“I sat upon the shore
Fishing, with the arid plain behind me
Shall I at least set my lands in order?”

Excerpt From: T. S. Eliot. “The Waste Land.” 424~

But take the High’st to witness. Then pray you tell me,
If I should swear by Jove’s great attributes
I lov’d you dearly, would you believe my oaths
When I did love you ill? This has no holding,
To swear by Him whom I protest to love
That I will work against Him; therefore your oaths
Are words and poor conditions, but unseal’d—
At least in my opinion.

Diana in Shakespeare’s All’s Well That Ends Well 4.2.24~

Horoscopes starting 6/29/2017

Cancer:

The bumpersticker read, “Lab Mom.” Pause. think about how I would take that — I’m not a dog person. My first instinct? “Cool! A mom built in a laboratory! How perfect can that be?” SUV, highway into Austin, yeah, probably not a mom built in lab, probably not a lab mom like I was thinking.

Bummer, dude. That would be so totally cool. A mom built to order. There’s a certain kind of misunderstanding, and not uncommon at the moment, not in the sign of the Moon Child.

“So Mercury is Retrograde?”

No, that’s not it. I made it abundantly clear that I read a bumpersticker and I inferred one meaning, based upon available evidence. Clear, possible, and upon further reflection, probably wrong. Still, it could be the case. I doubt it. I would suppose, upon further rumination, that it probably means a dog–owner who has a Labrador, or Labrador mix four–legged companion. That’s probably what is really implied with the bumper sticker. Still, I liked my version better, a vat–grown, hybrid machine with more skills than the regular, old-fashioned mom. How cool would that be.

“It’s a new model, a Lab Mom, made her myself.”

Perfect birthday gift?

The Leo:

It’s life–lesson time. I was holding a bag of lemons, I just picked up at the grocery store. I pulled open the bag, and showed it to a friend. “Life lesson,” I said, “when life gives you lemons, you do what?” He looked at me. “Give them back?”

No. No, no, no, I am so disappointed.

When life gives you lemons, what does The Leo do?

Grab the tequila!

None of this lame, “Make lemonade” crap. Do the adult thing. There will be a chance, this next week, some guy is standing there with a bag of lemons. What are you going to do?

Honestly, I’m making lemonade, because I’m not real good with the cactus juice, no, it has an adverse affect on me, but that’s just me. The sentiment, and I would like to hear this echoed, “Life gives me lemons? Yeah, This Leo is partying!”

Simple, and adjust as need be. But it does work. Upside. There’s always an upside.

Virgo:

Three of us in a boat. Me, and my Virgo fishing buddies. You know I like Virgo buds best, right? Best fishing buddies. Three of us, boat on the bay, hot summer day, six lines out with dead bait on the end of each line. Nibble, fish picks up a bait, and and then, the pole bends over, drag on the reel screaming in agony as a BIG FISH runs away with the bait. First Virgo guy picks it up and starts playing the fish. Second line goes, which means, in short order, there are three of us in the boat, so four lines have fish on! With the kind of bay fishing arrangement we have set up, that one fish can wander off and we’ll get to him when we can. The problem being, look at this, three guys, 19-foot boat, see how this might be problematic?

It was.

Lines got crossed and we lost one fish, and one of the other baits might’ve had something on it, we’ll never know for sure. There’s a tough kind of energy that makes everything confusing, “Here, dude under my line, no, UNDER!” See how this works? Dancing around on a flats boat like it was a party or something. We got to where we were hollering at each other, and directions got screwed up and the fact we did land three fish, one — mine — was good–sized, but even the merest idea that we managed at all? That’s exactly what this week is like in Virgo. Up to you, how you want this to play out. Move carefully, and realize that some lines will get tangled despite the best Virgo efforts.

Libra:

One of my neighbors was having trouble with his computer, an older desktop computer. I have — largely undeserved — reputation as a “go–to” for computer repairs, fast and easy. He calls me up and I pop over — undressed, barefoot, unshaven, un-showered, it’s a guy, he won’t mind. Older guy. I look at his problem for a few moments, then wander back home. I pop a few keywords into a search and come back filtering the data myself, with the quick, easy reset button. All that’s required. Quick, easy, simple. I had to use a quick search, and it wasn’t a big deal, just a quick reset. In part, I know what to look for, and, in part, I can filter faster with fewer distractions, weeding out the crap that doesn’t matter. Three minute fix, maybe, realistically, more like 30 seconds.

