“Flout ’em, and scout ’em; and scout ’em, and flout ’em;
Thought is free.”
Shakespeare’s The Tempest [III.ii.87]
Horoscopes by the Fishing Guide to the Stars starting 9.11.2014
Virgo: Used to be, I was gone every weekend. Out of town, or in town, but basically, gone. There was a time when I was “away” almost every weekend, either for business, pleasure, family business, and for what one would call “monkey business.” All the same to me, and the coherent pattern? Travel. Certainly, at one point, the “roller board bag” type of baggage was the most useful single item I owned. That and a good computer case that could stay with me. I went from briefcase to backpack to shoulder bag to messenger bag to backpack, over and around a number of times, always looking for the perfect fit. For me, I don’t travel near that much anymore, and for me, the bike-messenger bag is working out best. Not without considerable trial and error, but what it presents to me is a single, large bag, big enough for laptop, palm-top, keyboard, change of clothes, books, cords, cards, and cables — maybe a toothbrush and a spare shirt. There’s a balance point we’re all looking for, and with Virgo birthdays upon us, more so than ever before. What this is about, trying to find that perfect balance. I’ve long-since given up on style. Something to think about, comfort, form, fit, or style? What’s most important, now?
Libra: Ever start to say something, then the words get confused, as they exit? What this is like, at the moment. In Libra. For Libra, anyway. There we are, stumbling over our words. What can you do about it?
The first, most obvious solution? Shut up. Quit talking. Quit trying to communicate when the Libra rush to fill the dead air space with a torrent of information happens at a pace wherein the brainstem and mouthpiece seem unconnected. The subtle disconnect comes from Mars shifting into Sagittarius, while the Sun and Mercury are still loping along in Virgo. Since there seems to be a Libra disconnect between brain and mouth, between the part that thinks and the part that processes the information, and them the part that delivers the data? Since there’s an ongoing interruption this week? The quickest, easiest way to let all of this get caught and working in harmony? Stop trying to communicate. Wait until someone asks the question; although, you already know what your Libra answer will be.
Scorpio: “Ink” is a leftover fascination from too much time in Austin. I look, long and hard, at exposed ink, sometimes able to discern the message. Sometimes, I can’t make it out, but I’m not afraid to ask. Saw a décolletage outfit, the burnished, coffee-flavored skin against a bright sundress, and her shoulder blades were marked with distinct quotation marks. “ and “ Back of her neck was in between the quote marks, and as a writer myself, I liked the symbolism, at least, the way I interpreted it. The space for the quotation was left blank. Fill in the blanks — yourself. All up to the individual. All up to the individual Scorpio now, too. Fill in the blanks. The quotation marks, like Saturn, are permanent and indelible. What fills into that blank? Borne of your own thought process. Some things, like tattoos and Saturn, are permanent. How we all deal with this? We can write and rewrite our decisions.
Sagittarius: I dashed into a coffee shop. I had minutes to go before a reading, and I desperately needed a jolt to make it through the afternoon. “Medium cappuccino.” I know it’s warm out, but that would do. I was going to be parked in AC, going through the details of an astrology chart. The espresso machine hissed, and the first, one was a Capricorn, the other was Sagittarius, handed me a paper cup with a heady, slow-pulled espresso. I looked, smiled patiently, “Cappuccino? Steamed milk? Frothed milk, of some kind? Please?” The Sagittarius took over from the Capricorn, who seemed frustrated and lacked focus. The Sagittarius steamed up some milk, then spooned the frothy on top of my espresso, which, if you have to know, is the way I like it, rather dry, just froth. “Sorry about that,” the Capricorn shrugged her shoulders, “I’m going crazy right now. But you knew that.” Not so much, but sure, I could see it. I went with what happened, and for a moment, thought I’d be late for a phone appointment. But I wasn’t. All worked out. Sagittarius saved my day, just topped off the drink with foam, the way I like it. The trick? Don’t panic. That simple, don’t panic, we’ll all make it, even if we have to have a course correction — or two.
Capricorn: I’ve been living out a Jimmy Buffett song for so long, I lost track or reality. There will be some who can — arguably correct — point out that I lost touch with consensual reality many years ago. This isn’t about me, it’s about various soundtracks to life. Interpretation of said soundtracks, and which ones, for some strange reason, seem to fit now, more so than before. Odd, to me, as several of the older songs, and in one case, a B-side tune, those are the musical allusions that I’m stuck in, right now; it changes, too. Pick an artist, me, with coastal, Texas, not-quite-country, not quite rock’n’roll, Buffett “island” mix works. I tend to think I’m “West of Key West,” but that’s more geographic rather than musical. Still, there’s a Jimmy Buffett (Capricorn) song that fits. Pick one. More than one. It’s like a juke box. Get one that fits then get one that you want to fit.
Aquarius: Although not recent, it’s a little item I recently ran across again — Shakespeare’s “The Tempest” is a revenge comedy. I use an opening quote from “The Tempest,” and I was working on a wholly unrelated project, when I crossed the path of the “revenge comedy.” It all depends on how that play is done. I’ve seen it portrayed darkly, comically, darkly comic, and just one shade shy of slapstick. I prefer it with come overtones of darkness, one setting used a very minimalist set that was next to nothing but trees dressed in dark shrouds. Sets a tone, for sure. How can revenge be comedic? So, as this week rolls along with the Sun in Virgo, how can a good Aquarius write a “revenge comedy” play? The key element? Comedy.
