Horoscopes for 8-26-2021

Horoscopes for 8-26-2021

Here comes the almanac of my true date.
What now? How chance thou art return’d so soon?

  • Antipholus of Syracuse in Shakespeare’s Comedy of Errors 1.2.41-2

Mercury enters the Tropical Zodiac Sign of Libra on August 30, 12:19 AM (local).

Labor Day Sale and Clearance!


Virgo Happy holiday. Happy birthday. I was thinking of a cry, a war cry almost, from a certain movie. Can’t repeat it in its entirety because it is vulgar. But that’s how we feel. End of a long, hot summer. Weirdness abounds, and there’s no shortage of wanting to run away and forget it all. Can’t do that, you’re a Virgo, and possibly the most responsible of all the signs. I worked for a Virgo, once, no matter what I did, I was constantly corrected. “Well, you could do better, like this…” I learned to fold a flaw into the mix, so that Virgo would have something to complain about, and then, in a fit of pique, something to fix, as well. Whatever makes them happy? I want Virgo to be happy, especially the birthday bunch. Think I’ll leave an error in here, just so you can correct me. (See if you can find it?)


Libra birthdays? This is the “extended dance cut” time. In the days of old, there would be a hit song, then there would be the “extended dance cut,” which would run for ten minutes or more. The original version of that? “Freebird,” by Lynyrd Skynyrd. To smaller audience, “Green Grass and High Tides” by the Outlaws. Regrettably, I’m seeing a trend here, old, long-passed, Southern Guitar Armies. I’m sure there are other examples, but those songs appeared in Classic Rock genre long before the I head the term, “extended dance cut.”

We are in the middle, or even , once Mercury slides into Libra, at the beginning of the Libra extended dance mix. It goes on, seems like it lasts longer than a pop song, that’s for sure and it’s like the hour-long DJ sets, looping back and repeating auditory refrains, over and over, all while maintains a thumping beat to keep you moving. This is the preparation for the birthdays. This is like, as I suggested, the extended version. With both Venus and Mercury in ending in Libra?

Free Bird | Green Grass & High Tides (Remastered) | The Fatboy Slim Collection


Scorpio A while back, a client accused me of a tautology, and in the frame of reference, it was exactly that. I wasn’t repeating the same thing, in different words. There was nuance I was shooting for, might’ve missed the mark, but my heart was in the right place, and the nuanced meaning was subtle difference, various shades of meaning rendered the statement false, as it wasn’t a tautology. Close, but no. Saying the exact same thing, exact same content, only, using different words? Great trick. I’ve had this employed on me a number of times. Repeating the same question only changing up the words, trying to trick me into changing my answer. With Saturn and Jupiter where they are, and the phase of the moon? Watch for the same question, in different guises, and after a while, it can get annoying.


Destinations, goals, desires. It’s all about our collective, Sagittarius dreams, and this show up as destinations, goals, and desires. Anytime I figure Neptune into the equation, and for Sagittarius — Neptune is in Pisces, you know — but for our Archer-selves? Anytime we figure some Neptune into the equation then the destination, the goals, and the desires, all of that gets a little confused. It’s about our collective Sagittarius dreams, what’s realistic, what’s feasible, and what, though it seems like a good idea at the time, what might not be a very good idea, not now. I’ve warned us before, and I’ll warn us again, especially with these influences, “It seems like a good idea at the time,” is not a valid excuse. But it did, you know? It seemed like a good idea at the time.


First mentioned some years back (1.15.2015), you know, Sun was in Capricorn at the time — anyway? It was the first time I mentioned The Koran, a holy text to a large portion of the world. I own a “holographic” copy, Penguin edition, if you must know, bought at the end of my formal studies because I figured, it was an English translation with side-by-side image of the Arabic page. Lovely-looking language. I have no idea, and having read enough material both in original and translation, I realize the artifice of the translation can be slanted. I’m full-up on languages, probably not going to read this one in its original, so I have to rely on that translation. It’s not my belief system, but I won’t condone or condemn a particular faith without looking it up myself. The problem is in the translation itself, and I’m unsure how faithful it is. To compare? I — faithfully — adhere to a King James Version of the Bible. Again, not exactly my faith, but as a reference point, I can, as need be, quote chapter and verse. Part of this horoscope is about the art and artifice of the translation. Two example, my copy of the Koran, and my copy of the King James Version. What Capricorn has to watch out for, you know, as the old country song goes, “Jesus was a Capricorn,” it’s the bias of the translator. Must watch for that bias in your own work.


