuse, NY. Give random and unexpected gifts, preferably to strangers.

Gemini (May 19-June 21): My mom says that when she dreams about camping, it’s not the recreation, but the cooking. Try a new recipe for campfire eggs. Eat bacon out of a foil pan. Be flexible about what can be called coffee.

Cancer (June 22-July 23): Go to the stillest body of water you can find. Find some round, flat stones. Practice your skipping technique. Meditate on gravity, water, erosion.

Poetic License Horoscope, August 13 to August 20

Your Horoscopist Is Kind of an Emo Girl


(Thanks to Jake Lamanna, whose record collection this is.)



Leo (July 24-Aug. 23): This week is my wife’s birthday. I would like to give her all of her wishes: a comma in the bank balance, a job closer to home, time to rest. She’ll have to settle for Wednesday shows, cheesecake, and a nice long letter.

Virgo (Aug. 24-Sept. 23): Here’s some very practical advice: never go on the Facebook when you are feeling fragile. Everything you scroll past will look like a party you weren’t invited to. Worst of all, you’ll get comment-itis.

Libra (Sept. 24-Oct. 21): Look at all of the “Back to School” signs, all the emo commercials with mothers (always mothers) waving sadly at school busses. Take them as a sign that it’s time to purchase huge stacks of notebooks at discounted rates. I got my year’s worth, 10 for a dollar.

Scorpio (Oct. 22-Nov. 22): All you can see are sunsets, the lavender tint in the sky, the filigree of light at the edges of the clouds. Go ahead and let this be the end of something. It’s the sun. It generally comes up again.

Sagittarius (Nov. 23-Dec. 22): “It’s too late to change your mind. You let loss be your guide.” say the Broken Bells. I guess it’s as good a guide as any, though.

Capricorn (Dec. 23-Jan. 20): You are like the Map Collection Room at the Philadelphia Free Library; hundreds of wide, flat drawers with every possible expanse and measurement. Find your longitude and latitude.

Aquarius (Jan. 21-Feb. 19): I want to say once and for all that heartbreak is a terribly inefficient fuel for creativity. It burns up everything, bright and fast. It’s time find something more sustainable, if less sparky.

Pisces (Feb. 20-March 20): An old pal of mine posted a picture of his massive, hot, sexy record collection. Beneath that, another friend had sent a link to an episode of Hoarders. Decide what’s riches and what’s trash, before you get swallowed up.

Aries (March 21-April 18): The stars are taking requests this week, Aries. What would you like? Concert tickets? An opulent stroll through Longwood Gardens? An ill-advised dinner with an old flame? It’s up to you, and it’s all yours.

Taurus (April 19-May 18): Remember the episode of The Office where they’re all at the beach for some reason, and Pam does the firewalk? The adrenaline rush and burnt feet give her the courage to call out Jim in front of everybody for ignoring her. She kind of gives everyone the what for. Be like that.

Gemini (May 19-June 21): In her wonderful writing book Bird by Bird, Annie Lamott says “After a few days at the desk, telling the truth in an interesting way turns out to be as easy and pleasurable as bathing a cat.” But do it, no mater how much the truth wriggles and spits.

Cancer (June 22-July 23): You said my answering machine is a bad audience, but go ahead and tell it everything. I want to hear about the catch in your voice, the stitches in your chest, the wine under the bed. But I hope I have the phone on next time.

Poetic License Horoscope for August 6-12

Starring Arcade Fire, Dancing Sufis, and Don Draper


Leo (July 24-Aug. 23): This is your time to rest. Turn the volume down on your chattering spouse. Put aside all talk of revenue and email lists. Listen to the soft hum of fans, the murmur of televised baseball.

Virgo (Aug. 24-Sept. 23): You don’t have to be inspired every single minute. Relax. Reread old novels. Get caught up on your history. Take a nap in the blank spaces, you’ll be busy soon enough.

Libra (Sept. 24-Oct. 21): When I told one of my most favorite Libras that I was sad not to be at the National Poetry Slam this week, he told me he’d call my voice mail with disappointing poems so I’d feel less left out. It did make me feel better, but I still wish I was at Nationals.

Scorpio (Oct. 22-Nov. 22): The Arcade Fire song “Keep the Car Running” is a wonderfully paranoid song about always being vigilant, but as I continue my decades-long struggle to learn the clutch, the song sounds to me like a struggle-and-determination anthem/pep talk. “It’s coming but when/is it coming/ keep the car running.”

