Hoboscopes

HOBOSCOPES

GEMINI

We should go to the zoo together sometime, Gemini. I think you’d really like it. Every animal has a sign in front with some facts about what it eats and where it lives and how it gets by in this wild world. It would be nice if more folks had signs like that. Mine would say something like “Amateur Astrologer (Mysterious mysterious) Found in air conditioned spaces with pillowed surfaces. Primarily herbivorous, they can live months of the year on only Wheat Thins and peanut butter.” What would yours say, Gemini?

CANCER

You’ve been waiting for your turn to speak, Cancer, but I notice you keep returning to the back of the line. You’re hoping that if you stay quiet for just another few minutes, some more rational voices will find their way into this conversation and you won’t ever have to pick a side. I’m not saying you’ve got the right answer, Cancer, but I do think you need to get into the conversation. You can even start by asking some clarifying questions.

LEO

I thought adulthood would feel different, Leo. I’ve been waiting for the signs to let me know that adulthood had arrived. For instance, I assumed there would be more briefcases and ties. Maybe I secretly thought that if I avoided going into a briefcases and ties line of work, I could delay the aging process and never grow up. But it hasn’t worked. I’m in jeans and flip flops and a too-small astrologer’s tunic and I still keep getting older. You’ve grown up too, Leo. Nobody’s asking you to feel old. We just need you to bring your stories to the table.

VIRGO

You were always pretty good at those multiple-choice tests, Virgo. They would be like “A) An obviously wrong answer. B) An almost right answer. C) The clearly correct answer. D) All of the above.” Of course, there would be some variety in the order, but you could usually see through them. The choices you’ve got in front of these days are a little less clear, Virgo. And if you keep choosing “all of the above” you’re going to take home way too many groceries again. Maybe there’s not just one right answer. Maybe you should just pick “C.”

LIBRA

I couldn’t help but notice, Libra, that you’ve got…how do I say this…a lot of browser tabs open. I know, you’ve explained it to me. You have a “system” and these are all “very important” pages that you “need” to remember “for later.” But what if I told you that I closed all of them? That in a fit of tidiness, I just clicked away all the tabs you’ve spent so long cultivating? Wouldn’t it feel just the slightest bit freeing? Don’t worry, I’m just theorizing here. But it’s a good exercise to think about what you’ve got that’s actually worth saving.

SCORPIO

The North American longleaf pine is a particularly fire-tolerant tree. Not only do the adult trees resist fire well, the species is actually dependent on periodic fires to clear out the competition and make room for their seeds to germinate successfully. Their plentiful needles pile up and make perfect kindling to catch a spark. You’ve done pretty well hanging on through these recent blazes, Scorpio. I wonder if there might be a little more room now for you to stretch out and get what you need

SAGITTARIUS

I got that new toaster that has three slots, Sagittarius. One for the top half of the bagel, one for the bottom half, and then a third, more mysterious slot for…maybe a slice of banana bread? A loose Poptart? I’m really not sure. People might be telling you that there’s a reason for the way things have always been done. That two slots is enough. That you need to hold onto tradition. I disagree, Sagittarius. Only you know how many toaster slots is right for you. Does anybody make one with a wallet-warmer?

CAPRICORN

It is believed that when the European explorers arrived at the coast of the Caribbean and reported seeing mermaids, what they had actually encountered were manatees in the distance. I don’t believe it. Not because I think mermaids are real, I don’t really have a fish in that fight, but because I think manatees are far too noble to be involved in a silly case of colonialist mistaken identity. Manatees would never, Capricorn. Think of them next time somebody tries to tell you who you are. There’s no reason to even stay in that conversation. Just swim away.

AQUARIUS

What do you stand for, Aquarius? For me, it’s an easy question to answer. I’ve been standing in this line to get my drivers license renewed for the last 45 minutes. They could at least play some better music in here. How many marches did John Philips Sousa write, anyway? But I’ll keep standing here, softly humming along, until I get what I came for. How about you, Aquarius? What’s gonna get you on your feet?

PISCES

You walk carefully along the narrow stone bridge. Just a few steps at a time. There’s no railing to hold onto and the rocks sometimes crack beneath your feet. You can’t go back, and you know that the lava flowing through the gorge beneath you is ready to swallow you whole so, bit by bit, you move forward. You’re more than halfway now. I think you might just make it, Pisces! That’s when you hear the shrieks of the cave-eagles as they dive toward you from the ceiling. Sometimes the obstacles life sends your way are just too great, Pisces. Pause the game and get a snack.

ARIES

You’ve been asking big questions lately, Aries, but more from despair than curiosity. Why are we here? Why do we keep going? How can this be all there is? I see you over there, Aries, with your eye pushed against that cardboard tube from the last roll of paper towels, looking out the window and sighing like you’ve just discovered the telescope and it’s boring. You’re going to need a broader perspective. Put down the tube and talk to somebody. Help somebody with a task they can’t do alone. Eat a meal together. Ask them why they think we’re here.

TAURUS

I’m starting to feel the heat, Taurus. Days like this, it would be nice to go somewhere just a little bit cooler. I think about Eris, the second largest dwarf planet in our solar system. When Eris is at its farthest orbital point from the sun, the temperatures rest at around 405 degrees below zero. Its methane atmosphere freezes and falls to the surface like snow. As it warms back up to 358 degrees below zero, the methane turns back to gas. It reminds me, Taurus, that nothing stays as it is. Change is constant even on a frozen rock. What do you think will happen next?

Mr. Mysterio is not a licensed astrologer, a certified forest ranger, or a trained cartographer. Listen to the Mr. Mysterio podcast at mrmysterio.com Or just give him a call at 707-VHS-TAN1