I wonder what seasonal varieties of conventional candy they’ll have on the grocery shelves this year, Libra. Maybe a peanut butter cup that’s also a mummy or an almond coconut eyeball. Could be a crispy wafer severed-finger or a gooey caramel zombie. One can only hope! Less guessing and more getting, Libra. That’s what a moment like this calls for. We can hypothesize about possible miniature candy terrors or we can put them in our shopping carts. I think you know what time it is.
SCORPIO
A breakfast cereal character based on a 13th century Romanian general who got famous for his cruel and violent acts against the Ottoman empire. A breakfast cereal character based on a reanimated patchwork-corpse who symbolizes humanity’s existential anger at God. A breakfast cereal character based on a barely-visible spirit that haunts the world after death, purposeless, longing for its own annihilation. All your favorites are back, Scorpio! And now with more marshmallows! I apologize if my ambivalence is showing. It’s just that I’m amazed at our collective ability to cartoonify our deepest fears. It’s probably what saves us, as humans. We know more than we can possibly make peace with, so we make cereal instead. Pour yourself another bowl, Scorpio. Listen to the crunch, taste the sweetness, and feel the dread lift.
SAGITTARIUS
This year my neighbor’s yard has a Halloween-space-theme! Astronaut skeletons flying in a rocket made of bones! One does a spacewalk, stretching their bony arm to reach for the loose leash of a skeletal dog, who’s running away in an adorable space-helmet, happily carrying a detached arm-bone in his teeth. This is who we hope we are at our core, I guess. Strip away the skin and muscle and we’re just a bunch of silly skeletons living out fantasies of adventure and community. It’s a way of seeing ourselves, Sagittarius, and a way to feel something besides lonely. But this scene can be more than a yard-diorama. Keep your skin on and knock on your neighbor’s door. See if they’ve got time to hang out, fully embodied and together — and watch a fleshy earth-dog run laps with a bone.
CAPRICORN
You’ve still got that mask in the hall closet. The rubber face of an old president known for being a bad leader and a good liar. You can still remember the way it smells when you wear it, like hot breath and warm plastic. Seems like it’s from a simpler times, Capricorn. When powerful people who’d done real damage to the world could be reduced to exaggerated features and empty eye-holes. But I think that’s just what time does. Turns the horrors of the present into a stretchy rubber memory. Still that’s nothing to relax into. It’s a question. What can you do to help the people around you who are hurting? Before today’s faces turn into masks and bad memories you’re still really here and you can still really help.
AQUARIUS
I remember that letter you wrote me a couple of years ago, Aquarius, asking what to do with all the full-moon craziness in our deteriorating world. Or, more accurately, asking why I hadn’t offered any better solutions already. Of course, you’d been through all the things that we all went through together — the ones that made the headlines. But you’d been through more than that, too. And still, you hoped we could all get through it as a team. You were alone but you wouldn’t settle for being a lone wolf. I didn’t have a very good answer for you back then, but now I see you were offering the answer to me. Work together. Support each other. Don’t settle for new broken systems to replace the old broken ones. Enjoy the good potato chips while you can. Thank you, Jen. We’ll try our best to remember.
PISCES
It always felt like Halloween at your house, Pisces. With the creaky iron gate out front, the spider-webs in the corners of the porch, and the heavy metal posters in your brother’s messy bedroom. We’d play horror video games in the dark until your mom would scare us to death banging on the glass door to the den, her bath robe hanging while she mumbled through her mouthguard that we had to go to bed. And we’d jump and scream and turn off the TV and then laugh and scare each other for another hour until one of us fell asleep. It used to be fun being scared. But it’s less fun now. Watching bank balances dip lower and bills stack higher while the headlines say to prepare for something worse. But if we can get less alone, Pisces, if we can come over and stay up late, I think we can still laugh about it and face our fears together until one of us falls asleep.
ARIES
That beautiful butterfly that died in the screen of the back porch last year is still as bright as it was when it was fluttering. It’s like if you could just breathe on it right or give it a static shock, maybe it would come back to life and fly away. I assumed it should decompose or at least fall apart, if time does what it’s supposed to do, but there must be something about that window that kept it in-between. What’s the thing that’s frozen in your sunny collection, Aries? Still beautiful but lifeless. It might be time to let it go and see what live notion takes its place.
TAURUS
I remember the year I made my own robot costume out of cardboard boxes and mylar tape. A coat-hanger antenna and the guts of my busted scientific calculator were, I thought, a robotic enough finish. But I couldn’t really see through the mesh in the mouth, so I spent a good bit of the party casually flirting with the ficus in the corner that I thought was Marcy Thornton in a Poison Ivy costume. You might find yourself behind a lot of layers this week, Taurus. It might be too many. If you don’t feel like you’re being understood, start by taking the cardboard box off your head. It might become more apparent what to do from there.
GEMINI
I told you, Gemini, I don’t really like Halloween stores. All the options make me anxious, and the pre-packaged stuff is so cheesy. Plus, I’ve already got a costume picked out, so why’d you have to bring me? Flowers printed on a plastic drape don’t make a “hippie costume.” Sunglasses and a fedora don’t make a “noir investigator.” And that orange jumpsuit that says “inmate” is just plain tacky. Let’s go home and you can come up with something that inspires you. Don’t let these brands tell you who you want to be. You’re going to figure that out on your own just fine.
CANCER
Remember, Leo, while a dash of nutmeg enhances a seasonal pumpkin delight, high doses of nutmeg can be fatal. Optimists might tell you that one would never willingly eat that much nutmeg, but you and I are realists and I think it may be a good day to sort the spice cabinet with safety in mind. I’m not saying you need to throw anything out. I just think accurate labeling will be a benefit for you and everybody else who loves flavor and hates poison. Specificity is key, Leo. Communicate clearly. More than a dash.
LEO
Remember, Leo, while a dash of nutmeg enhances a seasonal pumpkin delight, high doses of nutmeg can be fatal. Optimists might tell you that one would never willingly eat that much nutmeg, but you and I are realists and I think it may be a good day to sort the spice cabinet with safety in mind. I’m not saying you need to throw anything out. I just think accurate labeling will be a benefit for you and everybody else who loves flavor and hates poison. Specificity is key, Leo. Communicate clearly. More than a dash.
VIRGO
There’s a little plastic skeleton I found at the bottom of the candy bowl at work and I’ve been staring at it all day. It’s rubbery and smiling and it reminds me that my life is not permanent. There was a world before me and there will be a world after I’m gone. So what are we gonna do about the time in between, Virgo. How can we use our skeletons to do the most good while they’re still enfleshed? Sit for a moment today and remember your bones. It’ll help you decide what’s next.
Mr. Mysterio is not a licensed astrologer, a trained detective, or an authorized werewolf. Listen to the Mr. Mysterio podcast at mrmysterio.com Or just give him a call at 707-VHS-TAN1.