Sagittarius (Nov. 23-Dec. 22): The House on the Rock, outside Madison, WI not only contains the most berserk collection of calliopes, musical machines, models ships, crazy-looking Santa Clauses and so much more, it is also a labyrinth you can’t easily leave if you get claustrophobic. Stay calm and avoid the Doll Carousel. Just trust me.

Capricorn (Dec. 23-Jan. 20): You’ve been collecting sea monsters, and why shouldn’t you? I thought of you last month when I was photographed next to a giant squid. As we learned in the movie Inception, the unconscious is hard to control, least of all yours.

Aquarius (Jan. 21-Feb. 19): The other night while I was blissfully whoh-oh-ohing with thousands of fans at the Arcade Fire concert, I though of my Aquarius friend who’s visiting Istanbul right now, trying to get tickets to watch the Sufis dance, about how empathic experience helps keep life from becoming claustrophobic, just like having a well-travelled friend does.

Pisces (Feb. 20-March 20): In Nick Hornby’s book How to Be Good, the protagonist has the following epiphany: “The plain state of being human is dramatic enough for anyone; you don’t need to be a heroin addict or a performance poet to experience extremity. You just have to love someone.”

Aries (March 21-April 18): Last summer I worked at a summer camp. Every morning we had a singing and dancing time called Harambee (Swahili for “all together) during which no one was allowed to be shy. I thought this was unfair to introverts so I tried to add a meditation, quite unsuccessfully. But this week, be like those sing-alongs—belt it out, dance your heart out, never mind who might be laughing.

Taurus (April 19-May 18): It’s August, but on Mad Men, it’s Christmas. Mix yourself a holiday martini, pass an orange from chin to chin, engage in some secretarial role play. Walk around with you archetypal armload of gifts. Spare no expense.

Gemini (May 19-June 21): “Children wake up, hold your mistake up, before they turn the summer into dust.” says Arcade Fire. Mistakes can either disappear in the rearview or crack you open. Let’s confess and move onto the next thing, shall we?

Cancer (June 22-July 23): The beginning of this summer broiled my garden. The only flourishing things were the tenting spiders who seemed to be eating all the flowers. When the weather broke, though, everything started blooming again—now there are lobelias, red butterfly flowers, zinnias, and two Carefree Delight roses I can smell from inside.

-by Jane Cassady

Poetic License Horoscope: July 30- August 6

Writing Games Horoscope



(Note: Your horoscopist moonlights as Philadelphia’s Slam Mistress. This week’s horoscope will appear in The Fuze Anthology: The Phenomena of Temporary, which contains many local and national poetry favorites and benefits the Philly Slam Team’s trip to nationals. Come out and celebrate with us at The Fuze tonight, July 30, at 7:30 pm, InFusion Coffee and Tea, 7133 Germantown Ave. For more info contact turtleinkpress@gmail.com.)



Leo (July 24-Aug. 23): Listen to the Redwalls song “Thank You” and any other gratitude-themed songs you can think of. (Send me your list!) While you’re listening, draw a picture of someone you’re really, really grateful to. Make a detailed list of why, and give it to the person ASAP.



Virgo (Aug. 24-Sept. 23): Take out a copy of Blake’s “Songs of Innocence and Experience” Look up “The Tyger” and read it aloud. Draw a picture of your favorite animal. Paste it to a piece of construction paper. Beneath that, write all the things your animal could say, if it could speak.



Libra(Sept. 24-Oct. 21): Find yourself a shaman, or hope that one finds you. He or she will instruct you on how to visit the underworld and will probably drum while doing so. Find your power animal. Ask him or her what to write about.



Scorpio (Oct. 22-Nov. 22): (Props to Lynda Barry on this one!) Draw a diagram of the exact moment your heart was broken. Put yourself at the center of the page, draw/list what is above your, below you, etc. Sleep with this diagram under your pillow. Your dreams will digest it into a poem.



Sagittarius (Nov. 23-Dec. 22): Write down everything you overhear in the next 24 hours, paying special attention to the children on the bus. Their questions are your new gurus. Write religious texts on their behalf. Now print up tracts and stand on street corners circulating them.



