Poetic License Horoscope for June 8-14

Gemini: This week, in ways large and small, be like Mayor Muriel Bowser. With Washington D.C. under military occupation, she still found a way to make Black Lives Matter Plaza happen right in front of the White House. Your installations may not be as big or as resourced, but you can be a monument to justice, peace, beauty, and strength every day. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

Cancer: It’s not that we birdwatchers (What? Stars can be birdwatchers!) hate leashless dogs! It’s message that their owners are sending: “Your bodily autonomy, your freedom, your safety, the birds’ homes, none of these things matter much as this animal I live vicariously through, this hapless, jumping thing that poops outside because I can’t.” Cancer, you’re the opposite of these folks: careful, deliberate, kind in the right direction, as you face the open wild or just the neighborhood woods.

Leo: The stars support your quest to curate your feeds, to weed out the racists or those who hate science or those who would stand on capitol steps with guns to fight for the right to murder us all with their breath. You know what’s on the other side of the silo, why wouldn’t you? Start thinking of estrangement as social divestment—some people just don’t deserve you.

Virgo: “How often have we heard you say that everything is futile, that nothing comes of all your labors?  Yet like amorphous buds, you endeavors sprout in all directions. You see everything as formless and you forget that this is a sign of life.” Hilma Af Klint. You’ve planted 1,500 morning glory seeds, but feel free to plant more. It’s all coming up, we promise.

Libra: The pieces of the portrait you’ve been working on so LONG are falling into place. Soon, you’ll see those kind eyes again, that shining, lucid heart. Spread out your love on the table like one hundred glitter gel pens and exclaim, exclaim, EXCLAIM about the sparkles. I can’t wait to see the whole of the angel’s magic face.

Scorpio: There’s a riot in your belly and that’s perfectly okay. According to alchemists, “vitriol” is an acronym for “Visita Inerriora Terrae Rectifcando Invenies Occultum Lapidum.” That means “By visiting the center of earth, you will find the Philosopher’s Stone.” Get a stick and poke around at the fires inside you, see what shapes appear in the flames.

Sagittarius: My neighbor buys flowers for herself every Sunday. She says that when she did this at the beginning of quarantine, back when we were all just hoarding Purell, the people in line at the co-op got annoyed with her, but it’s not their business what she finds necessary to her survival. No matter what letters there are to write, how many marches on your protest dance card, what weeping is forced upon you, set an alarm to got get yourself something beautiful. The stars are so glad you exist.

  Capricorn: The stars are sorry to both you and Rory Gilmore that we can’t do a thing about the whole humidity thing. Instead, we suggest watching the movie Adult World, set in our hometown of Syracuse, NY. That way, you can cool off watching a whole bunch of snow in our old neighborhood! Plus, you’ll get to see John Cusack go to Recess Coffee! That’s something, right?

Aquarius: Good work will come soon enough, we promise. For now, take to your bed like John and Yoko. Hold meetings, Be-Ins, singalongs, or cuddle parties, or all these at once. Invite the comforter to facilitate. Ask every pillow her opinion, and if it’s okay that you hug her. Count your audience of sleep masks, scandalous night-books, fancy lotions. Be very, VERY thorough.

Pisces: Thank the planets that are leaving your orbit, or just decisively swipe left. You don’t need a reason, just blow them away like dandelion fluff. You can build altars to them out of candles and spangles. Glitter bomb the places in your body and heart where long- or new-lost friends reside. It’s okay if you’re feeling scared and alone. The stars are with you, no matter what.

Aries: This week in the stars’ neighborhood, a group of six young people planned a protest in 48 hours. They hoped about fifty people would come, but it turned out to be over a thousand. Every step and turn of our “Whose streets? Our streets!” route was decorated with sacred names and cases of water. This was a miracle and also a privilege: Downtown, my friends were still facing violent police and the National Guard. Build everything you can, Aries, and don’t take a bit of it for granted.

Taurus: The stars are profoundly sorry that we forgot you the other week! Here’s what’s in your Apology Basket: Milk to wash away teargas. Spangles for all of your placards. Friends with ears that listen. One flower for every emotion in your heart, at any given minute. Scattered and prolific petals. Bearable heat. Every smell of candle you love. A reminder to drink enough water. The promise that we still know you’re a prism.