Horoscopes for 8.3.2017

    How absolute the knave is! We must speak by the card, or equivocation will undo us. By the Lord, Horatio, this three years I have took note of it: the age is grown so pick’d that the toe of the peasant comes so near the heel of the courtier, he galls his kibe. How long hast thou been grave-maker?
    Hamlet in Shakespeare’s Hamlet 5.1.64

Eclipse patterns and eclipse notes.

Horoscopes for 8.3.2017

The Leo:

The Leo

The Leo

Good times, no? Not without some trials and tribulations, to sound a little trite, but that’s just how this goes. Here’s the deal: don’t get married to it.

I was trying to think of an easier, simpler way to say it. I don’t have that. For The Leo?

Don’t get married to it.

Not now, not this week. Great ideas. Court, spoon, date, pledge, suggest, coerce, if need be, but no, not getting married. The term, I chose it carefully, as “marriage,” despite modern indications otherwise, tends to be assumed as a permanent decision — which it is! So, my Leo suggested patter? This week? Don’t get married to it.

Or, in other words? Use a pencil. Not a pen. Ink is permanent. Pencil can be erased and adjusted as need be.

The Ruffian’s Misfortune – Ray Wylie Hubbard

The Ruffian’s Misfortune



The Virgin

I was listening to a song by a Texas Troubadour, Scorpio, if you have to know. The lyric that caught? “All loose things end up and washed away.” The Virgo energies, these days? Careful. Carefully, now. Careful. If it isn’t tied down? It could end up washed away. What needs to be “Tied down?” What are the loose things that might get washed away?

Depends on the individual chart, as to how this plays out, but the lyric to that song is what kept reverberating in my head, looking at Virgo, then slices of the charts around Virgo. Maybe this is a Virgo-persistent issue that a good Virgo wants to let go of, maybe that’s it. Let it go, as it gets washed away. I watched with abject horror as a client refused to let go of a failed relationship, and the situation just got worse. This is the week that the relationship finally got washed away. “All loose things end up and washed away,” as the song goes — Scorpio singer/songwriter.

“Oh. I was suppose to let go of that. So that’s what you meant?”



The Scales

It’s all about the pitch. For Libra? All about the pitch. Not so much what you’re asking for, but how you are asking for it. All about the pitch.

Libra success is dependent upon how we suggest changes. Changes are coming, and the question is, are these dictated, mandated, or are these optional. While the changes may be iron-clad, irrevocable, non-negotiable? How we pitch these changes is what’s so important, and frequently, it’s what gets forgotten.

“I’m glad you had this idea to change this — it should work a lot better now.”

I’ll be it was really the Libra idea, but we’re not going to let that interfere with progress, right?




Take the earphones out. My super-simple solution for this week’s Scorpio weirdness, between the Moon, Mars, the Sun, and yeah, I know.

I was watching a guy as he poked at his phone, listening to a song for about three seconds, then poked at the phone again. He was skiing through a playlist, seeking solace. I imagined he was a Scorpio, but I don’t know, not in this example, as he seemed a tad bit irritated and probably din’t want anyone talking to him. Trying to find that perfect song? Poke. He kept stabbing at the phone, in irritation, looking for something that should soothe, motivate or otherwise assuage that Scorpio energy. The planets, technically the Sun is a star and the Moon is a satellite of Earth, but let’s just call them all planets, as Mars plays a heavy part of this, okay? So the planets are unsettling, in the least, and highly irritating, in the extreme, to Scorpio. Poke.

No song seemed to make him happy. I thought about that image, and I realized, as a Scorpio, best course of action? Take the earphones out. Removes the source of irritation. Otherwise? Keeping poking and keep not finding the song.


“Take the earphones out.”




