Sign Language

Aquarius (Jan. 20-Feb. 18)

Get bitten by a radioactive superspider, if you can. Having Spidey's paranormal abilities would be useful in most circumstances, but especially this week. You might feel merely mortal when confronting the walls set in front of you, trying to predict the dangers about to beset you, and watching the villains who oppose you flee unhindered. But the secret of your success lies in the fact that, despite your lack of actual superpowers, you can climb or swing over those barriers with as much ease as Peter Parker, and net those scoundrels with verbal webbing as strong as enhanced spider silk. As for that tingly Spider-sense that alerts our friendly neighborhood Spider-Man milliseconds before imminent doom? Your intuition is dialed up just that high this week. Listen to it.

Pisces (Feb. 19-March 20)

Don't sell yourself. Sometimes, pushing your flavor like a bad drug seems like a necessary evil. This week, however, it's just tacky. Some friends of mine have an annual "unmanned yard sale." They leave out all the stuff they'd rather live without, along with a sign: "Give what you want." Emulate their confident technique. You don't need salesmanship to attract interest; you're just that hot. Stop trying so hard. If you have enough patience and forbearance, you'll be pleasantly surprised by how much of you people want, and how much they're willing to pay for it.

Aries (March 21-April 19)

Barbara Kingsolver, one of my favorite Aries, wrote wisdom I think you'll find relevant and useful: "Sex will get you through times with no money better than money will get you through times with no sex." Redefine your notion of richness this week. Instead of arbitrarily assigning value to things based on how much they cost in a store or how thick they make your wallet, base what they're worth on how useful they are to your own serenity and delight. Once you reconfigure your spiritual bank account, you'll feel wealthier than your mere dollars could ever make you. Why would you ever measure your worth or well-being the old way again?

Taurus (April 20-May 20)

The ubiquitous presence of my eye-patch-wearing neighbor perversely dominated one chapter of my life. He spent months on end slowly (and noisily) sawing limbs from an elegant oak in his yard. To endure the constant aggravation, I invented this story about him: "He's a retired B-movie actor, obsessed with endlessly reliving his chain-saw-wielding moments of glory." That reminds me of you. He spent an entire season on a task he could have completed in one sweaty afternoon. How much time will you waste enacting your nostalgia, Taurus? Release your history, and stop re-creating the same tired scene again and again.

Gemini (May 21-June 20)

Multiple personality disorder is usually a handicap to effective living, but I like to imagine it as a boon. You're possessed of more than one distinctive inner self, so I hope you can understand my vision. Imagine one personality was a mathematical genius and another a sublime Casanova—and each would come to the fore when his talents would be most useful. Unfortunately, in your experience, it doesn't often work that way. Your inner seductress ends up having to cope with balancing the checkbook, while your accountant works her pathetic wiles on a new love interest. This week, thankfully, you're free of that kind of mismatch. Each facet of your personality will likely display itself exactly when you most need it.

Cancer (June 21-July 22)

Werewolves are cool, but they're dumbshits compared to formidable were-lions. With the full moon in Leo on the 16th, you might sprout fur, a tawny, impressive mane, 6-inch claws, and, best of all, a fearsome roar. Don't resist your inevitable transmogrification into spiritual royalty. It's your moment to rule as King or Queen of your local jungle. Scary as it may be to suddenly be so mighty, don't impose self-limitations by locking yourself into a cell before the transformation occurs. Use that soul-brawn. Just remember: As always, with great power comes great responsibility. Use it wisely, and for everyone's good, not just your own.

Leo (July 23-Aug. 22)

Vomiting can make you feel helpless and pathetic. But it can be a source of power, too—if what you're ejecting from your body is poisonous or rotten. Don't look for straightforward moments of glory and strength this week. Instead, expect more subversive forms of it. For instance, it's probably the best week this year to rid your life of the most vile and venomous spiritual toxins clogging your etheric arteries. Actually getting rid of them might be horribly foul, but just like that rush of endorphins after a marathon puke session, once you're done you'll feel better than you have in ages.

Virgo (Aug. 23-Sept. 22)

Some mushroom spores are so light and robust that they can escape the atmosphere and survive the frigid vacuum of space. Therefore, it's remotely possible that some of the fungi on our planet may have propagated beyond our solar system or may be the descendants of extraterrestrial mold that made its way here. How does this impact your life? Only conceptually: Some of the toadstools that surround you now may look ordinary, but they've come farther and hold more secrets than you think. It's up to you to find out which of the mushrooms are poisonous, which are delicious, and which are downright magical.

Libra (Sept. 23-Oct. 22)

My friends once spent the better part of a year trying to get their landlord to repair a hole in the wall behind their bathtub. When he finally did, they were thrilled at the new wholeness of their apartment—until they realized, from the pathetic sound of her muted meows, that he'd sealed their cat inside the wall. The landlord, thankfully, promptly returned to release the poor curious feline, who reminds me of you. Your tentative explorations into your life's darkest places might get much deeper, scarier, and more real than you planned on, and facilitation of your safe return from those shamanic head trips could come from an unlikely source—possibly even your landlord.

Scorpio (Oct. 23-Nov. 21)

Slow-motion dreams were first engineered by self-torturing Scorpio minds. Fleeing some terrible circumstance or horrific monster, your legs suddenly become leaden, and the air as thick and obstructive as pudding. You can't even inhale it to scream for help (which probably wouldn't come). As excruciating as one-quarter velocity may be, you might wish for it when confronted with weeks like this one, where virtually everything will happen three times faster than you're used to. Just run with it, Scorpio (as if you had a choice). By the time you're next afflicted with one of those terrifying time-lapse trances, you may even welcome it.

Sagittarius (Nov. 22-Dec. 21)

A geographic solution to your biographic problems could help a lot. It's not always the best bet, but putting even a few hundred miles between you and your crises can make them seem much less urgent and impossible to cope with. What seemed like an eruptive volcano when you were pressed up against it might more closely resemble a buzzing fly as you flee down the road. Let distance shrink your difficulties. Get far enough away so you can swat this particular predicament and make it another bygone smear on your windshield.

Capricorn (Dec. 22-Jan. 19)

Back in 1982, in Alliance, Neb., someone had the brilliant idea of reconstructing Stonehenge entirely out of automobiles, aptly dubbed "Carhenge." This resurrection of prehistoric mysteries reminds me of your latest maturation, a sort of a dusting off and animation of mummified aspects of your personality that you entombed years ago. Now you're surprised to find them so well preserved and walking around. Cheer up, sarcophagus breath; you've just come around another loop of the track. Let Carhenge inspire you: Turn your past selves upside down and see how they catch the sun. 2002 Caeriel Crestin

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