Capricorn (Dec. 23-Jan. 20): Learn the names of 20 new butterflies. Write them little plays. Is the Blue Morpho hooked on the nectar again? What’s her relationship to the Tiger Mimic-Queen? Do they go out with Malachite for rotting fruit? What’s going on with Mexican Sister? (I could do this all day…)



Aquarius (Jan. 21-Feb. 19): Those love letters you keep getting? Print them out and cut them up lovingly, preferably with patterned craft shears. Rearrange them like refrigerator poetry. Glue up sheets of them so that passersby will feel adored but also confused. As always, bonus points for glitter.



Pisces (Feb. 20-March 20): Find an Office Max or similar store that’s going out of business. Buy up all the red pens at a steep discount. Use these to begin listing your gentlest memories, in order of their similarity to rose petals. Make these into origami roses to hand out to everyone you’d like to meet.



Aries: (March 21-April 18): Get a small notebook like comedians carry. Start collecting jokes, one-liners, funny status-updates, etc. After you’ve been collecting them for awhile, print them out on little slips. Sneak them into fortune cookies when nobody’s looking. Invite your true love out for Chinese food.



Taurus (April 19-May 18): Begin by making a list of all the friends you regret losing. Now make each one a mix tape whose songs explicitly express that regret. Mail out the mixes if you can stand to, wrapped in collages from back issues of Real Simple magazine. Translate your ex-friends’ responses into new poems.



Gemini (May 19-June 21): Set your timer for ten minutes. Make a list of all your lost loves. Doesn’t have to just be people. What about lost jobs, CDs, hats you lost in the mosh pits of your wayward youth. Go into detail about every facet and sting. You’ll feel better.


Cancer (June 22-July 23): What’s that thing that’s been pissing you off? Google “pantoum” and write about that pesky obsession- the rhythmic repetition gives you the go ahead to ruminate ruminate, ruminate! What a relief!

Poetic License Horoscope for July 23-29

by Jane Cassady

A Little St. Teresa, Some Cross-Dressing, and a Lot of Sarah Silverman

Leo (July 24-Aug. 23): Well, it’s summer, which means that we are now a little bit sucked into Big Brother 12. I admire the set artists who set up elaborate games in the jerktestants’ backyard. Be the kind of evil genius who’d make people crawl through caramel and then dig through popcorn for the prize of running the house.


Virgo (Aug. 24-Sept. 23): In her wonderful memoir, The Bedwetter: Stories of Courage, Redemption, and Pee, Sarah Silverman described her childhood depression as “I felt homesick, but I was home.” Love the things that mean home to you. Kiss your vintage pitchers and cuddle the couch pillows. Don’t be in a hurry to clean up after parties.


Libra (Sept. 24-Oct. 21): Yesterday I spent the better part of a day trying to track down a lost library book. Last night, when the house cooled down enough to think, I sat down for a nice long session of bill-paying, paper-shredding, and checkbook-balancing. Cross-dress as a Virgo this week. Have my kind of fun!


Scorpio (Oct. 22-Nov. 22): Write a love song to your résumé. Praise your font choice, your years of experience concisely listed, your leaving off the phone numbers of mean people. Holy crap, you’ve accomplished some stuff.


Sagittarius (Nov. 23-Dec. 22): St. Teresa of Avila wrote: “All concepts of God are like a jar we break, because only the infinite can contain our perfect love.” Prepare for everything you love to come streaming through the windows like sunlight, scattering prisms.


Capricorn (Dec. 23-Jan. 20): Ride the busses for their air-conditioning. See the whole city grid, the theatre production of public transportation. Let your guard down and get chatty. Ride to the end of the line.


Aquarius (Jan. 21-Feb. 19): I had a dance party last weekend and my friend’s band played. I can’t even put into words how happy I was when he revealed a Lady Gaga costume and sang “Paparazzi.” Not only did I appreciate the work that went into learning one of my favorite songs, but he’d been hiding tights and gold Spanx underneath his jeans through half a set, in a sweltering apartment. Have that much commitment to your art—and your friends!


Pisces (Feb. 20-March 20): Start collecting envelopes of all sizes, stamps of every denomination. Be as mail-prolific as semi-outsider artist Ray Johnson. List off your garden. Send stickers and music. We’re all waiting like mail slots.


