Aries: Stop allowing others to win, it’s reaming arrogant. Just stick to being the gloating bastard everyone has worked so hard to tolerate thus far.

Taurus: Women wearing white bring disturbing news. Avoid nurses, hygienists, and anything involving chili.

Gemini: An unexpected email from relatives will arrive. Don’t write back, use a toss-away phone. You wouldn’t want anything you say on record.

Cancer: Long distance adventure appeals to you. You will inflate your travel pillow too soon, and due to cabin pressure, wake up over Hong Kong choking and blue and looking like an idiot.

Leo: Sun squares Saturn. You grow paranoid. Obsessed with self-defense fantasies, you will replay *Sean Penn’s pop-cans-in-the-pillowcase scene from Bad Boys until your roommate calls your mother.

Virgo: For much of this month, you are especially helpful with correcting your friends’ grammar. It is a service worthy of at least being thanked for. Embrace the impending solitude.

Libra: Don’t google “blue waffle.” Just…don’t.

Scorpio: All the things you desire will require many attempts before you can finally grasp them – except for your crotch. Frustrating. Or…is it?

Sagittarius: Sun square Jupiter brings a gamble in sexual affairs. Since you are literally hung like a horse, it’s safe to say you can disregard this particular astronomical aspect now, and in the future.

Capricorn: Your every intention will be misinterpreted, but you are such a stone-cold opportunist you will end up an enigmatic millionaire because of it anyway. Screw you.

Aquarius: Finances are in the spotlight. Turn off the bloody spotlight, already.

Pisces: Let’s face it. Mars retrograde, opposite Venus, quincunx Regulus in Leo and staring down your Imum Coeli for the next several days confuses you. Just keep swimming around in that opposite-fish-going kind of way. There, that works.

©criesfromuranus

A fat sooty rat crawls into our car between the stale cracks at LEX16 Station, winding between the feet of Therean schoolchildren who are on a class trip to the core. They are from the Terra Reforma Institute for the Blind.

This is a sign. My stomach contracts.

Spinning cleansing rites for ocular invasions in my lap, I draw out a long minute with a forefinger and two front teeth. I stretch it languidly on the rattle of the metal, bent against our snaking itinerary.

The Vector nods emptily, high above underground realities. He is nonchalant to my curling, rising rhymes, the faint smoke of oil.

It’s chicken blood and skin drums from here on in. The worm of his gaze turns the earth of my being.

I hate that.

©CriesfromUranus

WRONG.

Photo by Hyaku Aya, based in Tokyo, Japan. Ecstatic I’ve stumbled upon this inventive illustrator, who creates these unique zodiac portraits reminiscent of velvet art charm combined with modern graphic goodness. Click through to the flickeroo.

The element of FIRE, bitches!

photo design: brian jensen

Eating a plate of spaghetti here is for me now a lot like immersing myself in a vat of glue and then turning myself inside out for an eon.

I can’t express even the most basic feeling. What it is beyond this plane…we’re standing on this concrete playground and I breathe endlessly. Circulation is sticky, circles must be sticky. I tried to explain the spreading motion of it. Compared to this, it’s like floating along a soft, colorless tunnel forever. Engaged. Nothing - no idea, decision, or thing - you can hold onto, and all things are part of the next thing down the line. But there’s no line. Nothing to digest.

I can’t do it.

But here we are.

Tragic, blind. Delicious and destroyed.

©Cries from Uranus