I know where to look and I know how to ask the correct question. The idea that I was some sort of guru or master mechanic of the computers is patently false. Not that it matters, to my one neighbor I am now legendary.

The myth lives on. I just explained my lack of prowess and lack of skill, just a shot in the dark, for me, but that doesn’t dissuade the rumors that now abound — “Kramer can fix any computer problem!”

The myth lives on, despite my best efforts to kill it off. As a Libra, what myth is living on, or, in this very example, has surpassed its useful date?

“Can you fix my computer?”

Nope.

“Can you look at it, at least?”

Looks like a computer to me, that’s for sure.

Scorpio:

In my mind, there’s a strong connection between the physical world, our bodies, our physical well–being, and our emotional side, our psyche and soul, our emotional well–being. There’s a chart “signature” that I look for, and that arrangement increases the strength of that connection between emotional and physical well–being. With the material kicking looses in the heavens, and the relative motion of Mars, mostly water, but not Scorpio Water, this connection, and the Scorpio intuition about this connection is heightened. Now, the challenge for my good little Scorpio friends, discerning judgements — what is normally good, refined–even, Scorpio judgement? Maybe not so good at this moment. Just means, pains me to suggest this, but I would suggest you ask someone for an opinion, or, a second opinion, or, as I’ve been known to ask, “Does this look infected?”

Sagittarius:

On more than one occasion, it’s been suggested that I might not be in my right mind. I’ve never questioned this. Not my place to question my own sanity. I would tend to agree, too, that I might not be all here, or all there, or all wherever it is that I am supposed to be. Given the way this next few days plays out, there’s a lot of pressure on Sagittarius to “Be yourself, be your true authentic self.” Yeah, I’m not sure we really want to unleash that beast.

For Sagittarius, the best course of action? Maybe not any action, or maybe, nothing too rash, or maybe, given the demons many of us are wrestling with? Given that wrestling match that seems to be ongoing? What we can do is allow a glimpse of “Our true selves,” but maybe, too much “Authenticity” looks like too much (organic male bovine by–product).

Normally, we can dish this out with the best, but a long, hot summer? In Texas, maybe we don’t need to shovel anything — at this moment. It’s OK to be real, but maybe, we don’t need to be too real, not under this searing summer sun.

Capricorn:

Most summers, for that matter, fall and spring, and even some of the South Texas winter? I’ll wear what are called “Hawaiian Shirts.” Alternatively, they’ve been called “Aloha Shirts,” which, technically, can really only be applied to a very small sub-set of my shirts. Most of mine are merely loud, maybe vaguely tropical in theme, printed shirts. I’m pretty cheap, too, so most of them are bought on sale. I was looking at one, I’ve had for more than 20 years. That’s a long time for an everyday-wear shirt to last. It was cheap when I bought it, too, as I think I remember that.

A real Hawaiian Shirt should be made in Hawaii, and the buttons should be fashioned from coconut husk, that’s the way I heard it. I’ve got maybe one or two shirts that are really Hawaiian, and the rest, like the one in question? Just loud. Durable. Cheap.

Loud, durable, cheap. That got your attention, your Capricorn attention. Like clothing, I tend to favor, I’d suggest that those words are just a good guideline for the next few days, for Capricorn. If you have to, if it helps, imagine my short collection. Not really “Hawaiian Shirts,” or even real “Aloha Shirts,” just loud, durable and cheap.

Capricorn: Loud, durable, cheap.

Aquarius:

An old country crooner was moaning about a particular West Texas feature. Yeah, I listen to some country music. Way it goes. Get over it, Aquarius. The crooner, not sure, rich voice, guitar twang in the background, gentle bass and 4/4 beat? He was moaning about the sights of West Texas. Hot, dry, flat. Some folks see sky, some folks see oil wells, some folks see big fans. Depends, I suppose. The singer was moaning about the blankness of it all. To me, that’s a beautiful feature, but I tend to find beauty in everything, and as an Aquarius, you can find that beauty, too. I have an Aquarius buddy, we were chatting, and I mentioned the searing, soaring vision of the West Texas Sky, and his quick rejoinder?

“Ever see it
rain mud?”

