They knocked down the old shed next door, Leo. Brought in a dumpster and an excavator and levelled it to the foundation. I know, it was falling apart and maybe was a potential hazard for wandering children or lost pets or disoriented joggers, but I liked that old shed. I guess now there’s just gonna be a cement block and a big hole in the tree canopy where the shed used to be. But there’s something a little hopeful about that, Leo. I don’t think you should rush in and build something new just yet. But maybe just sit with that open space for a while. Remember what it was and then think of what it might be next.
VIRGO
When I was a kid, I would take my cereal spoon in the backyard and try to dig a hole to the other side of the world. From my extensive research (conducted with the loose globe I found rolling around in the basement) I thought my tunnel would pop me up somewhere in Tasmania. Wouldn’t it be exciting when I finally broke through to the other side and saw Tasmanian Tigers and Tasmanian Devils and Tasmanian Angels? (I assume they’ve got those, too.) But I never made it very far. Usually about four inches and then I’d get distracted, disposing of the rusty nail I dug up. What if you made your project just a little more manageable, Virgo? What if the end goal was just rusty nail eradication? Start something you can finish today.
LIBRA
Boomerangs go out and then they come back. Sticks, in general, do not. It’s important to know which one you’ve got before you throw it, Libra. Are you ready to let this go? I think you are. And can you make it land where you want it to land? I think you can. Will you be alright if it doesn’t come back? Will you be alright if it does? If the answer to all these questions is “yes” then I think you should go ahead and let it rip. Just don’t turn your back on it till you see it come down. Nobody wants a boomerang in the back of the head on a Tuesday afternoon.
SCORPIO
In Jules Verne’s subterranean epic, Journey to the Center of the Earth, he conceptualizes a world in which the future seems layered over the past, level by level. Professor Otto Lidenbrock discovers a mysterious poem that seems to be a map for reaching Earth’s core and soon he begins his descent. The deeper Lidenbrock descends, the more ancient the creatures and jungles appear. He finds giant insects, lakes that host dinosaurs, and a 12-foot-tall human tending a flock of mastodons. Sometimes you need to go deeper and have a look back at how things used to be, Scorpio. Just don’t forget to come back when you’ve learned what you need to know. We’re all up here waiting for you.
SAGITTARIUS
I know an old lady who swallowed a fly, Sagittarius. It was because her eyesight was bad and she thought it was a chocolate-covered raisin. What I’m most impressed with is that she was able to grab it before it flew off. That takes some seriously good reflexes. Oh, you brought a spider, a bird, a cat, a dog, and a tiger, Sagittarius? Because you thought it might help? No, I don’t think she’ll be needing any of those. WebMD said she’ll be fine. I do always appreciate your preparedness, but this is one instance where I think it’s best to just let things end.
CAPRICORN
We need to talk about the Coalbrook mining disaster of 1960. It went like this. When you dig a coal mine (as you sometimes do) you have to leave pillars for support. But everybody knows there’s still coal in those pillars. And when you start running out of coal in the surrounding rock, you might just take a little out of the supports. So the mining company changed the rules to allow the supports to be smaller. And then smaller. And then smaller. Which led to what’s called “cascading pillar failure” where one support collapses and then the next and the next. 437 miners died out of the thousand who were initially trapped by the collapse. So before you chip away any more of your load-bearing downtime, think about Coalbrook and maybe have a long walk with a good friend.
AQUARIUS
I knew this guy who built a time machine, Aquarius — and he went, like, way into the future. You may not believe this, but the people he met, called “the Eloi”, were smart and beautiful, but also kinda frail and helpless. And they were terrified of these fast, strong monsters called “Morlocks” they lived underground and only came up to capture and eat Eloi. Well, it turns out, Aquarius, that the Morlocks and the Eloi were both descendants of humanity. I know! It sounds crazy but the rich had stayed above ground and became weak and dependent on the poor, who were forced underground where they became stronger by running the machines that control the surface world. I know, it all sounds unbelievable, right? A world where humanity becomes that divided? Anyway, I told my friend Herb he was making the whole thing up, but he swears it’s true. Anyway, don’t forget to tip your Morlock, Aquarius.
PISCES
One of the things about being a famous amateur astrologer is that people don’t always know how to act when they see me in public. Like, I ordered a tea at this cafe and now the staff keeps staring at me and talking to each other. They flipped over every chair except for mine — as though I wouldn’t want anybody else sitting down just because I’m here! Now they turned the music off and swept the floor. Please! You don’t have to sweep on my account. I’m a regular person just like you! Now they’ve shut off the lights so I can see my laptop screen better. This is flattering. I think they just locked the door. She’s walking over, I think I’ve got my autograph sharpie here somewhere. Oh…you’re closing? Right now? Remember, Pisces, it might not be all about you.
ARIES
I’ve been thinking more about troglofauna lately. Like, have you ever heard of the Alabama cave shrimp? Believe it or not, it’s a shrimp that lives in caves in Alabama. More specifically northern Alabama. More specifically Shelta Cave. More specifically the freshwater pools of Shelta Cave that have silty bottoms. (though, yes, it’s been found in a few other caves in the area.) Like all troglofauna, it’s perfectly adapted to its home. It needs things cool and dark. And even a slight disturbance to temperature or water pH could be detrimental to its survival. And I know you like to play troglofauna, Aries. You get everything dialed-in just right. But you’re more resilient than you think. And when changes come your way, you’re going to adjust just fine.
TAURUS
I guess I told my name the livelong June, Taurus, but now that it’s August — and I’m nobody again. It might be a good week for you to be nobody too. It’s an alright place to sit for a minute. Let that somebody-ness slide down the back of your chair while you take a breath and notice how exhausting all that was. Stay where you’re at and soon they’ll be a pair of us. I’m on my way.
GEMINI
Sure, we all remember the Dwarves of Moria who delved too greedily and too deep. And, yes, we all know what they awoke in the darkness. No one denies that there was shadow and flame —± an ancient evil and whatnot. And I admit that at first I thought everybody was making too big a deal about the whole thing. Drums in the deep and all that. But then I realized, Gemini, that just because this hasn’t affected my everyday life yet, doesn’t mean it’s not important for me to get involved now. And I think you might discover the same thing if you start responding actively to the news that’s making you sick instead of just reacting to it internally. It may not play out like a battle, it might just be a kindness in a direction you otherwise wouldn’t have stretched. Like the guy says, Gemini, it’s what you do with the time that’s been given.
CANCER
Maybe you’d pay more attention to my astrological assessments if I presented them to you on a series of cards that I hold up in front of the camera, dropping each one as you read it to reveal my next thought. Or maybe you’d find that pretentious and derivative, Cancer. Me in my black vest and collared shirt staring into the camera, you in the basement mixing up the medicine, while a poet distractedly chats in the background. I’m just trying to find a better way to get your attention to let you know that it’s a good day to know which way the wind is blowing. But you probably don’t need me to tell you that.
Mr. Mysterio is not a licensed astrologer, a trained biospeleologist, or an authorized mole person. Listen to the Mr. Mysterio podcast at mrmysterio.com Or just give him a call at 707-VHS-TAN1.
