There are rules and you must follow them, Leo, if only this week. Large and in charge as they say. I see rules and I see a man in a red robe and a bird flying and what looks like Ten Commandment type tablets. Hmm. Are you not following your **own** rules, dear Leo? It’s like baking. There’s a recipe and there are measuring cups and set amounts and there is a sweet thick batter that you must stir. I know you are wondering who this man is and what’s the connection between rules and baking and the answer is this: there’s something you are leaving out. You are making this cake, this bread, this life, whatever it is, but you’ve forgotten the crucial ingredient. Now I’m not going to tell you that a red robed man has the answer or that the words are written on the side of a mountain, the words you need to read to understand what to do next, but I do think you should think about what you are leaving out.
Oh Virgo. I’m listening to this beautiful song as I write to you about your week. I’m sorry about your wisdom because I know your wisdom came hard. It’s not wisdom from parties or pretty dresses. That shit’s easy. What you have stock in is barefoot, acoustic wisdom, unembellished callused wisdom. More of this meat comes next week. Not that you won’t have your light moments. I’m not wanting to cause alarm but I see your serious face and I know. You have to become wise once again.
Libra thinking about the past, and I heard a train in my head down the tracks. Not a train whistle, it was a chugga chugga chugga sound that I heard. Then train uphill and smoke out the back. You and your memories. It’s not a bad place to be. Those people don’t exist anymore. You can visit them in your dreams and in your waking. You’re on that train. So consider this week a visit, a visitation, until the next twilit dance of all that. It’s okay to look back.
Dear Scorpio, this week you need a Virgo. Whereas Virgo was learning from the rot, Scorpio is laying in it (enjoying it too). Hmm. An average Scorpio week perhaps but there will come a minute, a moment, an hour, when you decide to pull out the pins instead of pushing them deeper in. We both know you won’t let anyone clean up that mess but you. It’s a waste of time and you know I don’t lie. A waste of time to bleed to death, I mean.