1) A site for sideways somersaults.
2) Too happy not to die.
3) Never asked a question until now.
4) Quiet people talk a lot.
5) Not forever, but a long time.
6) Each one plays Himself or Herself.
7) Strong and sad and smart and dumb.
8) Lie down in the surf and sing.
9) People could have animal parts.
10) Frowning eyebrows and fog.
11) At best, your stuff touches, but that’s it.
12) The broach says it all.
13) Somewhere that’s not here.
14) Eating fruit in the desert.
15) A certain tremulous haircut.
ARIES (March 21 – April 20):
Stick to the tricks, Aries. Magic may be real, but real magicians are tedious and irritating, with their prolonged eye contact and their gentle shoulder-touching. You may be an emanation of the sun, but so is everyone else. Which doesn’t mean you can’t psych yourself out, if you feel like it. This is for what you can do with chopsticks.
TAURUS (April 21 – May 21):
Album: Come to Life
Track: Don’t Ever Look Back
What you do on your own time is up to you, Taurus. Hence the possessive: it’s yours. The only issue is that there’s no such thing as time, free will, or the self. All the same, maybe you should try cleaning your room? Tidiness is crystal cool, and anyway, neurotic cleaning is a good hedge against the pointlessness of existence. Just kidding. Life is funny and important. This is for eating sandwiches in the dark.
GEMINI (May 22 – June 21):
Track: The Makings of You
You’re all things to all people, Gemini, and people are really weird — most of them have odd-shaped bodies and non-secrets that they treat like real secrets. Your big secret is that you don’t have any secrets, because you don’t have a core identity, and you enjoy insulting yourself anyway. You’re like an angry portrait of someone else, but you’re all smudged from being erased and replaced so many times. Here’s something you haven’t thought of: you’re cute when you’re confused. This is for leave it.
CANCER (June 22 – July 23):
Album: The Age of Fracture
Track: The Natural World
You live alone on an island, Cancer, the Island of Alone-Time. Grass, rocks, you’ve got it all. People would love to get a look at you in your frayed clothes, but sometimes I wonder if you’re going to stay out there forever, shuffling around in the sand like you’re getting paid. Your only sun is a blinking red light, but eventually it’ll stop recording, and then you’ll have to play it all back. This is for what you’ve got.
LEO (July 24 – August 23):
Track: Mister Wonderful
You’re fine, Leo. Seriously, everything is good. I mean, some stuff is bad. You’re kind of an asshole at times. Well, for real, you’re a serious asshole to certain people a lot of times, and you don’t even realize it. Or if you do, your psychological defenses against self-criticism are so well developed, it’ll take years of therapy to overcome them, which you probably will never even attempt. Certainly not this month. But on the balance, you’re really sweet. This is for better or worse.
VIRGO (August 24 – September 23):
You’re all zipped up, Virgo, and you’re making quite a stir (albeit a gentle one, as though sneaking through the tall grass or hurrying up a cup of tea). Let’s just keep it simple from here on out. Put your hands in the air and wave them. Turn around slowly. Now do it once more. Spin … stop. Look at the hair. Look at the chin. Look at the ears. Now: shoulders. This is for your chops.
LIBRA (September 24 – October 23):
Track: Be OK
Remember when you were trying to have non-stop fun, Libra, but you couldn’t do it, because you kept spitting and crying all over yourself? Those days are long gone — you just weren’t a thing yet! Now you’re here and it’s fun as hell. This is for trying out shapes.
SCORPIO (October 24 – November 22):
Album: THRU THA RIP
Track: RAPTOR JAZZ
It makes me cry to think about you, Scorpio. Not lost-forever cry, but stranger-on-the-subway cry: that wild, tragic affection … no, real love … that you feel for someone because of a certain cautious look on their face, or because you realize everything could be completely different. Think of yourself as you will be in the future, with a better haircut and nicer clothes, remembering who are you are now. Now stop fantasizing. This is for all the stuff you have to do.
SAGITTARIUS (November 23 – December 21):
Track: Day In Day Out
You forgot how to bullshit, Sagittarius, and now you’re making people uncomfortable. Well, good — people need problems to feel alive, so it might as well be you. Just don’t go getting all messianic with the persecution and all that, because, seriously, it’s a lot to ask. Enjoy yourself. (It’s not like anyone’s going to do it for you.) You’re your own best friend. This is for extra snacks after work.
CAPRICORN (December 22 – January 20):
Track: Stupid in the Dark
You’ve been spending a lot of time dressing yourself, Capricorn. It’s the opposite of your dark impulse to go naked, but you still just end up spazzing out with the clothes-hangers. So be it. Make sparks if you want to. You can watch movies on pause and Scotch tape everything you say, just the way you like. It can’t last forever, but it can last a long time. This is for whatever it is you’re doing.
AQUARIUS (January 21 – February 19):
Track: Batman Palace
I want to second-screen your brain, Aquarius, so I can watch it on my phone. Then I’d like to turn your thoughts into an infographic, with all your little arguments and nagging memories spread out in corresponding circles and squares. Then I’ll hang it behind the seat where you usually sit when you ride the train to work. People will see the poster of you, but they won’t think of you in particular; they’ll just feel vaguely reassured about the commonality of experience. This is for nothing special.
PISCES (February 20 – March 20):
There’s a secret to sadness, Pisces. The key is to just pretend. You don’t have to do it for real. What would be the point? So you can believe in God again? To smoke more pot? You’re sweet, but you’re not that sweet. The nice thing about you, Pisces, is that you get to be one of those people who stand around leaning on cars, and people call you Grumps because you’re so happy. This is for fucking hilarious.