Pisces: “I used to wait tables, and I sold more desserts by saying, ‘There are no calories in this pie on Wednesday.’ Or Tuesday, Thursday, whatever day it was.” Hat tip to the former waitress, with that one. “No calorie dessert today.” Sells more desserts, which, in turn means a higher tab, which, in turn means more money, which, in turn, means more Pisces revenue. “Money won’t buy love,” as I’m fond of quoting, “but you can rent it for a little while.” There’s at least one Pisces with new shoes this week, and she will explain that money can buy, if you know where to shop. Obviously, I don’t. There’s a simple little line you can use. It’s going to help. The way this works, take that “No calories on Wednesday” comment apart, as not only does it potentially mean added income for Pisces, there’s also a bonus of everyone involved feeling better. Much better. Works two way, and as your archetype (the symbol for Pisces is really two fishes), we all do better if we work both sides. Increased revenue by making people better. Besides, on Wednesday, the pie was always fresh. Means there were no added calories. Doesn’t count as a diet cheat.
Aries: “My people” keep changing. I used to know, back in the old, Austin daze, I used to know the sign — birthday — of most everyone I had daily contact with. Waitresses, waiters, guy behind the counter at the convenience store, checker at the grocery store, all of them. Many people in coffee shops. As I’ve gradually drifted south, I’ve lost touch with a number of those people. However, I haven’t lost contact with asking birthdays, or remembering people by their signs rather than names. “My people” used to include the afternoon crews, and these days, “My people” are more the early morning staff, the bleary-eyed, first up, that opening shift. The point is to be adaptable. The point is to be willing to change. The part that remains the same is “my people” are referred to by sign, not name. Easier for me. The Aries clan, the Aries group, the Aries “People” are changing, and this might be for the better. Why I always liked calling them by sign, so I didn’t have to remember new names.
Taurus: I know it’s a “crescent moon.” How do I know that? I look outside. Well, really, I look at an astrology chart, but the idea is the same. I look for a point of reference. That’s how I know something. The question I’d pose for Taurus, is “How does knowledge circulate?” How do you know what you know? How did that information arrive at your fingertips so you could read it, it and then, how do you learn something? How does that knowledge get around, get out, get distributed so that your Taurus self can acquire the knowledge? Increasingly, with the world’s “knowledge,” or the libraries, at least, at out fingertips, the question of how stuff gets around is a big question. Next week, consider how you ingest information, where the data derives from, how it gets delivered and what you do with it. How it gets to you and then, how you interpret what it means. In some computer terms, this is like, “Looking at the source code.” Perhaps that’s not quite the correct spin, but as Mars moves out of Scorpio, it’s time to look at how you receive the information that you do get. How your Taurus knowledge circulates.
Gemini: Pick one direction. Before Mars enters Sagittarius, pick one goal. One, easily obtainable goal. Pick one. Pick a direction, choose a goal, hone in on just one task, some goal you know, in your Gemini heart, something you can get done before next week. Goal, direction, just settle on a single field, then narrow it down some. Perhaps start broad, but quickly, we only have a few days left, quick-like, pick that direction, goal, objective; acquire a target. The target. As soon as Mars hits Sagittarius, Mr. Mars is going to oppose your gentle, sweet Gemini self. Therein is our problem. That opposition, that Mars energy can be harnessed, if, big if, if you’ve already selected a suitable target. Pick a single goal. One direction. One thing that must get done, I should amend that, one thing that must be accomplished by your Gemini self. Pick that goal before the Mars pressure arrives later this week. Pick now.
Cancer: One of the few fruits that I buy, when I can, are organic apples. Turns out, I’ve had a couple of local farmers for clients, so I know of what I speak, turns out that most of the “organic” is merely a label to sell the same stuff at a higher price. In the example of apples, though, the “organic” ones tend to be un-sprayed by chemicals. The apple’s skin is the part that absorbs the most chemicals. Not much “organic” is really any different from “regular,” which, I suppose, would be inorganic, but I’m not one to quibble about certain terms. This is about organic apples being better because there’s a large advantage to the “no additives” rule. Few chemicals, and therefore, fewer bad things. This is an example of clarity with a certain issue. “organic” versus “regular,” and how that label might be good, in this case. Distinctions. Look a little deeper than the skin, look a little deeper than the label to find what you need. Find what you want, anyway. Buy organic apples. Other stuff? Maybe not so much.
The (mighty) Leo: The big challenge facing Leo? Don’t get confused over who is doing the talking, and who is doing the writing. I’m an author. I write stuff. However, the “speaker” when I write is frequently a mythical construct, sort of an amalgam of parts that might — or might not — be me. Hard to tell, and this is another situation where I’m preaching one message, but don’t ask if I cam tell the difference in my own life. Don’t confuse, author, actor, character, speaker with creator, author, writer. I’ve been assured I have a distinctive voice. Likewise, I’m sure you, as the Leo, have a distinctive voice. Here’s the tip: don’t let the voice get confused with the speaker, or get that confused with who you really are.
