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Poetic License
Filed Under: Poetic License
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Critical Mass welcomes devoted poet/avid concert-goer/nerd-grrrl extraordinaire Jane Cassady to the fold; her weekly horoscopes will run in this space every Friday morning.
Spending warm summer days indoors, like The Smiths Leo (July 24-Aug. 23): Once you pointed out that when the contestants on, say, The Next Food Network Star, are talking about how the camera makes them freeze up, they are, in fact, talking to the camera, it kind of turned my world upside-down. Virgo (Aug. 24-Sept. 23): Make no mistake: Sometimes we are all just Mad Men secretaries, crying in a Pond's focus group about the fleetingness of the muse's attention. Nothing to do but wash your face, smash a vase, and wait. Libra (Sept. 24-Oct. 21): This week, inspired by the hack-bot that stole my e-mail contacts, I am meditating on imperfection. Please take all implosions, sick days, and the way things are collapsing like an Inception cityscape as signs that the universe loves you and wants you to start fresh. Scorpio (Oct. 22-Nov. 22): Last weekend I went camping with my family. One of the highlights was sitting around reading with my little niece. She was reading an incredibly well-loved copy of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Love something/someone so much that the pages come out, the edges furl, the binding unglues, but the story is still legible. Sagittarius (Nov. 23-Dec. 22): From Julia Cameron's The Artist's Way: "It is pretty clear that the creator itself did not know when to stop. There is not one pink flower, or even fifty pink flowers, but hundreds...this creator looks suspiciously like someone who just might send support for your creative ventures." Capricorn (Dec. 23-Jan. 20): In The New York Regional Mormon Singles Dance, Elna Baker hilariously weighs the dilemmas which arise between her secular self and her Mormon self. In the end, though, she can't see the moon without saying "Hi, God." Aquarius (Jan. 21-Feb. 19): In Sloane Crosleys' book I Was Told There'd Be Cake, she writes about working in the Museum of Natural History's butterfly exhibit. Once, she didn't check her coat well enough before clocking out — a tiny rare blue butterfly had ridden her lapel to freedom. Pisces (Feb. 20-March 20): Feng Shui your life. Recycle you recyclables. Remove all old bosses, famous strangers, and nemeses from your email contacts. Return the stagnant Chi of unread library books. Aries (March 21-April 18): Every time I watch The Real L Word, I think these three things: 1) This show is mostly about emptiness, and that's OK. 2) I'm very grateful that my wife is accepted and loved as a member of my family. Shame on you, Tracy's mom. 3) Natalie: Run! Taurus (April 19-May 18): One summer not too long ago, my friend Ty and I decided to fill plastic Easter eggs with various talismans: love notes, drawings, chess pieces, mini tarot cards, etc. We hid them all around the city of Syracuse, N.Y. Give random and unexpected gifts, preferably to strangers. Gemini (May 19-June 21): My mom says that when she dreams about camping, it's not the recreation, but the cooking. Try a new recipe for campfire eggs. Eat bacon out of a foil pan. Be flexible about what can be called coffee. Cancer (June 22-July 23): Go to the stillest body of water you can find. Find some round, flat stones. Practice your skipping technique. Meditate on gravity, water, erosion. PREVIOUSLY >> POETIC LICENSE: Horoscopes, Aug. 13-19
Filed Under: Poetic License
 |
Critical Mass welcomes devoted poet/avid concert-goer/nerd-grrrl extraordinaire Jane Cassady to the fold; her weekly horoscopes will run in this space every Friday morning.
Your Horoscopist Is Kind of an Emo Girl Leo (July 24-Aug. 23): This week is my wife's birthday. I would like to give her all of her wishes: a comma in the bank balance, a job closer to home, time to rest. She'll have to settle for Wednesday shows, cheesecake and a nice long letter. Virgo (Aug. 24-Sept. 23): Here's some very practical advice: Never go on the Facebook when you are feeling fragile. Everything you scroll past will look like a party you weren't invited to. Worst of all, you'll get comment-itis. Libra (Sept. 24-Oct. 21): Look at all of the "Back to School" signs, all the emo commercials with mothers (always mothers) waving sadly at school buses. Take them as a sign that it's time to purchase huge stacks of notebooks at discounted rates. I got my year's worth, 10 for a dollar. Scorpio (Oct. 22-Nov. 22): All you can see are sunsets, the lavender tint in the sky, the filigree of light at the edges of the clouds. Go ahead and let this be the end of something. It's the sun. It generally comes up again. Sagittarius (Nov. 23-Dec. 22): "It's too late to change your mind. You let loss be your guide," say the Broken Bells. I guess it's as good a guide as any, though. Capricorn (Dec. 23-Jan. 20): You are like the Map Collection Room at the Philadelphia Free Library; hundreds of wide, flat drawers with every possible expanse and measurement. Find your longitude and latitude. Aquarius (Jan. 21-Feb. 19): I want to say once and for all that heartbreak is a terribly inefficient fuel for creativity. It burns up everything, bright and fast. It's time find something more sustainable, if less sparky. Pisces (Feb. 20-March 20): An old pal of mine posted a picture of his massive, hot, sexy record collection. Beneath that, another friend had sent a link to an episode of Hoarders. Decide what's riches and what's trash, before you get swallowed up. Aries (March 21-April 18): The stars are taking requests this week, Aries. What would you like? Concert tickets? An opulent stroll through Longwood Gardens? An ill-advised dinner with an old flame? It's up to you, and it's all yours. Taurus (April 19-May 18): Remember the episode of The Office where they're all at the beach for some reason, and Pam does the firewalk? The adrenaline rush and burnt feet give her the courage to call out Jim in front of everybody for ignoring her. Be like that. Gemini (May 19-June 21): In her wonderful writing book Bird by Bird, Annie Lamott says, "After a few days at the desk, telling the truth in an interesting way turns out to be as easy and pleasurable as bathing a cat." But do it, no mater how much the truth wriggles and spits. Cancer (June 22-July 23): You said my answering machine is a bad audience, but go ahead and tell it everything. I want to hear about the catch in your voice, the stitches in your chest, the wine under the bed. But I hope I have the phone on next time. PREVIOUSLY >> POETIC LICENSE: Horoscopes, Aug. 6-12
Filed Under: Poetic License
Critical Mass welcomes devoted poet/avid concert-goer/nerd-grrrl extraordinaire Jane Cassady to the fold; her weekly horoscopes will run in this space every Friday morning.