Aries (March 21-April 18): I read somewhere that if you leave your stuff with someone, you are trying to make sure you see that person again. Leave important belongings everywhere: your camera in strange living rooms, your car on little side streets, your shoes in mysterious doorways. Almost anything could happen.


Taurus (April 19-May 18): Be beautifully, snugglishly silly this week. Listen to the funny things that people say and say them louder. Tell your whole arsenal of jokes. Stage competitive dramatic readings of pop songs. Flip a coin to see who wins.


Gemini (May 19-June 21): Enjoy this quote from my memoir-crush of the week, Sarah Silverman: “A lot of comics think the real threat of mental blockage lies in being happy. They fear that happiness or just dealing with their shit might make them not funny anymore. To me, that’s a bunch of romanticized bullshit.” Let’s do it, Gemini. Let’s get what we want and take our art with us.


Cancer (June 22-July 23): (Again with the Sarah Silverman!) She says that her overarching philosophy of life is “Make it a treat.” She tries not to overindulge in things she loves, so she won’t get sick of them. She’s talking about marijuana and fart jokes, but I believe it could be applied to anything.

Poetic License Horoscope for July 16-22

Poetic License Horoscope by Jane Cassady

With Advice from Lady Gaga, William Carlos Williams, and Band of Horses

Cancer (June 22-July 23): Once, during my Orange County days, my friend Jaimes was driving me home on the 405 when the dash lights started flickering. He got us safely to a gas station before the alternator died. He then proceeded to get out of the car and yell angrily skywards, asking God why this had happened. Rage against unfairness this week. Stamp your foot.

Leo (July 24-Aug. 23): Never get a couch that needs a slipcover. You will spend all of your time arranging the fabric to try and cover up the spots and stains. Get something that’s good and beautiful all the way through. Your ass deserves it!


Virgo (Aug. 24-Sept. 23): Since your deepest desire is to be confided in, practice keeping confidences. Sew whispers and secrets into your coat like satin patches. It’s a little warm for this.

Libra (Sept. 24-Oct. 21): You like parties with lots of costumes. Next year you’ll be my date for the Steampunk World’s Fair, “A Three Day Expedition into Yesterday’s Future!” Start buiding yourself a copper shell, lit with glowsticks. Meanwhile, Halloween is mere months away—start boning the corsets, building the scaffold.


Scorpio (Oct. 22-Nov. 22): I believe in haircuts. Lay back and let a stranger shampoo you. When the scissoring begins, let each strand represent a mistake you’d like to forget. Someone will sweep them away.


Sagittarius (Nov. 23-Dec. 22): Your viral video of the week is “Yosemitebear Mountain Giant Double Rainbow 1-8-10.”(sic) Go camping by yourself and show enough awe to rival early American wilderness painters. It’s almost a triple rainbow. It goes all the way across the sky. What it means is that you’ll have everything.

Capricorn (Dec. 23-Jan. 20): I bought a poetry collection called The Art of Losing: Poems of Grief and Healing. I’m surprisingly giddy to read it. Let’s open up to a random page, shall we? “If you can bring nothing to this place/but your carcass, keep out.” (William Carlos Williams)

Aquarius (Jan. 21-Feb. 19): In The Golden Compass, Lyra, the heroine, reads archetypal symbols said Golden Compass to plan out her next move. Here are your symbols, Aquarius: The Key, The Notebook, The Butterfly, The Giant Squid.


Pisces (Feb. 20-March 20): Please enjoy this quote from Lady Gaga’s latest Rolling Stone interview: “When you work as hard as I do or you resign yourself to something like music or art or something, you have to commit yourself to the struggle and commit yourself to the pain. And I commit myself wholeheartedly to my heartbreak…It’s a representation of my work. As artists, we are eternally heartbroken.” Discuss.


Aries (March 21-April 18): Interviewer Lynn Hirschberg apparently makes a habit of coaxing rock stars into ordering French fries fried in truffle oil, then using that as an example of how bougie they are. Don’t let anybody tell your story like that. Be like M.I.A. and release a retaliatory single. Or two.

Taurus (April 19-May 18): I think I need to use my weekly So You Think You Can Dance time for something else. Mia Michaels’ phlegmatic alterna-sniping is no match for Mary Murphy shrieking about the Hot Tamale Train. It’s just not so fun anymore!