I was looking at an older truck, more as a toy than a serious, daily driver. Late 1960s Ford F-100, with that super–durable six (cylinder) motor, and “Three on the tree” transmission. I’m not even sure that the term “Three on the tree” will translate to a more modern audience. The gear shift, manual transmission, is three forward speeds, and reverse, selected by a cantankerous lever on the right-hand side of the steering column — which might’ve been solid steel. I don’t recall. I was toying with the idea of it as a project car, be fun, useful for occasionally hauling groceries, I was guessing. The problem, with the one I was looking at? When I test-drove the truck, it was that non-synchro gearbox. In other words? The truck had to be at a full and complete stop in order to get into first gear. Not a problem for me, but anyone else not used to it, any other drivers, except Bubba, the other drivers would endlessly grind that first gear, trying to force something that doesn’t want to be forced. Old trucks are fun. Cool, even, to me, but there’s a problematic idiosyncrasy that I can’t do anything about. And while it wouldn’t bother me too much, I doubt I could go very far, just because. Besides, the motor would have to be refitted to run on unleaded gas, and see the problems? The image, though, for this week, as we all wait for Saturn to grind to a stop? It’s like that transmission. Have to be at a full, complete Sagittarius stop before slipping it into first gear.



The Sea Goat

Buddy of mine is a super salesman. When he shows up, doesn’t matter what he’s selling, I’ll just ask, “How much,” as sooner, or later, I’ll feel compelled to buy. Super salesman. Looking at the stars, then looking at individual Capricorn charts? I kept thinking of my buddy, explaining how this works, the selling game, as to him it’s a game. “When I hear, ‘no,’ that just means I have to work harder.” Or, in his situation, he has to start talking, making the situation into a position where the target turns into a buyer. I know how this works, I surrender with relative aplomb.

The weekly stars, for Capricorn, suggest that there’s a situation wherein, this was easy before, and now? We all just have to work a little bit harder. Or, like my buddy, “When I hear, ‘no,’ it just means I have actually sell the idea (product), now.”

I’m not sure of the individual implication, or what needs “selling,” not directly as that will vary chart-to-chart. But the idea is that this is a week to consider rolling up the Capricorn shirtsleeves and getting after whatever toil is in front of us. Some task, needs doing, and now? Now is the time to get after it.



Water Bearer

I got a client who is of an age that his peers are all showing pictures of grandchildren. Having made different choices in his life, perhaps for the better, when someone whips out grand-baby pictures, he pulls up a set-list of puppy photos. Perfect.

If we have to sit through images of grandchildren, who, realistically, all look the same, like little people who aren’t fully formed, right? So if we have to sit through “Look at my cute grand baby” pictures, my buddy has the perfect answer, “Here, let me show you my puppy!”

As an Aquarius, this is a good week to be prepared. Be prepared to answer questions with similar, if not identical, ripostes — not a repost.

“You want to see some really cute grand children?”

“Want to see my old cat, she was sweet.”

Kitty Cam.



The Fishes

Ever noticed that you have as knack for picking up strays and then holding onto the ones who really aren’t any good for your Pisces self?

Me? I’m grateful that there are people who pick up strays, take us in, feed us, pet us, cuddle us, then don’t abandon us as soon as we start caterwauling about. I’m eternally grateful for the Pisces in the world, with your open hearts, and kind ways.

However, that being duly noted, I’ll never date another Pisces. Think, though, that speaks more to my own internal conflicts rather than the kind-hearted Pisces we know and love.

Strays: Pisces loves us. Yet, as a Pisces, this is a week to consider, maybe think twice, maybe think once instead of just picking up that stray. Could be a stray dog, a stray horse, or a stray Sagittarius. Best you think about long-term care and feeding, before you open your heart.



The Ram

We got in from a long morning and short afternoon on the water, weekend coastal fishing trip. I’m sure pictures are on the web someplace, me and some buddies, all smiles with pictures of fish. We got back to the motel, and the one fishing buddy, his wife and kids are there, in the pool, so we jump in, wash off the fish stink in the motel’s resort-like pool. Eventually, my buddy’s son swims up and asks about some kind of pool–toy ball. My buddy looks at me, crawls out of the pool, fishes around in a beach bag, and he comes back with pool–toy ball of some sort. Him and his kid start playing a complicated game of catch. My buddy explains to me, “I always keep my balls in her purse. Safer that way.” He chuckles. This is situational, verbal irony. He’s very much the man of his house, and he’s very much in charge of his life, his own destiny, and his kids. Emotionally present, good father. Probably one of the closest, most perfect relationships I know about. Very close to 50/50, so the comment about who’s in charge of his balls? Joke, or, as I referred to it, situational irony.

