Sagittarius (Nov. 22-Dec. 21)
You wake up naked, stranded on the Isle of Possibility. "How did I get here?" you cry to the shifting sands and blowing winds. "I dunno," say the shifting sands. "Whatever," say the blowing winds. (They're used to drama.) Fashion a hatchet from kelp and shells, fell a tall tree, hollow it out by hand, burn the inside, carve the outside into a waterproof shape, kill and dry the meats of local protein-bearing fauna, stock the canoe with two months of food and water and set sail. OR, you could wait to be rescued. It's possible.
(TO WAIT: Turn to Aries. TO SAIL: Turn to Pisces.)
Capricorn (Dec. 22-Jan. 19)
"Did you fill out the second copy of the budget cross-reference analysis sheet?" asks your new co-worker, Moira. She sniffs. Her lipstick is bright pink. "You're supposed to fill it out. I thought you knew about that." She sniffs again. She wipes her nose. There's a smear of lipstick on her front tooth. "Sorry. I will." Your head is fuzzy. You wish you'd gotten more sleep. Maybe you'll get Tivo. It makes sense, because these days you fall asleep in front of the TV a lot. You want to quit, but you're afraid to. Years and years go by.
(TO QUIT: Turn to Libra. TO GET TIVO: Turn to Leo.)
Aquarius (Jan. 20-Feb. 18)
You're waiting in a staggeringly long line with millions of other people. You loathe lines. You wait all week, and for many more weeks, until you lose track of time. At the front, an old guy in a plaid shirt checks your name off a clipboard, and gives you a soda. "So," he says, sipping the foam off his Sprite. "What do you think you, personally, can bring to Heaven?" Ransack your brain for good qualities.
(IF YOU FIND ANY: Turn to Taurus. IF YOU DON'T: Turn to Capricorn.)
Pisces (Feb. 19-Mar. 20)
The winds scour your hide; you seem to be made of salt. Vast quantities of the planet are trying to kill you. A storm swoops down, and you spend countless hours muddled and miserable, riding waves as high as dinosaurs. The night is endless and deep, and filled with sharks. The stars after the storm shimmer with holy beauty, and you stare at them all night. Three weeks later, you bump into Battery Park and stumble through Lower Manhattan. Your hair has turned pink, and you seem to have a halo. Your dreams are fantastic these days. THE END
Aries (Mar. 21-Apr. 19)
"Blarney," says your trained parrot, Domingo. "Blarn frin farn a-dangit." You taught him to talk last year. You've got a lot of time on your desert island. Being stranded is okay, but it's not what you thought you'd do with your life. Expect to spend a fairly pleasant week. Things could be better, but at this point you couldn't really be bothered to put the extra effort in to change your situation. You're keeping an eye on the horizon, anyway. One morning, a coconut falls on your head. You can't decide: are you dead, or do you have amnesia?
(DEAD: Turn to Aquarius. AMNESIA: Turn to Sagittarius.)
Taurus (Apr. 20-May 20)
Dogs and cats play in the long grass. You run with them, and then continue on to the Land of Comfortable Beds. You jump on all the beds to try them out. You bump into your favorite teacher of all time, and the two of you have a heartfelt talk about philosophy, poetry, and peanut butter. The kids at the Floating Treehouse have begged you for souvenir, so you bring them back pillows from the Pillow Tree. A faraway light appears, like a comet falling to earth. You cross lagoons and prairies and come to a glowing crater. You see the face of someone that you used to know, confused and wandering. You run to them. THE END
Gemini (May 21-Jun. 21)
"Ack! Aiee!" you cry, and take off running. The world is a monster, and you're trapped inside. The wet night air feels like fingers in your hair. The stoplights are glowing in the rainy streets. You gasp to catch your breath. The streetlamp flickers on and off. No, it's not just the streetlamp — it's EVERYTHING. Somehow, the entire world is flickering, in and out, like bad TV reception. You try to scream, but ZAP! It goes out.
(Turn to Virgo.)
Cancer (June 21-July 21)
"DREAM!" you yell. "COME BACK, DAMMIT!" You run across the asphalt after the runaway penguin. For a waddler, it's mighty speedy — she slides on her belly down an ice floe like it's a luge. You make the special two-tone chattering noise that means "Dream" in the penguin language you've been developing. Turns out she just wanted to play — she slides right to your feet and says, "Just kidding!" in Penguin. "We're gonna be late," you say, and she says, "All right, all right. Let's go." You take her flipper, and walk slowly to the icy press conference, bristling with microphones and cameras. You're gonna save the South Pole today, and Dream's right by your side. THE END
Leo (July 22-Aug. 22)
You've been watching a bit too much TV lately, because you hate your job. You spend entire weekends drenched in the neon bone-white glare, your eyeballs dry and red, with a sore back. (Which makes you tired for work.) One night, you startle awake to see snow flickering across the screen. Something coughs at your elbow. You jump! A small, hideous elf is staring at you expectantly. He clears his throat and says: "You love your television / a diversion, a distraction / even though it dims your vision / and produces stupefaction. I am Grotto the elf! Will you hear my tale?"
(TO HEAR HIS TALE: Turn to Scorpio. TO SCREAM AND FLEE: Turn to Gemini.)
Virgo (Aug. 23-Sept. 21)
You're sitting in a chair opposite from a Very Important Person. Small clouds circle serenely around her temples. When she rubs them, small bolts of lightning crackle. "Really, now," she says. "Do you really want to keep running away? I mean… you CAN, if you want to. But… don't you want to take a risk, at some point?" She smoothes back her long silver hair. "You always have a choice," she says. Her voice is like bees and purring. "What'll it be?" You open your mouth to answer, but you're already gone.
(Turn to Sagittarius.)
Libra (Sept. 22-Oct. 22)
It's a bright and crisp day. You march into the office and dump a gallon of M&M's on the conference-room table. "My gift to you!" you announce. "Be well! I sally forth into the great unknown!" Your colleagues and coworkers gape as you march proudly on. Something wonderful is happening in your brain. It's like when a glowstick cracks and the separated chemicals mix: your desires and actions are beginning to coincide. You spend the week sipping tea, giggling for no reason, and furiously rearranging your life. You suddenly have a lot of energy. THE END
Scorpio (Oct. 23-Nov. 21)
Grotto the elf sings a spine-tingling, blood-curdling cautionary tale of woe and mirth. You listen on the couch, and finish your beer. It takes several hours. When he finishes, he bows and doffs his cap for tips. You stick a dollar bill inside. "Wow," you say. "Man. You're totally right." He does a tiny jig. "But I still don't know what to do," you say, slumping down in your chair.
"Fail," he says.
"What?!"
"Try. Fail. Try again. Fail again. Fail better," he says.
"Good idea," you murmur.
"Not mine, Beckett's. But thanks. Ta!" He disappears in a puff of green glitter.
(TO QUIT YOUR JOB: Turn to Libra. TO CHASE A DREAM: Turn to Cancer.)