Gemini (May 19-June 21): Here are some great lyrics from the Band of Horses song “Factory”: “Now then later, I was thinking it over by the snack machine/I thought about you and a candy bar/The Now and Laters, now that I've got, stuck between my teeth/
I fell asleep to the greatest movie of the year” Do just that kind of motel ruminating.

Poetic License Horoscopes for July 9-15

Mix-Tape Obsessed Again! by Jane Cassady



(This week's picture is courtesy of the wonderful Rosanna Speller.)

Cancer: A favorite couple of mine sent a care package not too long ago. It included a blue glitter framed hand mirror, a box of fancy chocolates, a ticket to a Cirque du Soleil “Love” performance that they went to on my birthday, and TWENTY EIGHT CDs.If you send someone 28 CDs, some of them are bound to be exactly what that person needed.



Leo: Here’s an inadvisable way to be happy: they say you get a serotonin boost every time you correct someone. Go ahead, my darling backseat driver, use the imaginary brake on the passenger side, look back with me when I change lanes. Just don’t be surprised when I ask you to parallel park for me.



Virgo: It’s weird dancing to eighties hip-hop songs at a respectful distance. I feel a little lonely if folks aren’t all up in my proverbial business. Surrender to whatever it is that makes you cross boundaries. It’s probably the bassline.



Libra: A friend of mine once asked for my address so he could send me a mix, then liked said mix so much that he kept it, listened to it in the car, had LeTigre sing alongs with his little daughter. I know this because he sent me a poem about the mix he didn’t send. I feel like a millionaire just typing this story.



Scorpio: Interrupt the conversation to point out the birds you see. “OOH look, a tufted titmouse!” is really fun to say. Shush your best friend so you can hear the first notes of a song: some things are just worth it.



Sagittarius: A Sag pal who works in a preschool complains about her students not needing her enough. “They’re all just privileged princes and princesses.” But everyone needs care, Sagittarius. Even you.



Capricorn: We’re both writing memoirs, but yours is braver. While mine is hidden on the desktop in a folder marked “My Issues,” yours is on display for all to see. So brave, Capricorn. You’re winning.



Aquarius: You told me not to worry about being too old for the club, because we’re all made mostly of water, and water's really old, and the atoms that make up the water are even older than that. So sensible. I love songs about how everything’s all really one thing.



Pisces: “Conscientiousness is no friend of serendipity.” Says Psychology Today. Kurt Vonnegut said “I tell you, we are here on Earth to fart around, and don't let anybody tell you different.” So do it: dawdle in doorways, pick up conversations with pretty strangers, click on unnecessary links: it’ll make you luckier!



Aries: This week, my dad moved back from Iowa to live closer to his kids and grandkids. Pack up your metaphorical car this week, Aries, move closer to what you love, even if it means braving the lake-effect winters of Upstate New York.



Taurus: Nobody really goes to their high-school reunion, so make a real one for yourself. Get together your nineties Club Kids and spare no glitter. There must still be a coffeehouse somewhere for Xers to slack in. Make a scrapbook of all your old mosh pits and vintage dresses. (Note: Your horoscopist knows she’s dating herself.)



Gemini: I’m making you SO MANY cupcakes this week, Gemini. Not from scratch, but still. The act of scooping a can of frosting into a bowl, beating it on high to froth it up, and adding just the right amount of food coloring: that’s the sprinkled alchemy we need this week. I keep forgetting and then remembering.

Poetic License Horoscope: July 2-8

Poetic License Horoscope by Jane Cassady



(With thanks to The Academy of Natural Sciences, the TV show Work of Art, and a couple of other things.)



Cancer: (Happy birthday to my poetry-dad, Daniel McGinn!) I’m writing Cancer in Love Park today. The fountain in front of me is emphatic. The music behind me is pleasant. The air is full of mist and the temperature is perfect. This year, may everything good gush forth and fill the air.



Leo: I feel guilty whenever I go to a museum without you, but I always bring you a souvenir. Please accept this squashed penny with a squid on it, this Learn About Tropical Butterflies sticker book, this four-color pen.



Virgo: My power animal lately is a blue butterfly, and today, a Blue Morpho flew right at my face and fluttered around me for a long while. This is your luck, too, Virgo. All your fluttering, nectar-sipping, lantana-loving hopes are coming for you.