There’s a kind of off–color, gracious ease with this week’s planets, and how they treat Aries. Like my buddy and his situational irony.



The Bull

Recently, while poking around on the web, I happened across a fetching ad for “Work at home” moms. It was an image of a slim desk, a little wire office chair, a single modern art print over the desk, and simple flat-screen monitor. Might’ve had a simple flower stem in a rose vase, off to one side. “Free book, find out how!”

The problem with that image? How many stay-home-moms have a desk that neat? How many real workspaces are that clean?

My desk, I am a minimalist, but my desk space tends to have an accretion of work–related material that accumulates. Then, too, when I was asked for a picture of my workspace, I thought about sweeping everything off the desk’s surface, and doing the super–clean look, but that’s just not realistic. I think there’s still an image of my old workspace available, online. Amusing to me, as I’ve changed some since then, but the idea that there would be a bottle of coke, maybe a half-cold mug of coffee, and some lip balm, all of that, plus earrings, fishing lures, you get the idea, right?

This is a week when the idealized image? That super clean, neat, urban work space they advertise? Is that even realistic? And then, follow that logic, is what is being advertised even realistic?

A naked 2-year old runs from one room to the next, squealing in joy. Right, and how are you going to have a serene workplace with just single flower and no clutter on the desk itself? Is what is being advertised even realistic for Taurus?



The Twins

Me? I’m not a Gemini, but I do adore them so. All of them, usually, sometimes, multiple Gemini people in one person. Again, one of many traits I adore. Admire, even. As a guideline, this week, for Gemini? Be willing to be wrong. Be willing to be corrected. Be willing to be teachable. Be willing, oftentimes like me, to be wrong in the worst way possible.

I’ve made a habit of learning that my mistakes are useful for teaching me what doesn’t work. There’s a cosmic reminder, on its way, and we can play this two ways: easy? Or hard?

Simple choice, simple solution, simple cosmic set of directions.

As a Gemini, you like to collect information, sort of like a library, a library of the Gemini mind, and in that collection, in those collections of data points? There’s incomplete information. Not dealing with all the facts, so, when faced with a mistake, a problem, an apparent error you’ve made, this week? Be willing to learn that more data is now available.

“Wow, I did not know that.”

Simple as that.


The Crab - the Moonchild

The Crab

Hot summer’s day in South Texas. Mid-afternoon, I wondered into a coffee shop to get me some ice-cold beverage. Just ahead of me, a woman in “No imagination required” Yoga pants and top scoots in, snakes the line ahead of me. The torpid Texas heat, high humidity — good hair day for me — but otherwise? Very warm. Some of those clothes, she was covered, in the sense that there was cloth covering her body from knees to neck, out as far as the elbows, but that stretchy stuff? Skin tight doesn’t do it justice, however, that’s not the question. Painted on? There’s a yoga studio around the corner, so I suspect she’s a yoga–person, yoga chicks. She could be a gym–rat, for all I know, with the tawny, sinewy braids of muscles rippling underneath her “clothing,” if one really wants to consider it clothing.

When is it okay to stare? When is that an acceptable action? I couldn’t help myself, a lot of work, plus some good genetics, went into her form.

Lot of work, based on the ripples as she gracefully moved.

I wasn’t undressing her with my eyes, as the fabric and what it contained left nothing to the imagination. The question, looking at Cancer’s chart, the question? When is openly gawking a good behavior, invited, as I thought — at the time.

When is it OK to stare?

“Is that painted on?”

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.

Use of this site (you are here) is covered by all the terms as defined in the fineprint, and there might be, maybe, a material connection between the hot links and this site (sometimes).

© 1993 – 2022 Kramer Wetzel, for astrofish.net &c.