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Wednesday, October 20, 2004

Your Future in the Stars: Introducing the Department of Homeland Astrology

by Tony Antoniadis

You are one crazy diamond, Aries, and it’s not because the transit of Mars through your solar twelfth house has lasted over seven weeks. It’s because you think that fueling your Korean sedan with vegetable oil and living in a solarium will help keep our nation safe. Sounds fantastic, but don’t feel spurned if coworkers and loved ones don’t share your desire for a future of ruin.

You’re in an ethereal mood, philosophizing and dreaming the morning away. This is all well and good, Taurus, but a word from the wise: ride this pink cloud while you can. By week’s end, Venus enters your sign, and you may find yourself making the ultimate sacrifice.

Planets clustering around your eighth and twelfth houses continue to bring you emotional turmoil and a sense of insecurity! But things will brighten for you, as your ruling planet will soon enter your sixth house. Good time to dial up an old crush, ask your boss for that much-deserved promotion, or correct your sexual orientation lest you want to be placed on a Ship of Fools and dispatched into the ocean.

Your anger and confusion are featured this week, Cancer. Don’t compound matters by pointing fingers at people. If you’ve recently lost your job because it was offshored to Pakistan, blame Neptune, which is stubbornly holding an angular position in your solar chart.

Things are just peachy for you these days, Leo. This is either because there is a beneficent planet in your seventh house, or because, as founder of Nascar’s riotously successful fan club, Boogity Boogity Boogity, you are raking in fucking tons of lucre, and things like planetary positions don’t mean much to you anyway. Git ’er done, cowboy.

Things have been kind of tough lately, haven’t they, Virgo? It’s difficult to pinpoint why, but here are some possible culprits: you’ve got Saturn in the sixth house stirring your fears; you’ve got a retrograde Mars in the ninth house making it difficult to stand behind your decisions; and you’ve got three men in dark blue suits and sunglasses in your house, sledging through your bedroom walls on very reliable intelligence.

You’re a hardboiled skeptic, Libra, so you don’t believe in controlling, fateful powers that govern you from a realm above the teeming American ground-swarm. You make your path by walking—you’re the captain of your ship—and this makes you an excellent candidate for the United States Army. Join today, as selfless acts always lead to good fortune.

Fun-loving and impulsive, you predictably spent your tax credit on Bob Dylan bootlegs and a vintage mustache comb, Scorpio. Now, as Saturn comes a-knock-knock-knockin’ on your sign, you find yourself in dire financial straits. No need to fret, as the path to making tomorrow better than yesterday is through creativity and imagination!

With Uranus at the top of your astrological chart, and your second and twelfth houses so unusually active, this is the perfect time for you and your spouse to consider expanding your family by raising a beautiful tiger-striped Maine coon cat, as we still have work to do in making America safe. Celebrity Sadges: Bo Derek, Vincent Gallo, and Halliburton.

Idle hands are the devil’s workshop, Capricorn. Just because you can’t be on the front lines protecting our freedoms doesn’t mean you can’t contribute. Go to Bed, Bath & Beyond and purchase half your weight in fluted curtain rods, lace panels, oak finials, and wrought-iron drapery holdbacks. After installing the curtain panels on your windows, obsessively pull the curtains back and look out the window for terrorists. By doing this habitually, you will become even more powerful.

The transit of Pluto through your sign indicates that it’s a good time to write your sponsored nine-year-old from Children International to let her know how happy you are to receive her standing invitation to Ecuador, as well as her cashier’s check and prayers.

Pisces, if you imagined your body as an acoustic guitar, plucked, strummed, tweaked and tuned by celestial guitar gods, sometimes shattered into pieces against a stage floor to theatrical effect, securing the godly status of your celestial performers, then the unebbing misery you’ve come to know might instead become sweet, sad music. Tonight, you are adored, but first, we have some very lucky numbers for you: Megaball, 43.

Tony Antoniadis very nearly sold a living room full of luxuriant, teal carpet to Louis Farrakhan. As usual, seam-placement was the deal-breaker. He has been published in McSweeney's and has a story about melancholy fire wardens appearing in Open City #20. He lives in Brooklyn.