Libra: It’s an all-you-can eat buffet this week, Libra. Try everything, even those weird little squares of cake. Remember to still give your server a full tip, he or she keeps taking all of your dishes.



Scorpio: I’m here as your bad influence, Scorpio. Make one call too many. Sit in front of your screens for hours. Miss deadlines and forget the bills. It’ll all wait.



Sagittarius: If you knew the number of times people think to themselves “I love (your name here),” you could spend all of your extra worry-energy on art instead. Make us paper snowflakes shaped like our hearts, sing lullabies to your houseplants, write an opera starring your beautiful children and/or friends.



Capricorn: As I was reminded by an adorable light-up ocean-model today, the sea floor isn’t flat, but mountainous. Undersea mountains have their own special creatures. Do some underwater mountain climbing this week, and look for the intricate basket starfish!



Aquarius: Your word of the week is “bioluminescence.” You don’t have anything to worry about deep under the sea- the lights on you are camouflage to match the color of the ocean’s surface.



Pisces: I’m throwing a dance party, Pisces, and I hope you’ll come. Let’s shake it while we agree that yes, indeed, that girl is poison, throw our hands up in the matter of the apathetic. Whoomp, Pisces, there it is.



Aries: Before the passenger pigeon went extinct, they used to star in these incredibly elaborate meals at Wanamaker’s restaurant, huge towers of pigeon, all decked out in flame, more and more absurd in scale. Be exactly ten percent as decadent as that.



Taurus: This week on Work of Art, the artist were assigned to make a shocking piece of art. As much as I love Work of Art and would watch 12 hours a day of it if they had a live feed like Big Brother and the oil spill have, “Make something shocking.” is kind of an empty idea to start with. Be surprised by the subtle this week, Taurus. Fall for the unassuming.



Gemini: This week I was being my mom by getting into chats with total strangers at cash registers, and it kind of paid off: the girl who works at the art store knows Abdi from Work of Art. She says he’s super nice, double majored in art and religion, and he went to Penn. All this makes me want to root for him, but I still think his stuff is a little too literal.

Poetic License Horoscopes, June 25-July 2

(Concerts I've Been to Edition) by Jane Cassady


Cancer: New Order, Oakenfold, Moby, The Orb (Area 51 Festival, San Bernadino, CA) We'd just worn ourselves out dancing to Oakenfold and were buying some lemonade when we heard the first note of Moby's “Porcelain.” We joined hands and ran up the hill toward the big stage under a full sky of stars. It was the must fun I ever had while running.


Leo: The New Pornographers (The Trocadero, Philadelphia, PA) I haven't been to a concert in like, 4 or 5 years because I had this weird idea that I was too old for rock shows. As the gorgeous lights went up and the harmonies hummed me up some new chakras, I kicked myself for every show I'd ever left myself out of. What have you left yourself out of?


Virgo: Aerosmith, Skid Row (The War Memorial, Syracuse, NY) I went to my first concert with my mom. For all that I go on about my cheesy first concert, seeing Steven Tyler sing Dream On was a very moving experience for my 15-year-old self. “Sing with me, but just for today, maybe tomorrow, the good lord'll take it away....” Maybe that's why I became an existentialist! Also, my mom said this: “Why do they have to swear so much?”


Libra: A Tribe Called Quest, Wyclef Jean (Cornell University) Remember how much fun it was to shake our asses to to “I left my wallet in El Segundo”? How many things have we left like that, then had to tell elaborate stories about retracing our steps?


Scorpio: Soundgarden, Ministry, Pearl Jam, etc. (Lollapalooza 2, Saratoga, NY) Dye your hair pink, watch it run down your back in the heavy rain, get drunk on a stranger's flask of sloe gin. Do inadvisable things in the bushes. Watch out for poison ivy.


Sagittarius: Ben Folds (Syracuse University) It was the day after my Uncle Tony died, but he was a music guy, so why not use the tickets? We got separated from our friends, so we watched from a distance as they danced in the collective effervescence. There are few things that can't be soothed by cathartic piano.


Capricorn: Morrissey (Central Park) There was a guy in front of me who had Morrissey's face tattooed on his arm. (Whose face would you tattoo on yours?) I didn't want to throw gladiolas on the stage like everyone else, so I threw pink roses. They got kicked off the stage anyway!