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Born on July 25, 1789 (or possibly 1792, or some say 1795, or even 1799), James Barry passed his heart-breakingly odd and quarrelsome existence as a medical doctor throughout the British colonies, ever accompanied by his many dogs and his manservant John. Famous for performing the first successful Ceasarean section, he also once berated Florence Nightingale from horseback during the Crimean War, and introduced the pear-fruit to common English soldiery. Barry was sadly discourteous in his efforts to improve medical hygiene across the Empire, for which he developed many enemies. A vegetarian and an advocate for wine-baths, he dueled eagerly with anyone who commented on his strange features or his high-pitched voice. Upon his death, the charwoman Sophia Bishop observed that he had the parts of a lady.
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A message from Abraham Lincoln:
When Dice contacted me to make a speech to the future, I confess I was a little disappointed. Seriously Dice? A speech? Isn’t that kind of obvious, coming from me? I mean, it just feels a little ‘take your kid to work day’ or something. Let’s skip the cute, okay? This is the internet.
Anyway, from where I’m sitting on this golden throne in the heart of the sun, I don’t see a lot on earth that I exactly feel like commenting on. “Eat more ice cream.” How’s that? “Children are special.” “Be a better person.” I could do this all day, but then, so can Lululemon. You know what’s depressing? Saying obvious things and pretending like you’re learning.
The other option is praise. I used to make a lot of speeches about stuff I thought was glorious. Sobriety! Universal mind! Obscure birds! (Did I talk about birds? I don’t even remember, but it sounds like me.) People would get pretty jazzed on stuff that I thought was glorious. I liked that about people, the way they admired me.
But that was back when anything that wasn’t a tooth ache or a skin rash seemed completely amazing. Now that I abide in eternal mystical congress with the greatest souls that ever existed in the gleaming foyer of the gods, I think it might come across as more than a little smug if I was like, “Isn’t life just so great?!” For some people it clearly sucks.
I guess if I was going to make some sort of pronouncement, it would be: don’t ever lie… ha! You should have seen how serious you looked right there. What am I, George Washington? Just live your life, okay. And don’t ever ask me to do this again.
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Astral wisdom and your song for the month of June, brought to you by Pseudo and Dice at Sound Scheme.
You’re serving up dinner all month, Aries, and we’re not talking about cold cuts and mustard. We’re talking feathers, clip-ons, and fancy belt buckles. I’ve got a menu plan for you: it’s called Spread the Fuss. No napkins necessary. This is for when there’s more than enough to go around.
You’re a study in good handwriting, Taurus. It’s something I like to call ‘fine penmanship’. Do you wear special mittens for that, or do you do use the bottle cap technique? Never mind, the family won’t like it. I use to write words, but now I just draw skulls, because everything dies. This is for getting it done right the first time.
Don’t phone it in, Gemini. You haven’t got the shoulders for that, you’ll just get a crick in your neck. Anyway, how are going to punch in the numbers with those crazy flippers? Better to roll on over there and show them what you’ve got… tusks! Enormous spikes sticking out of your head! This is for giving them your game face.
You remind me of the word ‘McGrath’, Cancer. Some guy named McGrath. And you know what? This guy McGrath is going to come and put a bunch of Skittles into your already delicious pudding cup of a heart. You’re going to love it, and so are your snack buddies. But it’s just you that did it. This is for when McGrath is you.
You’re the best, Leo. That’s what everyone says. Even God says so. I’d congratulate you, but those guys say that to everybody. You’re more just like some hilarious dancing monster, and you’re all cute and sleepy because you’ve been yowling at the trees and tall buildings all day. This is for inappropriately sitting on people and smiling too much.
You’ve got a lot of books for a kid, Virgo, and you’ve got a lot of cheek for a mope. Also, you carry too many keys. The shit needs kicked, everybody knows that, but who’s to say you can’t put on some adorable slippers and go shuffling about like everybody else? Jesus, that would make me laugh, to see you do that. This is for how weird you’ll feel.
We were talking about you the other day, Libra, and Pseudo was all, “Libra is so Tex- Mex.” I wanted to slap him in the damn face, cause you’re more than that Libra. You’re Euro-turkey, you’re Arctic slush monkey, you’re New Caledonian knuckle bunny. Who pulled you out of the pantry? This is for when you’ve got them guessing.
It’s all be done before, Scorpio: the fancy ribbon, the face painting, the jumped up apple pie, all of it, but with more butterflies. Here’s something no one has tried… sparklers. Lots of them, running around and going crazy. Throw in some sammies and some triple-deckers and you’re doing alright. This is for keeping it basic.
You’re deep, Sagittarius. You’ve got that oceanic thing going on, so you can’t blame people for thrashing around when they look at you. Quit scaring everybody with your briny tears and your implacability. You’ve got options. You could be a cloud, or maybe some sort of rolling fog. It just takes a bit of sun. This is for when you’re switching it up.
You ever get the feeling that no one is watching, Capricorn? That’s because you refuse to come down from your magic treehouse. The irony is that the ninja pirates and the talking buffalo are throwing a party for you, but no one knows how to reach you. It’s okay to be scared, they might kill you. This for when it’s a good thing you can fly.
Sow your buttons at breakfast, Aquarius, and reap sweater vests by starlight. The insufferable midnight hour advances on a tide of cats and old furniture. Nudity is not an option… unless you’ve got some terrible secret that even I don’t know. I wouldn’t put it past you, Aquarius. This is for doing what you do.
It’s a calamity, Pisces: everything is working perfectly. The folding chairs all fold the same direction, the cups are all stacked. The barbers stand in line for miles, but no one has any hair. It’s time to simply hit the lights and work it on the inside. You’ll make a mess in no time. This is for ‘fuck it, I’m sticky.’
FROM: PSEUDO and DICE