Aquarius In failure, there is also success. While I’ve eloquently written about this in the distant past, I stumbled across a digital archive that bears this it out, or lays it bare? Perfect example of a failure that wasn’t so bad. There was stark beauty, and weird coalescent colors, as the failure of the image itself, I can’t even make out what it was, but that failure? I just posted it on one of my image sites, then let it be. Over time, the image got traction, and earned itself a small amount of regard, in and of its own. Looking at the data, the image itself was taken in London, right at a decade past. Best guess it was on the Underground, as I spent a lot of time using that mode of transportation, probably the Westminster Station, and whatever advertising arts was available interested me. Still, it’s a blurry shot, not a post-processing trick, just a quick snap that didn’t work out. Or didn’t work out by conventional measure. Times like this, Saturn, Jupiter Retrograde, you know, in Aquarius, it’s about failures that really aren’t dismal failures. It speaks, on some level to certain people. I’d suggest, in this example, and this week, failure isn’t a bad option. Just because I don’t deem it a success — just because you don’t think it’s a success — that doesn’t mean it isn’t successful.


“Let me call you right back,” sounds familiar? Got one client, and that’s the same answer, and while I have been occasionally guilty of this myself? With this one? It’s a predictiable pattern. I’ll hear kids in the background, or some other distraction, and I’ll get the “Let me call you right back” rejoinder. Also means, I won’t hear from her for the rest of the day. I’m accommodating as can be, and I do what I can, but I also have reasonable expectations based on years of observed phenomena. I hear, “Let me call you right back,” and I know I won’t hear for at least another 24 hours. Way it goes. The conversation about the planets and their relative influences gets picked up right where I left off, and I get paid, for my time, but I also know, reasonable expectation, that I won’t hear from that person again because of the distractions I heard in the background. 24 hour delay. I’m on the clock. Doesn’t matter to me, whether I’m talking or not, I get remunerated, and my ability to understand the foibles and problems? Dealing with exigent circumstances? Sure. I have realistic expectations, “Let me get right back to you.” Means 24 hours, not sooner. Pisces: you’ll hear, “Let me get right back to you,” and you’ll expect a return call in a matter of minutes, then get frustrated, when there’s no call for an hour, then it stretches to two hours, and you can cycle through all the emotions, pain, anger, angst, worry, contrition, and still, not hear back. Manage the expectations. “Let me call you right back,” translates, over time, to at least 24 hours. I’ve learned to manage those expectations. Pisces? “Let me call you right back.”


Some many years back, a massage therapist explained to me, the bulk of back problems in older males stems from fat wallets in back pockets. Later, this became a trend, the front pocket wallet supplanting the old-school, back pocket wallet. Over the years, I’ve gotten to a point where I carry nothing at all in my back pocket. Part of it from fear of sitting on something, like a phone, and cracking it in two. What happened the other afternoon? I was hurrying about the house, trying to get around to a few chores, and I slipped my phone into my back pocket. Not a usual place to store a phone, not for me, and essentially? An unused pocket space. Flap over the pocket is rarely unsealed. I did it because my hands were full, and I knew I wouldn’t be sitting down in the immediate future. Two minutes later, hands then empty, I couldn’t figure out where I left my phone. Eventually, I called myself and felt it vibrate in my back pocket, feeling ever so stupid. Aries message from my stupidity? It’s always where you least expect it, or, it’s always the last place you look, or? In my case, my phone is either in hand, on the desk stand charger, or in my front pocket. Deviating from routine can cost valuable minutes. Stick to the Aries routine.


