Horoscopes starting 4.14.2016

    I know a discontented gentleman
    Whose humble means match not his haughty spirit.
    Gold were as good as twenty orators,
    And will, no doubt, tempt him to any thing.
    Page in Shakespeare’s Richard III (IV.ii.36-9)

Best time to file taxes?

Horoscopes starting 4.14.2016



The Ram

The Shakespeare quote is a passage about how to hire criminal element to perform an unsavory task. As an addendum to those lines? The other way I’ve heard this oft repeated? “Money can’t buy me love.” The phrase that gets tacked onto that one?

There are two, really, “Money can’t buy me love? You’re not shopping in the right places,” or, the more logical extension, to me, “Money can’t buy love, but it can buy a boat that that you can park right next to love.”

In that play, it’s not a happy ending, and the results of buying off a crook, just results in more madness. No, not a happy ending at all. However, there are other ways to handle the birthday energies in Aries. Venus lingers a bit longer, as the Sun moves into Taurus early next week. There’s a shift, but it doesn’t happen until next week. No, money probably can’t buy love, but a certain financial boost means you can afford something that is best called, “Love-like.”


Time to kiss and make up with an ex. Could be, best guess, an ex-lover. Ex-girlfriend, ex-boyfriend, ex-wife, (rat-bastard deadbeat) ex-husband, something like that. The term “Kiss and make-up?” It’s largely metaphorical and allegorical, at this moment. Doesn’t necessarily mean actual osculation.

Some days, just having a more open line of communication is all it takes. Some days, just making the effort to communicate with one of the exes is all it takes.

My excuse for not following this advice? I did make the effort, but apparently, my e-mail wound up in her junk mail. I tried. As a Taurus, soon, very soon, someone on that list? Try to contact. Initiate some kind of communication.


One of my buddies made a bunch of money some years back. Part of his reward to himself was a slightly used, but still very expensive two-seater, German-brand sports car. You know the marque, the brand itself? Expensive car. Rolling into a mechanics bay, the prices start at hundreds of dollars and just go up from there. My buddy, it’s a Gemini thing, makes a lot of money, goes out and celebrates, and then, a few days, weeks or months later, he’s broke again. Last time I saw him, he was trying to impress this one young lady. He tossed her the keys to the toy car and asked, “You know how to drive a stick?” She nodded, and took off on a beer run.

There was much grinding and possibly very expensive damage to his German gearbox. I couldn’t watch. She showed up minutes later, with beer, and I departed shortly thereafter, leave them to their matters. It was the German gearbox that I kept thinking of, the thrashing of metal-on-metal, the grinding of the gears, the horrible abuse of the mechanical pride and joy, shredded by an inept hand, all in the name of pleasure.

Careful about sacrifices we all must make, careful about which ones to make. At the time, in my Gemini buddy’s mind, the price of beer and female companionship outweighed the price of a new set of German gears. As Mars moves opposite, there are choices. Giving that particular female the keys, for those reasons? Made good sense to my Gemini friend. Made perfect sense. Looks like my buddy will be working on another big deal to pay for new gears, so you have to ask your Gemini selves, “Is the price worth it?” For that one guy? He thought so, at the time.


When I was downtown resident in San Antonio, there was special program by the City, to encourage more downtown residents. It was a special parking pass. I got two. One was nothing more than laminated sheet, good for a year, put it on the dash of any car, and that was “free pass” to park in any downtown spot, for free. Metered spots, 20-minute zones, commercial spots, “Decal Holder Permitted.” Handy piece of paper. I preferred to call it, “Resident status,” but that term gets confused and can scare some folks. It was handy.

Since all the cars I’ve driven, most of my immediate family, all the cars are “hybrid.” More for a political reason than anything else, but the hybrids also get a free downtown parking pass. The trick is, all I had to do, was go to the City’s parking division, and register. Downtown resident? Free pass. Hybrid car? Free pass. In this day, with Mars where he is, doing what he is doing? This is the time for my Cancer friends to check into what options there are. Like me, I was surprised, even though I no longer have a downtown address, I can still get the hybrid sticker. Free parking. Take advantage of anything you can. Have you explored all the options that are offered?

