By Jared Chausow
By Katie Toth
By Elizabeth Flock
By Albert Samaha
By Anna Merlan
By Jon Campbell
By Jon Campbell
By Albert Samaha
TAURUS (April 20-May 20):
The annual Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest invites good writers to compete in creating awful prose. This year Rephah Berg won with this passage: "Angela perceived that her relationship with Tom had always been rocky, not quite a roller-coaster ride but more like when the toilet-paper roll gets squashed so it hangs crooked and every time you pull some off you can hear the rest going bumpity-bumpity in its holder until you go nuts and push it back into shape, a degree of annoyance that Angela had now almost attained." I hold this up as an example, Taurus, of how you might go about performing a goofy desecration of the thing you do best or love most. And what's the value in that? If you approach it with a tender intention to take yourself less seriously, you'll awaken dormant power in the thing you do best or love most.
GEMINI (May 21-June 20):
According to music critic Jon Pareles, "A great rock song is a good tune plus some inspired irritanta shout, a noise, an enigmatic line, a raucous solo." Let that theme be your guide in the coming week, Gemini. You're at the peak of your ability to create catalytic beauty, but you're most likely to get the responses you crave only if you add a feisty bite to your self-expression.
The Televisionary Oracle
A Novel by Rob Brezsny
A lusty but sensitive rock star encounters the leader of a goddess - worshiping religious order that values pranks as much as prayers.
Check out Rob's band World Entertainment War.
Want to know more about Rob, or look up past horoscopes? Visit freewillastrology.com.
You can contact Rob at email@example.com.
CANCER (June 21-July 22):
What are you waiting for? The perfect moment? The last straw? The missing link? The hand of fate? I hate to tell you this, Cancerian (well, actually, I love telling you this, but I know it might initially hurt your feelings), but all your waiting is in vain. As long as you keep sitting around hoping for some magic intervention to do your work for you, the magic intervention will never happen. The minute you take your destiny in your own hands, you'll realize exactly what you need to do in order to succeed without the perfect moment, last straw, missing link, or hand of fate.
LEO (July 23-Aug. 22):
You've probably seen the bumper sticker that says, "He who dies with the most toys, wins." It's a brattier version of the original, which is "He who dies with the most gold, wins." But neither of these will be of use to you in the coming months, Leo. You're not going to die, and besides, the amount of toys and gold you have won't be a good measure of your success. What will be? Your determination to keep ruthlessly editing your to-do list so that it contains only the few things that are truly important and fun. Here's your official bumper sticker slogan, courtesy of motivational specialist Barbara Sher: "She who lives with the shortest to-do list, wins."
VIRGO (Aug. 23-Sept. 22):
The other night I met a Navajo medicine woman who showed me the "squat of power" practiced by the Pleiadean star people. She said it would free me of any urge to watch TV, and it did. She also gave me a karma-free spell to unbind me from my enemies (it worked!), and slipped me some hot financial tips she'd gleaned on the astral plane from a departed spirit who used to work at Goldman Sachs. Sorry I can't reveal any of these useful hints to you, Virgo; the medicine woman swore me to secrecy. Don't feel deprived, though: You'll soon tap into equally exotic sources that will provide you with equally practical advice.
LIBRA (Sept. 23-Oct. 22):
As delicious as the soup will be, it might have a fly floating in it. Though the new paint job will for the most part be expertly done, I bet there'll be a flaw in the perfect sheen. Well-laid plans may proceed with alacrity right up to the moment when a key player hiccups during a critical course-correction. Do not, however, misread the overall omens, Libra. They're mostly pretty sweet. A smudge in the halo is not a sign of evil incarnate, but of goodness pushing for more wildness.
SCORPIO (Oct. 23-Nov. 21):
Omigod. How much longer can you wrestle with the confounding angel? How much more melodrama can you wade through without seeking refuge as a daytime TV junkie, your curtains drawn and empty cookie packages accumulating on the floor? Will there ever be an end to the soul-boggling, gut-jiggling education? In lieu of hazarding a guess at these questions, Scorpio, I'll remind you of the vow you took before you were born: "My elixir of life will never taste like sugar water, but will always be a blend of at least 77 mouth-watering, high-potency, profanely sacred ingredients!"