Taurus My plan, in the last days of summer? Get up and out early. Fetch up some coffee, do any outside chores, then hunker down under the AC and ceiling fans, not moving much. Back in the bad, old days, I would even turn the main computer off, as it threw off too much heat for a tiny trailer. Think: Cathode Ray Tube, the old glass-fronted monitors that were as deep as they were wide. Or tall. Pretty much a heat source in the winter but in the summer? Even turn those babies off. This comes from living in a small, enclosed space in old Austin. However, that plan, as I’ve gotten older and lazier? The problem is the “getting up early” bit. As a Taurus, and given the planets’ dispositions, you understand the difference between “great idea” and actual “execution of said great idea.” There’s the summer’s entropy and ennui, all of that kicks in even now. We’re headed towards cooler times ahead, but we’re not there yet. Keep that in mind as you move forward, keep in mind the difference between “ideal scenario” and “what really happens.” Or, in my case, what doesn’t happen — “I overslept.”


There’s a cantankerous quality to the times. Especially for a particularly garrulous Gemini. As the material previously in Virgo shifts towards Libra, and as the objects definitively still in Virgo make easy tasks more difficult? Understand the source of the irritation, namely, Mars and Sun in Virgo. That energy demands cleanliness. That Virgo energy demands analysis to the point of distraction. That energy is demanding, and that makes for a cantankerous Gemini. You’re good with the cleanliness as long as someone else is getting their grubby little paws dirty with the deep cleaning. Then, too, you’re good with the detailed analysis of every particle of this particular situation, as long as you don’t have to perform all the grunt work of collecting the data, then collating the data, and then analyzing the data to determine whatever it is that is supposed to be determined. That Mars-influence? Needs an outlet. Reminds me of an image of a standing desk with treadmill built-in. So it was, in theory, possible to walk miles, while stationary at one’s desk, working. Working and working out. As someone who’s used a standing desk for years, yeah, I like the idea. but what I know about planets and Gemini? That idea of a treadmill, standing desk, looks good for this week, but next week? By the time it gets delivered? You’re onto other adventures, and other problems. Hint for Gemini: if the solution isn’t immediate, then it’s not going to work.


Moon children: read the writing on the wall. I worked at metaphysical fairs for a long time. I was a roadie, briefly, before that. My storied career stretches back well into the previous millennia. At the onset, I knew I needed signage, and I wanted something that was ultimately portable. I started with a single, vinyl banner that I could either tack to a conference room wall, or that I could hang from the front of the table. On more than one occasion, I used the conference railings to hang that banner behind me, advertising that I was there. Almost two decades back, I realized that hotels and conference centers, convention arenas, all of those places where I set up? They were all phasing out any kind of wall hanging. By then I moved to using a series of stand-alone signs, “Kramer Wetzel, astrofish.net, Astrology charts and readings,” and whatever else was appropriate at the time. The signage was portable, it fits with my message, and most important? Free-standing. Recently, a promoter was haranguing participant about not attaching anything to the conference center’s wall. “Ask Kramer, he’s got the perfect example, where did yo get that?” Universally available, now. But like I suggested, I’ve been at this a while. Cancer: read the writing on the wall, i.e., nothing attached to the wall. Preserve the paint and wall paper. Can’t say you didn’t see this coming. Gentle Moon Children, Cancer, the sign of the crab? Read the writing on the wall.


The Leo I’m not sure where the the term, “Hangover,” originated. I’m not sure of its roots, and as a much younger man, I understood some of its meaning. A few years back, I passed that magic mark, a point where I was out most of the night, wrapped up in festive and festival entertainments, carrying on and enjoying the wonders of the night. Music, dancing, fun. However, I didn’t drink a drop of alcohol. Think I had, as a celebratory beverage, a Diet Dr Pepper, a not-so-secret vice and guilty pleasure. The next morning, my ears were ringing — loud music. My head was aching, and I felt horrible. It was the effects of a gentle interruption of routine, mixed with festival food, and staying out way later than I’m used to. How, as a younger person, I did this with layers of intoxicants, I have no idea. Points to the follies of youth. All this? I’m trying to describe the current astrological situation for The Leo. It’s an epic, astrological, hangover. No real good excuse for feeling this way, other than, you’re a year older, and the planets have moved onto the lesser signs, and the trouble remains, that subtle confrontation with your own Leo material, now that all the pressure is off. Best guide? Treat this like a regular hangover, take two aspirin, drink plenty of water, and rest. Maybe try to piece together what went on in the last month, but yeah, rest and hydrate.


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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