The Leo:

I pose questions. I seek answers. Some days? My questions have no answers — BUT I’m not a magnificent Leo. There are days when there are no right answers. Or, in my example for the Leo week? No answers at all. I’ve toned down my methodology of asking, but on some occasions, I can grate on nerves. I don’t intend to, but some folks find some of my apparently pointless questions annoying.

I know, right?

Instead of me asking you a question, though, maybe one that doesn’t have an easily apparent answer? Instead of that, consider this a challenge, foisted by the planets, for the majestic Leo to ask questions that might appear rhetorical or with no easy answer. Either ask the tough questions this week, or you’ll be confronted by one like me, with pointless questions. Not pointless, just not easy to answer.


Inkling of frustration? Not like I didn’t try to coach you that this was going to unfold like this, nope, can’t blame me for this one. That sense of frustration, this has actually occurred, to me, sitting in the front of a bass boat, local lake. Got my buddy in the back, and he just tagged along, brought one fishing pole, and he is just “Tearing them up!” First cast that morning? Fish on! Reeling in a few big ones, mostly medium-seized, but no matter what I throw at the fish, no luck. That’s the frustration. It doesn’t get bad until I start trying to compete with my fishing buddy. If there was a friendly wager, or a tournament, then it’s an issue. But this wasn’t so there’s no real reason to compete. One of us is catching, we’re both on the water and enjoying a mild spring day with hungry bass, so stop comparing. That comparison is the source of the frustration.


At one point, I traveled so much I knew several local flight crews. Did readings for some, at one point in my travels. So I’m familiar with just how stupid passengers can be. While I endeavor to be polite, and as little trouble as possible, apparently not all frequent fliers are like me. I asked on one recent flight, and the exasperated attendant, not a Libra this time, rolled her eyes a little. “Is this flight full?” As the plane was crammed to the brim, I had a good answer for that, “No, it’s not completely full, we usually try to fit a couple of kids and at least one extra pilot in the overhead racks. It’s like spare bunk, you know?” Need a smart answer to stupid questions this next few days, as you’re going to find that more people seem to surround you with stupid questions. That’s my example of smart answer to a dumb question, with the image taken from a fairly regular occurrence in my life. Think about the stupid questions, then think about the answers you can have ready, because, the way things are? You’ll hear at least one of those seriously, stupidly, weirdly-off questions. Have a snappy retort ready.


This is a really old trick. I’ve used this exact same technique, year after year, as a makeshift, stopgap, emergency metaphysical method to cure certain ills. This is about protecting the Scorpio backside. Not quite the most important Scorpio anatomical part, but close, so very close. I developed this technique, it might be purely symbolic, but I’d mosey on over to the dining room, at some No-Tell Motel, where we’d be working in the main event center. I’d fetch up a salt shaker, and surreptitiously as possible gently shake the salt out around my table, around the booth space I was anchored in. Simple, refined table salt, as a metaphysical barrier between me, or in this example, Scorpio, between the Scorpio psyche and the ones who are trying to harm the Scorpio psyche. Me? I know better. But the simple trick, a little bit of salt, the evil can’t cross that line of salt. Stops snails, some bugs, and evil, dead in its tracks. Don’t think it works on vampires or werewolves, or some ex-wives, but as a guideline, it’s about building a simple, metaphysical barrier between your Scorpio self and that other stuff.


Some of the people I’ve worked with, over the years, I’m sure some of them are certifiably insane. Not “crazy,” but clinically verifiable as not sharing elements with our consensual reality. The same has probably been said about me, too, but I’m not about to debate that. Evidence suggests I get up in the morning, like a real person, fix breakfast, like a real person, go to work, like a real person, so I’m not that far off of whatever is consider “normal.” Apparently, I can function in society, more or less. Still, I do have several clients, even to this day, I think they’re nuts. Just plain whacked-out of line.