Aquarius: Rilo Kiley, Tilly and the Wall (Hamilton College) 1. If your car isn't that good, wear thick socks in the dead of winter! 2. Hipsters are weird. One minute they're watching 80s TV shows ironically and the next moment they're crying along to an Elliott Smith death ballad; they're raising their hands up and clapping, singing “It's sixteen miles/ to the promised land/and I promise you/I'm doing the best I can.”


Pisces: Flaming Lips, Ween, The Magic Numbers (New York State Fairgrounds) Carnival rides were the perfect backdrop. Wayne Coyne advised us to turn to our friends right then and tell them how much we love them. “Though they were sad,they rescued everyone. They lifted up the sun. A spoonful weighs a ton.”


Aries: Paul Simon (Born at The Right Time Tour) This was the time our family was picture perfect. We even stopped for a picnic by the river one the way there. That day was a perfect rest stop on the way to falling apart. 1. It eventually came back together. 2. It makes the nostalgia sweeter.


Taurus: Tori Amos (Syracuse, NY) 1. She can play two pianos at once! 2. My friend Randy waited backstage and gave her a necklace he made and an antique china teacup. Buy some lovely presents for someone of whom you are a huge fan.


Gemini: Ben Folds Five, Ween, Beck, Neal Young, and... (HOARDE Fest, Saratoga, NY) My brother and I used to go to a lot of concerts together. As we were driving to this one, we were listening to Soul Coughing and I said “Wouldn't it be awesome if Soul Coughing was there?” AND THEY WERE! Maybe a little more wishing aloud this week, Gemini.

Horoscope Week of June 18-24

Poetic Horoscopes by Jane Cassady


Gemini: Last weekend, my mom and stepdad drove down from upstate New York with a van full of plants for us—iris bulbs, rootable mums, calendula, a clump of daisies, wads of vincas for the shady areas, and best of all, a Carefree Delight rosebush. All I had to do was ask, and now we're rich with flowers.


Cancer: One of the best pieces of advice I ever got was from Mindy Nettifee, who suggested bringing pillows with us to the beach. Get thee to an ocean. Lay down your bedding. Call to mind that thing you've been obsessing about and think about it to your heart's content. Let it unspool to the sound of the waves.


Leo: My Aunt Connie told me about this diet book called something like How to Eat Like a Thin Person. She said that “genetically hungry people like us” wouldn't gain weight if we only ate what we really craved. She said “Maybe I've always been hungry because I didn't get a piece of this one baked Alaska in 1968.” I resolved immediately to 1. Apply the same concept to time-management. And 2. Learn to make baked Alaska.


Virgo: Gretchen Reuben started The Happiness Project because she realized that her life is pretty great and she wanted to appreciate it more. Your horoscopist is starting one for the same reason, but also so she won't have to go on anti-depressants. Make a list of five things that will REALLY make you happy, and then do them.


Libra: You are like the section of every teacher catalog where you can order trophies and certificates in bulk. You're dozens of knickknacks that say “We're # 1!” Place your order, have your name engraved on each one, enjoy.


Scorpio: When everyone else is consulting their phones to see if the clouds that have gathered above the beach will mean a thunderstorm, you're setting up your chair under an umbrella, wrapping yourself in a warm towel, and falling in love with the gray horizon.


Sagittarius: The book Love Letters from God makes a nice friend. I like to open it every morning to learn about poets' ecstatic love affairs with the Divine. I've resolved to be less aloof from the Divine, but I'm not sure how I'll know when I've succeeded. Will I be a love-drunk dervish when all is said and done?


Capricorn: The other day on the bus, I saw a man get on who'd tied a miniature purple Christmas ornament to what I thought was his belt. I wish my eyes hadn't followed the string, but they did and I saw that it was tied to his own, er, miniature ornament. Buy your eyeballs something beautiful to make up for all of the things you never wanted to see, but did.


Aquarius: It's your first week in a new home. Unpack all of your boxes as if they were all full of very fragile keepsakes. Look at your light refracting in the glass of your possessions. Paint the walls the color of your radiant eyes. This is your own beautiful life.


Pisces: Go to a used bookstore, if there is such a thing where you live. Breathe in the dust. Find the narrowest aisle and fight claustrophobia. Reach up to the highest shelf and pull down a book. Open it to a random page. It'll tell you what you should do.