Yes, there is that. The aching, clear skies, and the way the sunset lights up the evening’s sky, the ability to be all alone, or feel very alone, against that West Texas backdrop? Even if it is only a short musical trip out there instead of hours of travel? It’s important to be in touch with that, as the Moon fills out, and as the planets move on around. Mercury is going to move — in another week — opposite your Aquarius self. Get ready to touch the sky, or imitate that high and lonesome sound. It’s really a fetching image — of course, I don’t live there, just passing through.

Pisces:

One buddy of mine is, he has, I don’t know, some kind of negotiation training. Like me, he implies that there’s great depth therein, but really, I’m not so sure. He might be jerking my chain, “Hostage negotiation.” I’m not sure how much is true and how much is fiction. “True story,” he told me, which, like all of life’s ironies, usually isn’t. His golden rule, for any any negotiation, be it lunch, fishing spot, or girlfriends, ex-wives, whatever?

“Never, under any circumstances, accept the first offer. Never accept the first offer. No matter how good it might seem, never accept the first offer.”

His rule, his alleged training, his deal. No deal the first time. There are no plaques or certificates on his walls, so I’m not sure where he learned this tactic. No way to know if this real, or, possibly, just made up. It could happen, with my friends. Not all of them are as pointedly honest as I am. However, for what’s happening, and this might be Pisces–situational, but think about my buddy’s advice, first crack at that negotiation? Seems like the person across the table from Pisces is offering a really sweet deal? Although I can’t validate my buddy’s sources, as a tactic, it might just apply to Pisces, this week. Maybe don’t accept that first offer.

“That all you got?”

Maybe. Maybe there’s more.

Aries:

When I fish with one particular buddy, I always bring two fishing poles. One will be rigged with this week’s, “I read it on the internet,” latest and greatest craze in fishing gear. The other pole, every time? I use one of two “go–to” baits, either a dark plastic worm–looking thing, or a clear curly–tail on a light jig-head. Depends on the season, really, and what the water might look like. The pictures on the website prove what works: tried and true. On one occasion, one time, the super–duper, beats-all, latest and greatest worked. $20 fishing lure. Over the course of a few years, though, expensive lures, weird tackle arrangements, and everything else? One time the specialty stuff has worked better than the old, tried and true. Which is why, as much to humor my buddy, I carry two poles. One is bound to work, when we fish. I will, dutifully, and playing to his obvious excitement, try this week’s latest innovation. Have to be willing to try.

Planets push and pull on the Aries soul. There’s a strong need to “experiment,” or give in to this week’s “latest and greatest” craze, and this might not be fishing tackle, but I can’t think of anything more important. However, follow how I handle this: two fishing poles. One rigged with “latest and greatest,” and the other? Old standby, “go-to” that never fails. Success is promised, for Aries, if you hare prepared. Takes two.

Taurus:

I never heard of “Doughnut” peaches before. Nope, new item to me. Found them at the farmer’s market, while I was looking for a local version of peaches. Doughnut Peaches. I suppose, near as I could tell, I got a few of them, near as I can surmise? The name is based on the shape, as the ones I sampled? Tasted nothing like doughnuts. Firm, white flesh for the peaches, with a weird, almost — to me — heart–shape.

I don’t see the “doughnut” except as an oblique reference to its shape or — this is one of those adult tricks. “Here, you need eat more fruits and veggies, try this doughnut peach.”

Why we live is in such misanthropic society, now, as children, even to this day, we’re lied to — “No, really, it’s good for and it tastes good.”

As the planets tend to shift around, and as the moon fills out, some? Careful. Be careful about the lies we tell ourselves.

“Tastes just like a doughnut!”

Gemini:

The way the planets play out there’s, this is comic to me, there’s a long slide. There’s a long, very Gemini, slide. Like, you know, cotton socks on a hardwood floor? Maybe fresh–waxed tile, and socks, again? A slide, a long, and dramatic slide. The potential pratfall with this slip and slide scenario, as delivered by the planets? For Gemini? The problem is the abrupt stop at the end, or, possibly worse? No stopping. Just sort of slide and keep on sliding…

“Wait, wait, WAIT!”

I hear you. You also know that I would help if I could. But I can’t. Looks like you keep on going as the coefficient of friction is greatly and suddenly reduced. Those socks, that floor, whatever the slide is caused by? Looks like you’re going to go sailing well past your intended target.

If you’re smart, like me?

“I meant to do that!”