This is part of what my business is all about, being a reader of the night sky, some of the folks I encounter, people who avail themselves of my services, might not be all there. I’m good with that. I saw one of my semi-regular clients the other day, might be bipolar, might not be, I’m in no position to make that call. Weird chart with much going on, but the trick? Listen, echo, analyze, provide competent feedback, but don’t take the “crazy” home with you. It’s not the crazy person I’m suggesting, no they usually don’t want to go, but it’s the “crazy” energy. Before I go home, I have to divest myself of the stuff. As a fellow Sagittarius, this next few days, “crazy” will try an attach itself to us. Just don’t take it home with us. Simpler, easier that way.


I’m not a Capricorn. However, with the planets arrayed like they are, I have a certain amount of sympathy for Capricorn. Because I am who I am, I can take the thinnest shred of evidence and turn that into a mighty obstacle, or a rule, or a mandate. The thinnest piece of evidence, for me, suddenly becomes “Everyone.” Like? “Everyone is doing it this way,” or, always a favorite, “everyone said it was OK!” Notice that there is discernible lack of evidence to support my hypothetical statement about “everyone.” Turns out, this is a frequent occurrence with me, “Everyone” means, “I know a single guy,” and as an addendum, his name was probably “Bubba.” So a sweeping generalization based on the thinnest shard of evidence is not the way to go, not for Capricorn. Need more evidence, or, better yet, a random sampling of a population; just polling one person doesn’t constitute any indication of consensus.

When you dig for more evidence to arrive a real median average? You’ll find this skews different from that one guy.

“I know that was going to happen to Capricorn, this week, I read it on a website.”


I was in Austin, first my old home, and then, a primary place of business for me, and I still have lots of family there. So I was in Austin, this was a few weeks back, and I ran across a former flame. Old girlfriend. Well, she’s older now, and she was looking really good. Only, she was being escorted around by a suave, expensive-looking gentlemen of more advanced years than any of us. Old girlfriend, well, girlfriend is a strong term, former lover? Occasional lover from the distant past? Sure, got a good Aquarius idea about the nature of the relationship then and now? Hadn’t seen her in years, lost track, not on any of the sites these days. She nodded at me, glanced at the man beside her, then glanced down, and kept on moving, the merest glimmer of recognition about what had passed between us, then. Now is a different story, I suspect. The overt and cautious decorum, the sense that “Now’s not the time to acknowledge our previous relations,” the overweening sense of “Hush, not now?”

There’s a flood feelings, a brief moment when I’d blush about some of the memories, blood rushing to my face and involuntary smile, then I looked the other way. Whether this is an ex floating passed you, or memories that make you blush? What to do with this material? I’ll suggest it’s there like a bookmarked page, not much more, but the planets will bring this energy up. Be demure, that worked best for me, would probably work best, there’s that fleeting moment of recognition then, “We’ve moved on and now’s NOT the time…”


Any good business needs to keep a regular inventory of what’s on hand. I’ve taken occasional pictures of various posted images that refer to stores and their inventories, with cryptic notes that make no sense to me, as a layman. I’m a shopper, not a seller. My business inventory is largely contained in my head or digital equivalent thereof, rather than any kind of physical inventory. So I’m a good Pisces example, right now, about taking stock of what’s on hand. What we’ve got to work with, what’s available, what resources are at our Pisces command, and what’s not available, what we’re running short of, and what we’ve got more than enough of, all of that. What’s on hand, what we can easily obtain, and what is just not available at the present time? It’s that last point, if we’re out of “X” and that’s the special part of our usual stuff?

As a Pisces, this is a good time to learn how to work around what’s missing. Instead of bemoaning fate, or claiming “It just can’t be done without ‘x,’ oh woe is me?” The trick is the work-around, the way to get through this? What you’re missing? The missing element, the missing parts? It’s the way I learned to make the best chili, I didn’t have any beans. Typically, chili doesn’t have beans in it, but with enough “southern” in my heritage, beans were part of the deal, growing up. So I was without beans and making chili, and I discovered that I make better chili that way. Just because you’re missing what seems be important pieces? Maybe that’s OK. Turned out well for me. Take stock and see what we’ve got to work with, now.

About the author: Born and raised in a small town in East Texas, Kramer Wetzel spent years honing his craft in a trailer park in South Austin. He hates writing about himself in third person. More at KramerWetzel.com.

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