Maybe True Horoscopes #5


aries: that noise your joints keep making is of absolutely no concern. use less moisturizer; try toner instead, or, better yet, african black soap. your lucky items are glow-in-the-dark star stickers, a vintage leather jacket, and a corned beef sandwich.


taurus: as you know by now, the only thing that happens after death is sleep. straighten your posture. your lucky items are infinity scarves, a poland spring water bottle, and the bags under your eyes.


gemini: men have killed to speed read the way you do, with the degree of reading comprehension you have. get a job. your lucky items are a first-edition copy of Action Comics #1, a porkpie hat, and a ten-dollar gift certificate to Barnes and Noble.


cancer: the skeleton living inside of you gets sad that you only notice it on halloween. those with flammable hair should keep careful around fire. your lucky items are sunsets, teddy bears, and the entire state of texas.


leo: the taste of blood is more intimately familiar to you than the feeling of your mother’s love. crack the spine of the paperback you’re reading. your lucky items are oregano, authentic moccasins, and a potted cactus.


virgo: la vida es corta y la gente es tonto, vive sin reglas y se ama tu madre. amarillo es un colór bien para tú; lleva eso mas. tus cosas suertes están pom-poms, perros, y miel.


libra: paternal isolation leaves behind a hollowness inside your heart that never completely leaves. stop looking at facebook on the commute home, it’s just making you cranky. your lucky items are a wedding band, pantene conditioner, and the little metal things they give you with your admission to the Met.


scorpio: kindness can be as much of a burden as it is a blessing, if not more so. when will you accept that it’s okay to be the way you are? your lucky items are vinyl decals, a vhs player, and an awkwardly executed hug.


sagittarius: it stings harder than anything in your life to realize that your bullies will grow up to be just as human as you. there’s actually some appeal to sucking up to your teachers, you know. your lucky items are fingerless gloves, a cafeteria tray, and the minecraft soundtrack.


capricorn: where does the line get drawn between “self-medicating” and “self-numbing?” when did you cross over it? your lucky items are arizona iced tea, orange paint, and a hip-hop album on cassette.


aquarius: badmouthing your teachers won’t make your parents love you. it’s okay to give up every once in a while. your lucky items are ribbons, safety pins, and a slightly mildewed t-shirt you got in the sale bin at uniqlo.


pisces: under a microscope, stretch marks look like fine, iridescent spiderwebs; remember that when you find yourself hating your body. warm up your fingers before you start playing guitar. your lucky items are scissors, an ipod nano, and a minnesota twins hoodie.