September ‘Scopes

We’re halfway through Virgo season! That’s why I posted this a couple of days late – to get at those anal-retentive goody-goods. For the next few weeks we’re influenced by a whole lot of Virgo and then some Libra. These are the two most organised signs, so if you fuck up this month you must be really, really terrible.

There’s been a lot of cloud, so this month’s reading is brought to you in part by the tasseography of my associate Mithral.

I know you’re a thrill-seeker, but this month you’ll have a thrill ripped out from your party-ready guts and stepped on by the sadistic heel of fate. You were ready for good news, I know – you’ve been preparing to celebrate for months. But alas, around the 15th your heart will break – well, it would if it weren’t so calloused. Rise above, Aries, and try not to make a boring Facebook status about it.

You’re trying to uncover a secret, and you won’t like the answer. Around the 25th you’ll discover what you’ve been dreading. Usually you’d handle betrayal with calm stoicism, but with the heightened Libran influence you’ll be filled with a hunger for justice. Bury the evidence in a forest, not a swamp.

You’ve made a huge mistake. You want to solve it the way you usually do: by becoming a fully-fledged Bad Cop Harpy set on scaring away your problems with vague threats of arson and definite acts of evil. However, have you considered: not? You have the gift of the gab, so use it to say sorry. Alternatively, leave this city and never return.

It was a year ago, Cancer, let it go. The emotional soap opera you’ve been festering in for the past several months is coming to a head. You need to cut your losses and head to the mountains for a week. Write a poem, throw it in a lake, howl at the moon, embrace your feral form, return, found a local bakery, never speak of the blood pact. Do these things, in this order, and you’ll find peace.

Leos aren’t leaders, they just want to be. This month you’re struggling to exercise power, and will find yourself kicking babies just to feel in control. This is not how to gain a fan base. I know you’ll never take therapy seriously, so instead: try curating a section of your garden just for burning down when nothing goes as planned.

You’re empathetic, but you never use that information for good. Or bad, or anything interesting or useful. What’s the point? Give your powers to someone else, and upload your mind into Siri already. Seriously, you’re a great contender for cyborg creation. If you had an “off” button people would definitely like you.

So, you think you’re hardcore? This month is going to test that. You usually get the better of your emotions, but by the end of September you won’t be able to. Like the fabled Frog Prince, you’ll be put in a blender and set on pulse, throwing waves of ripped skin and dreams all over the countertop. How you deal with this will determine your next three months – follow your Libran intuition and you’ll be less scarred than otherwise.

Ever heard of “biting the hand that feeds you”? Well, you’re biting yourself. Right in the face. You’re eating the body you live in, just because you’re bored. Virgo season is a great time to write a list of healthy alternatives to self-destruction. Have you considered a sport? I know you’re not a team player or highly co-ordinated, so maybe… fishing?

Last month was all about change for you, so this one’s a bit of a break. You can expect a couple of small domestics, and just one bag of flaming shit on your doorstep. You’ve paid your rent, you bought new shoes, and you’re thinking of finally submitting to The Man. Nice one. Remember to stay true to yourself, and remind The Machine that it doesn’t own you by wearing novelty slogan baseball caps.

You demand specificity at all times, which is why you’ll always be disappointed. I’m not even going to write your horoscope. You can read your own damn stars. You’ll probably put the constellations in an Excel spreadsheet and realise you don’t need me. Thank God I’m fun at parties.

“You do you” was a phrase invented for you. You’re so goddamn weird. You’re happy though, and that’s what matters – to you. Everyone else would like you to be happy somewhere else. You’re an optimist, though, so when around the 10th someone tells you to “fuck off” you’ll assume they meant it kindly (they didn’t).

It’s party time! You’re vaguely content right now, and that’s worth celebrating! Play something other than The Cure’s greatest hits and buy some non-black balloons. Invite friends, acquaintances, your shadow self – anyone who’ll come. You just need bodies to fill the room and warm your heart before it freaks and sticks its aorta out to hitchhike back to Sadville.

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