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): Your most important accomplishment this year has been to deepen your capacity for love. That alone should inspire you to leap up and sing a song of joy. More and more, you understand that in order to get the passionate affection you want, you simply have to give the passionate affection you want. If you continue to expand your generosity in the coming months, you will receive a flood of evidence about how beautiful you really are. That, in turn, will ensure that the influences you want to bring into your life will also be good for you.
GEMINI (May 21-June 20): It's molting time, Gemini. If you were a bird, you'd lose your worn-out feathers and sprout a fresh batch. If you were a snake, you'd shed your old skin to make way for the new. If you were a lobster, you'd slough off your exoskeleton because it was constraining your ability to grow, then replace it with a bigger version. So what's your personal version of molting? Maybe some aspect of your persona needs to be cast off. Or maybe some armor that previously shielded you has begun to cramp your style. It won't happen overnight, and you'll feel vulnerable during the transition. But the process is perfectly normal; indeed, it's essential for your health.
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CANCER (June 21-July 22): The DuPont company has patents on 17 varieties of corn. Yoga teacher Bikram Choudhury has copyrighted and trademarked his poses and breathing techniques. Corporations are acquiring private ownership of fresh water that once belonged to local communities. McDonald's virtually owns the prefix "Mc," and sues new businesses with names that begin with those two letters. In the entrepreneurial spirit of these big thinkers, and by the authority of the planetary gods, I hereby present you Cancerians with full possession of the Dionysian spirit, good for the next four weeks. Now go party harder and smarter than you've ever dared.
LEO (July 23-Aug. 22): Artist and filmmaker Andy Warhol was, like you, born under the sign of Leo. One of his goals in life was to blur the distinction between fine art and pop culture. The fact that his paintings of Campbell's soup cans hang in prestigious museums proves he succeeded. My analysis of the astrological omens suggests that you'd be wise to imitate his method this week. In whatever way is most fun for you, bring high and low together; blend what's sophisticated and casual; do experiments that synthesize the sublime and the ordinary.
VIRGO (Aug. 23-Sept. 22): You have two options, Virgo. The contrast between them reminds me of the difference between Norah Jones and Ani DiFranco. Jones's work is "tasteful and listenable," said The New York Times, though "nothing much happens in her songs." Shakingthrough.net wrote that though Jones can be maudlin and subdued, she creates "a winning collection of polished (albeit innocuous) gems." About DiFranco, the Times noted that "it's worth putting up with a few overbearing moments to hear someone so willing to take chances." Billboard said DiFranco's latest CD is "rawfor better (the immediacy of the performance) and worse (traces of off-key harmonies)." So which way will you go: bland and classy like Jones, or rough and stimulating like DiFranco?
LIBRA (Sept. 23-Oct. 22): It's time to rise up and fight back, Libra. Maybe there used to be semi-good reasons for you to endure the abuse, but they have become irrelevant. Draw inspiration from the Brazilian crowds that beat up the sharks that were stalking swimmers at a Rio de Janeiro beach. Be as fierce as the Philadelphia schoolgirls who pursued and pummeled the pervert who'd been exposing himself to them.
SCORPIO (Oct. 23-Nov. 21): Back in 1987, my life in Santa Cruz was carefree. I loved being an unemployed bohemian with lots of leisure time to write poetry and play music. One summer day, while working on a new song, I heard my doorbell ring. Opening the door, I found a man in a hooded trench coat aiming a slingshot at me. As my knees collapsed and my heart raced, he lowered the slingshot, removed his hood, and chuckled, "Made you flinch!" It was my Scorpio pal, Fred, the poet who loved to play practical jokes to keep his friends on their toes. He said he couldn't stayhad just come by to make sure I wasn't getting too comfortable. When he left, I went into a creative frenzy and wrote three songs in an hour. In the coming week, I foresee you encountering a milder version of Fred's style of inspiration, which will unleash a similar burst of productive energy.