Some parrots are so long-lived that they often outlive their owners. They can render uncannily perfect imitations of people they encounter frequently. It's no wonder that their owners possess an exaggerated view of their pet's intelligence, often contending that their avian buddies can actually use their copied catchphrases appropriately. It's a cute delusion, but I expect you to be less naive. Hearing what you want to hear has made you reluctant to question the source. It might be as empty of meaning as your average birdbrain. Don't take what's said at face value unless you know where it's coming from; even then, get it in writing.
Libra (Sept. 23-Oct. 22) Around this time last year, some crazy shit went down. Since then, you've struggled with issues that have led to the crossroads you now face. It's taken you this long to get here because it's hard; don't belittle it now just because the choices you've arrived at are simple ones: live cautiously with fear, or lushly and courageously in spite of fear. As you've learned?often the hard way?the most basic decisions often bear the most far-reaching and unpredictable consequences. Still, now that you've seen exactly what your issues have boiled down to, isn't the choice obvious?
Scorpio (Oct. 23-Nov. 21) India smelled...interesting. By interesting I mean putrid. Not everywhere, but it was impossible to avoid encountering noxious clouds of eye-popping, gag-inducing foulness that could make tears run down your cheeks. By contrast, the West is remarkably odorless. We have our own stenches?cattle factories and toxic landfills, for example, instead of open sewers and burning bodies?but we stash them mostly out of sight and downwind. In an abstract sort of way, I miss India's malodorousness?it was a constant, grounding reminder of how real it was?since it's difficult to daydream while retching. This week, use odor to reinforce your decaying connection to reality. Remember what the rest of us never forgot: your shit still stinks.
Sagittarius (Nov. 22-Dec. 21) Avoiding the source of your blight is the worst thing you could do. Instead, I prescribe "the hair of the dog," as they say. There may be other remedies for your particular ailment, but none quite so effective as a nearly homeopathic dose of whatever it was that caused you to suffer in the first place. If you don't contradict your violently unpleasant reaction now, while it's still in your system, you could be dealing with a terrible, debilitating allergy for years to come. Don't let that happen. It would be a devastating handicap to always have to avoid a certain flavor or animal or human being forever. Go get a minor dose, and cure yourself, now.
Capricorn (Dec. 22-Jan. 19) Last week, my car suffered a flat tire. I couldn't immediately fix it, so I parked it near my house. Unfortunately, my deflated wheel attracted some attention: my car was broken into. The poor thief didn't get much (an ancient, barely working CD player, some spare change and a beat-up backpack, filled with the sweaty gear I take to the gym). I'm sure he could use the nickels and dimes, but I doubt he got even $10 for everything else he took. Meanwhile, it'll cost me quite a bit more to replace it. Avoid my fate. Just because you imagine something's useless to someone else doesn't mean they won't take it anyway. Safeguard your things (be they material or otherwise) according to the value you assign them, not their depreciated worth on eBay.
Aquarius (Jan. 20-Feb. 18) You've been breathing the rarefied air of your lofty moral mountaintop for so long that coming down to our sinfully decadent lowlands must be overwhelming, even intoxicating, if you'd only admit it, just like getting a couple lungfuls of thick, oxygen-rich sea-level air must be invigorating for real alpine dwellers. Stay a while, won't you? No one expects you to completely abandon the lovely home you've made up there in principled territory with the billy goats, but a naughty sojourn amongst us wicked mortals is long overdue. This week, at least, when presented with a choice between the exalted righteousness of the "right thing to do" and the bittersweet flavor of more errant delights, choose the wayward latter option every time.
Pisces (Feb. 19-March 20) When my Pisces friend gashed his hand climbing a chainlink fence, he was fascinated by his wounds. "It's been a long time since I bled," he remarked dazedly, half-hypnotized by the fresh red liquid dripping down his arm. I think he felt a little lucky to have this reminder to wake up to living inside his skin. Astrological omens indicate that the universe wants all Pisceans to pay special attention to their bodies for the time being. Humor it. Don't give kismet a reason to break your arm, or give you another scar, just to deliver a lesson you're perfectly capable of learning on your own.
Aries (March 21-April 19) People like to see the human sides of their superheroes. Witness the popularity of Grant Morrison's comic book portrayals of the X-Men or Justice League, or this year's Spider-Man movie. Even the old Superman movies were at their best when our slugger got his near-omnipotence mixed up with alter ego Clark's fumbling nerdiness. So why are you so keen to bury your bumbling humanity in favor of your most superhuman attributes? Don't waste time trying to impress people if you're only going to simultaneously scare them away. Instead, this week, concentrate on being amazing and approachable at the same time.
Taurus (April 20-May 20) I read somewhere that the Chinese character for the word "catalyst" could also be used for the concept "marriage-broker." I don't know if it's true, but I like the parallel; in chemistry, a catalyst is something that causes or enables a reaction between two or more substances without being changed itself. A marriage-broker performs a similar function, only dealing with people instead of chemical compounds. Exploit your role as catalyst and/or matchmaker this week. Bring together the people and things you find fascinating or complementary, then sit back and gleefully await the inevitable explosions.
Gemini (May 21-June 20) I'm petitioning the universe to infuse your personal talismans with extra powers this week. For instance, if you were a drag queen, your stiletto heels could work overtime as weapons and serving utensils, as well as footwear. Putting your primary tools to new uses is not only astrologically mandated; it could reap unexpected fallout in your life. Such as using your carpenter's hammer as a gavel could reveal a heretofore unrealized passion for law, or using your stethoscope to crack a safe might unfold a new career as a spy, or bank robber. Be creative with familiar objects?and be open to the paths they reveal.
Cancer (June 21-July 22) Once upon a time, you felt like a blockbuster star. You played leads (or juicy supporting roles) and legions of semi-rabid fans flocked to your multimillion-dollar Hollywood vehicles to worship or revile you. But toning your dramas down to more manageable levels has had an unintended consequence. Your more subtle performances garner much less attention than you're used to. Still, don't give up on your newfound attitude so quickly. Wouldn't you rather one or two people who really "get it" than thousands who are just there to gawk?
Leo (July 23-Aug. 22) Let's forget the fact that she was once Hitler's favorite director. What I think is more interesting (at least in the context of your horoscope) is that Leni Riefenstahl just celebrated her 100th birthday (she's a Leo) by releasing her new film, mostly ambient images of underwater life. What's especially impressive about this is that she first started diving at 71 (she had to lie and say she was 50 just to get a diver's license). Still, regardless of the uses to which her creative brilliance (some say genius) was put, I'm simply amazed that she's entering her second century on the planet still interested in creation at all. Since we have dire need of the inspired sunshine of Leos everywhere, I beseech you?take steps now to ensure that you'll still be shining many decades down the road.
Caeriel@yahoo.com