August ‘Scopes

Cloudy skies can’t hide the truth from my keen senses. I don’t have to see the stars to hear them – not since Burning Man 2014. With this power I spit in the face of God and divine the future for you pointless, listless lizard lackeys.

You’ve been having strange dreams, haven’t you? Puddles of blood; flashes of metal; a child with the hand of an adult bear; an unbearable heat; a swarm of ants building a Mick Jagger wax figure. These are visions. They’re messages from the great chasm beyond, calling you to act: buy the Nutri Ninja now for $39.99 and receive a pair of compression socks absolutely free.

You have a lot of pent-up emotional energy due to be released. Of course you’ve scheduled your breakdown – you have a more meaningful relationship with iCloud calendar than any human person. That meticulous, lengthy text message you’re planning on sending will get no response, by the way. If I were you I’d get into the office indoor netball team; be somewhere you’d be missed.

You’re usually so comfortable in yourself, but this month you long to be a Scorpio. The spontaneity, the eyeliner, the effortlessness – you’ve spent your life collecting and connecting cool people and what do you have to show for it? A signed Mumford and Sons t-shirt? A constellation just puked on me. It’s time to make a statement, Libra! Own yourself: buy more black! Flip someone off! Eat the placenta AND the baby! You be YOU!

This month a shower of fireworks will engulf you. This is not a metaphor. The sparks will burn off your clothes, leaving your bare skin unmarked and glistening. You are a technicolour mirror. Let others gaze into you – try to reflect positive vibes. Then leave whatever hippy fest you’re hitting and find a safe place to come down. And put some goddamn pants on.

This month you’ll get the chance to properly display some of that eau d’artiste you spray around at house parties. A friend’s flatmate will ask you to help host an event, and I guarantee that handing out your mixtape/novella to everyone who walks through the door can ONLY have good results. When you’re finally approached to expand on your work, make sure to seal the deal with a righteous shaka.

You’re tortured by the realisation that no-one really, truly feels close to you. I’ll tell you why for free: you use emojis inappropriately. Slamming a 😛 into conversation feels forced and gross, and it makes people distance themselves from you. Around the 17th, you’ll gif-bomb someone and lose a good friend forever. Please try to exorcise your cyber demons, maybe with a juice cleanse.

For someone so driven by the unconventional, you have really tacky taste in art. This month is one of learning – not professionally, but spiritually. That’s right, the ghost of Ingmar Bergman will appear to you and curse your dreams. Your nights will be filled with black and white flickering, disembodied screeching, and lingering stares. The curse will be lifted when you renounce Bee Movie.

Right now you’re considering a new hairstyle, but be honest: you only want a fringe because it might distract from your insecurities. Sweet child, the only things wrong with you are on the inside, and cannot be fixed. A better solution is to befriend an uglier, shittier person and embrace your comparative virtues.

You’re on the edge of success and failure, with only the next few weeks to make a difference either way. Work hard, stay calm, and contribute a reasonable sacrifice to your God of choice. There’s not much more you can do, but you’ll panic anyway and shitpost about 20 times; this will ultimately be the reason you’re fired.

You suspect someone close to you might be a necromancer. Don’t mention it. Keep salt and an iron object on you at all times, and (if possible) imply that you’re pregnant. They’re not into that for some reason. This is also a good month for you financially, so you have real incentive to stay amongst the living.

You can’t keep cutting people out of your life like this. Well, you can; everyone adores you and you’ll never be lonely. One day, though, one day soon – one of your scorned admirers will come back with a knife or a threatening text message, and you might get to do that self-defence murder you’ve always dreamed of. Trust me, the paperwork is a nightmare you never anticipated.

Like the noble octopus, you are psychic. Your mind tentacles touch the auras of those around you, suckling at their negative emotions and absorbing them into your own clusterfuck of sadness. It would be easy to not do this, but as an emotional masochist you are compelled to feel as terrible as possible. At the end of the month the stars demand a great piece of slam poetry as recompense for the moping they’ve had to witness.

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