Saturday, April 10, 2010

Poetic Horoscopes by Jane Cassady

A new regular column in the Big Blue Marble Blog! Check out the blog on a weekly basis for astrological horoscopes written by the talented local poet Jane Cassady. What do you need to meditate on this week? Full of poetic spunk, city wisdom, and pop culture references, the Big Blue Marble Bookstore is proud to offer these to the community and beyond.

Horoscope, Week of April 9

Aries: Heirloom roses only come in a few pinks. Give yourself over to the process of hybridization, cross-mixing, and color collaboration, you rose. Make flame-resistant flowers, bubblegum-scented flowers, roses that strike anywhere, like Diamond matches.

Taurus: Ration your time like you ration your calls to 911. You'll neither make unwanted appointments or cry wolf. Practice ignoring your devices, take pleasure in not calling back. Experiment (briefly) with misanthropy. Your apartment is cavelike, darling, spelunk.

Gemini: Experiment with sestinas, modernism, paint-by-number, any other structure you find appealing. Collect the drawings that come with assembly instructions, they are you gurus. Credit the industrial artists with your recovery.

Cancer: Turn the year clock, set to the lifetimes of lilac and wisteria. Cut the heads off daffodils before the flowers start to steal from the bulbs. Consider planting raspberries or starting a project that's equally brambly.

Leo: Clean out the pen cups-- they are far too full of dry souvenir pens, novelty pencil/snowglobes, and miniature light sabers that don't light up or write. Use these to build a little fence outside, where someone you like will see it. Then go buy some new pens.

Virgo: Visit the local historical garden. Stick your face in the early lilacs. They'll remind you, like they do every year, of the finiteness of life. Nearby, there's a chair, carved and velvet-upholstered, once sat in by the Marquis de Lafayette, well after the American Revolution. They won't let you sit in it. Don't steal the lilacs.

Libra: You keep seeing signs that say “Free Mulch”--ignore them. You need the weeds to come. Weed while you're thinking and get some sun on your face. Mom says you need to make sure you get enough sunlight, to get your Vitamin D. You're tired, though, of people reminding you of the things you need to make sure of.

Scorpio: You are happy, ecstatic, delighted, a walking serotonin factory, a hydrogen-driven sun. Never mind anyone else who isn't crackling with warmth, those Morlock-hued flint-people asking you to simmer down—don't simmer down.

Sagittarius: Go to the Picasso exhibit, if you can. Sit on his fur couch, if it doesn't give you the heebie-jeebies. You'll have everything you need: hot and cold-running horizontals, cinnamon-colored walls. Just stop there, and forget what you're usually doing.

Capricorn: Forget what Father McDermott said about the right hand never knowing what the left hand's doing. Be ambidextrous. Celebrate today every nice thing you've ever done. Do this birthday party style: glittery paper hats, door prizes, technicolor cake, and noisemakers. Don't forget the noisemakers.

Aquarius: In Italian, campanilismo means local pride, living in view of your own church steeple. Write a love-acrostic to the two streets of the nearest intersection. Decorate the local produce mart with multicolored Hershey and lipstick kisses. Make out and/or make art with the neighbors. Pet every single dog.

Pisces: There's only six or so episodes of Lost left. Maxwell Kessler says he's gonna wait til it's all over and see if everyone is disappointed with the finale before he watches one single episode. He wants to save himself the pain. The other day my wife thought she was playing the first episode of Twin Peaks when she was actually playing the last. The moral of these stories: 1. It's okay to watch things backwards. 2. Maybe there is a place where dreams intersect with purgatory, and maybe, like an intuitive detective, you can find it.

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