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 20May 20): To celebrate this royal phase of your astrological cycle, I would love to create a Master of the Universe crown for you to wear, at least in your imagination. Since I'd like it to conform to your exact needs and specifications, I'm soliciting your input. Please visualize in great detail the kind of regal headpiece you want, then communicate a vision of it to me telepathically. When it's done, I will set it on your head in a dream and ask you to not take it off for five days and five nights.
GEMINI (May 21June 20): I advise you not to take any of the following actions in the coming week: getting a vanity license plate that says 2GD4U or SUX2BU; pretending you know stuff you don't; doing anything that will later require you to tell someone, "I can explain everything"; getting cosmetic surgery that makes you resemble your favorite celebrity; cleverly mocking people who haven't had the same luck and privileges you've had. On the other hand, I do recommend that you engage in actions like the following: giving theater tickets to a homeless vagabond; doing a day-long impersonation of the person you want to become; tapping into your talent for healing mischief as you comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable; buying yourself a gift that will compel you to stretch your capacities; doing a storytelling performance for the people at an old folks' home; climbing a tree and singing songs that inspire you to move more rapidly toward the future.
CANCER (June 21July 22): It's official. The National Climatic Data Center has confirmed that the weather went crazy in the U.S. last year. From Fresno's 21 consecutive days of 100-degree temperatures to record rainfall in Las Vegas, Wichita, and Pensacola, extreme conditions became commonplace. For you, Cancerian, the coming weeks will have a certain metaphorical resemblance to last year's profusion of weather anomalies. For instance, you can expect events that are akin to hailstorms from sunny skies and triple rainbows at dawn. But that won't be a problem as long as you vow to be intrigued and entertained, not thrown off course, by the interesting outbreaks of wild phenomena.
LEO (July 23Aug. 22): "Human beings are often unable to receive because we do not know what to ask for," writes Malidoma Somé in his book Of Water and the Spirit. "We sometimes can't get what we need because we do not know what we want." Your task in the coming week, Leo, is to make sure you don't fit his description. How? Devote yourself to the glorious quest of decoding your most fundamental riddle: What is it you want more than anything else? Once you know, take a pledge to put that desire at the center of your life.
VIRGO (Aug. 23Sept. 22): It will be a rather animalistic week, Virgoor at least it should be. I suggest that you learn to feel more trust in your primal instincts; find out more about the part of you that doesn't use words. If you've got the luxury to experiment, see what it's like when you give your inner beast permission to express all of its creativity. The coming days will also be prime time to befriend lone wolves, horse around with wise old owls, welcome back lost sheep, play possum with jackasses, and flirt with sacred cows.
LIBRA (Sept. 23Oct. 22): Indian director T. Rajeevnath is in the early stages of planning his 11th film. It will be a story about Nobel Peace Prize winner Mother Teresa. Among the small group of actresses he's considering to play the title role is none other than the American celebrity Paris Hilton. Apparently Rajeevnath can sense something in Hilton that is invisible to many of the rest of us. I urge you to be like him in the coming days. Be on the lookout to find value in things that no one else esteems. Find the hidden beauty that everybody has missed. Hunt for riches in the least likely places.
SCORPIO (Oct. 23Nov. 21): I swear the strange woman standing near me at L.A.'s Getty Museum was having an erotic experience as she gazed upon van Gogh's Irises. She wasn't touching herself, nor was anyone else. But she was apparently experiencing waves of convulsive delight, as suggested by her rapid breathing, shivering muscles, fluttering eyelids, and sweaty forehead. Fifteen minutes later, I saw her again in front of Jean-Honoré Fragonard's The Fountain of Love. She was only slightly more composed. In a friendly voice, I said, "This stuff really moves you, doesn't it?" "Oh, yeah," she replied. "I've not only learned how to make love with actual flowers and clouds and fountains, I can even make love with paintings of them." Your assignment in the coming weeks, Scorpio, is to take a page from this woman's Kama Sutra: Figure out how to achieve rapturous communion with absolutely everything.