Scorpio (24 October – 22 November)
Lubrication is the adjudication of consternation. Keep cool this week. Like, real cool. Maybe wrap yourself in ice packs. Alcohol is your friend, but you should convince him to change his name. It looks terrible on job applications.
Sagittarius (23 November – 21 December)
Dedication is the peroration of ovulation. All your shots find their mark this cycle, so start firing arrows in all directions and don’t by shy with your aim! You’ve worked hard to get this far, and now it’s time to reap what you’ve sowed and seep what you’ve rowed. On that last note, pack extra towels, because all this seeping is just murder on the carpet.
Capricorn (22 December – 20 January)
Invention is the estranged godmother of necessity. A police encounter will end in tears if you have a miniature schnauzer with you, and otherwise in 20-to-life. But many great books have been written in prison, so either take a creative writing class or buy a schnauzer, or teach a schnauzer how to type and then you can enjoy a little nap once in a while.
Aquarius (21 January – 19 February)
Machination is the coronation of adulation. You are a living god. Lotteries, fame, and tantra—it’s all yours for the taking. In particular, if you are a tall, thirty-year-old writer born 2-10-83 with a dark habit of submitting comic lists to online magazines with seven-letter names, your chances of reaching Nirvana and having the world bow at your feet have never been higher.
Pisces (20 February – 20 March)
Perseveration is the abdication of inclination. Feeling literary this cycle? A few caveats:: If you see a typewriter, type. Don’t write a sonnet every time you pick up a pencil. Computers are for porn, longhand is better than shorthand, and you don’t need to know cursive, no matter what your second-grade teacher told you. Hot tip: to really goose up your writing, use a metaphor. A metaphor is guaranteed to knock your readers’ socks off. I guess what we’re saying is that each copy of your book should probably come with at least one clean pair of socks.
Aries (21 March – 20 April)
Levity is a bowl of shit. You think you’re funny? You’re not funny. Remember when Phil dropped his soda in the staff meeting and it exploded on the floor, and you said “You’ve got the wrong one, baby!” and as soon as it was out of your mouth you wished you hadn’t said it because there’s not even a real comedic premise to it, plus you sort of half-screamed it because you were so excited, so now you just look crazy, and you couldn’t look anyone in the eye for two weeks so all the fragile friendships you had worked so hard to establish are now wilting away and there’s nothing you can do to get them back?! Stop doing stuff like that. Also, take your meds. This isn’t even your real horoscope, it’s a hallucination.
Taurus (21 April – 21 May)
Maturation is the conjuration of perforation. Beware all impersonators and mimes under this cycle’s waxing moons. Communication is key, but sex should be conducted in funereal silence to avoid verbal contamination. If you can take a mime to bed, however, all bets are off; make that siren sing.
Gemini (22 May – 21 June)
Conurbation is the desecration of civilization. Get out of all major cities during this cycle. None of them are safe with the Jabberwocky loose. I’m not giving this information to any of my other clients. You’re my favorite.
Cancer (22 June – 22 July)
Improvisation is the multiplication of jubilation. Like a neophyte artist stalking a coked-up gallery owner in a fetid bathroom, pluck up your courage and try not to pee on yourself. Your moment of greatness has arrived. Go out and get yourself some wall space.
Leo (23 July – 22 August)
Commerce is the death of farts. Your lies catch up to you this cycle. Don’t look at me like that, you know exactly what lies I’m talking about, and we’ve got photos too. Real nasty stuff. On an unrelated note, you can make tax-deductible donations to Trop by clicking on this sentence.
Virgo (23 August – 23 September)
Cunctation is the gestation of incarceration. The snake is in the henhouse and the fox is in the grass. Either that, or it’s Animal Hallowe’en. We’d like to think it’s Animal Hallowe’en.
Libra (24 September – 23 October)
Reputation is the demonstration of humiliation. This week, take a chance on a stranger. Especially if he does real old-fashioned romantic stuff, like tossing a pebble at your window and then serenading you with something by the Clash. Wait by your window with no shirt on. I’ll be by around seven.This cycle is short and so is life.
If your birthday is this Thursday: RUN!!!
Owen Wiseman was raised in the Pacific Northwest. He studied philosophy at Pomona College, where he read an unhealthy amount of Nietzsche and Heidegger. He now lives and works in Hollywood. His first graphic novel, Samurai’s Blood, was published in June 2011. Follow him on Twitter at @OGWiseman.