Aries: My favorite Aries is my dad. A little over a year ago, he retired from his job managing a convenience store to pursue his dream as a standup comedian. Do something similarly brave and humorous, Aries. I'm cheering you on. If you need a good laugher in the audience, I'll be there every time.


Taurus: My wonderful friend Marcia Cohee used to live by a stream where egrets sometimes landed. She gauged he luck each day by haw many were there: a three-egret day was very lucky, she said. I think you can do this with any kind of bird, or better yet, hydrangea petals.

Horoscope, Week of June 11-17

Poetic Horoscopes by Jane Cassady

Your horoscopist is taking a week off to commune with some beaches. In the meantime, please Google "The Encyclopedia Show", then go to "Audiopedia" and listen to their Zodiac-themed episode.

Enjoy, XOXOX, Jane

Poetic Horoscope, Week of June 4-10

Horoscope, Week of June 4-10 by Jane Cassady (Sorry this is such a late version of this week's horoscope! -Big Blue Marble Editor)

Gemini: This is your week for chatting. Call up all your besties and long-losties. Make ill-advised calls to drunk ex-lovers. As for your enemies: send them the strongly worded letters you've been rehearsing. For every cutie-pie who won't text you back, send three texts to people who really love you.

Cancer: I feel protective of you. I keep wanting to tell you about sunscreen, floppy hats, beach umbrellas, but it's really your metaphorical shell that I love. You can go in there, puzzle it out, then shed your swirly home for another, like a love-drunk hermit crab.

Leo: Isn't it weird that in Pennsylvania, you can sell wine hardly anywhere, but you can see fireworks in every grocery store, right at the front of the Acme with the patriotic pies. Start stockpiling sparklers, black cats, bottle rockets. You're planning something bright, explosive, rainbow-hued.

Virgo: One New Year's, I resolved to be more like Beyoncé, our fellow Virgo. This wasn't because she gets stuck in everyone's head or because her Betty Page impersonation is almost as empowered as Betty herself, but because I like the vulnerability I saw in her eyes when she sang “If I Were a Boy” on Oprah one time. Whose light is blinding you? Whose love is coming at you crazily at the moment? Tell them.

Libra: Everyone falls in love with your beautiful face, glowing so pretty that it's almost supernatural. If that weren't enough, they're in love with your oddities too: the way you organize your jewelry box, the three different sugars you put in your coffee (pink packet, yellow packet, brown packet―how sweet are you?), the dictionary of food terms that you carry like a talisman. Libra, love them back.

Scorpio: I heard that if you put beer on a scorpion's tail, it will sting itself. That might be an urban legend, but what are your little one-drop sabotages? The mean friend you keep hanging out with? The soul-suck job you can't quit? Do you forget to pull back the blinds in you secret rooms during the hour the sun shines in?

Sagittarius: Send love notes to your broken dishes. Mourn the coffee cups chipped by your porcelain sink, or save them to use as pen cups. Pick up every thread. Make a special drawer for the buttons that come in little baggies with new shirts and blouses. Practice keeping track.

Capricorn: Splurge on teacher supplies, even if that isn't your job. Buy dry erase markers to remind you of bright impermanence. Buy sheets of shiny stars and paste them all over your face. Get ten-packs of pencils in every pattern available. Pom Poms, pipe cleaners, googly eyes―build a little cathedral, call in the pilgrimages.

Aquarius: The Aquarius of the week is Justin Timberlake. Think of all he has given us: we hadn't even known that sexy had left until he brought it back, wrapped in a shiny trick Christmas package. Hooray sometimes for the songs that will never be deeper than ringtones. I'll never change mine, Justin.

Pisces: It's another terrible week for actual fishes, but not for you. Your gills are clear as meditation, your vistas un-sullied by petroleum rainbows. You remembered the blowout preventer. What is the opposite of catastrophe, Pisces? That's where you are.

Aries: Put things in order. Make your soul like The Container Store. Label things the ways Real Simple is always nagging you to. Get cute little bins for everything. Things will be neat and clear then, and you'll know what to do.

Taurus: How many libraries are there in your city? Visit them all. Become a connoisseur. Which has the nicest tables at which to leaf through magazines? Which security guard will hug you and offer you tomato plants? Which afterschool program's talent show will restore your faith?