Starring Arcade Fire, Dancing Sufis and Don Draper
Leo (July 24-Aug. 23): This is your time to rest. Turn the volume down on your chattering spouse. Put aside all talk of revenue and e-mail lists. Listen to the soft hum of fans, the murmur of televised baseball.
Virgo (Aug. 24-Sept. 23): You don't have to be inspired every single minute. Relax. Reread old novels. Get caught up on your history. Take a nap in the blank spaces, you'll be busy soon enough.
Libra (Sept. 24-Oct. 21): When I told one of my most favorite Libras that I was sad not to be at the National Poetry Slam this week, he told me he'd call my voicemail with disappointing poems so I'd feel less left out. It did make me feel better, but I still wish I was at Nationals.
Scorpio (Oct. 22-Nov. 22): The Arcade Fire song "Keep the Car Running" is a wonderfully paranoid song about always being vigilant, but as I continue my decades-long struggle to learn the clutch, the song sounds to me like a struggle-and-determination anthem/pep talk. "It's coming but when/ is it coming/ keep the car running."
Sagittarius (Nov. 23-Dec. 22): The House on the Rock, outside Madison, Wis., not only contains the most berserk collection of calliopes, musical machines, models ships, crazy-looking Santa Clauses and so much more, it is also a labyrinth you can't easily leave if you get claustrophobic. Stay calm and avoid the Doll Carousel. Just trust me.
Capricorn (Dec. 23-Jan. 20) : You've been collecting sea monsters, and why shouldn't you? I thought of you last month when I was photographed next to a giant squid. As we learned in the movie Inception, the unconscious is hard to control, least of all yours.
Aquarius (Jan. 21-Feb. 19): The other night while I was blissfully whoh-oh-ohing with thousands of fans at the Arcade Fire concert, I though of my Aquarius friend who's visiting Istanbul right now, trying to get tickets to watch the Sufis dance, about how empathic experience helps keep life from becoming claustrophobic, just like having a well-traveled friend does.
Pisces (Feb. 20-March 20): In Nick Hornby's book How to Be Good, the protagonist has the following epiphany: "The plain state of being human is dramatic enough for anyone; you don't need to be a heroin addict or a performance poet to experience extremity. You just have to love someone."
Aries (March 21-April 18): Last summer I worked at a summer camp. Every morning we had a singing and dancing time called Harambee (Swahili for "all together") during which no one was allowed to be shy. I thought this was unfair to introverts so I tried to add a meditation, quite unsuccessfully. But this week, be like those sing-alongs — belt it out, dance your heart out, never mind who might be laughing.
Taurus (April 19-May 18): It's August, but on Mad Men, it's Christmas. Mix yourself a holiday martini, pass an orange from chin to chin, engage in some secretarial role play. Walk around with you archetypal armload of gifts. Spare no expense.
Gemini (May 19-June 21): "Children wake up, hold your mistake up, before they turn the summer into dust." says Arcade Fire. Mistakes can either disappear in the rearview or crack you open. Let's confess and move onto the next thing, shall we?
Cancer (June 22-July 23): The beginning of this summer broiled my garden. The only flourishing things were the tenting spiders who seemed to be eating all the flowers. When the weather broke, though, everything started blooming again—now there are lobelias, red butterfly flowers, zinnias, and two Carefree Delight roses I can smell from inside.
PREVIOUSLY >> POETIC LICENSE: Horoscopes, July 30-Aug. 5
Filed Under: Poetic License
Critical Mass welcomes devoted poet/avid concert-goer/nerd-grrrl extraordinaire Jane Cassady to the fold; her weekly horoscopes will run in this space every Friday morning.
Writing Games
(Note: Your horoscopist moonlights as Philadelphia's Slam Mistress. This week's horoscope will appear in The Fuze Anthology: The Phenomena of Temporary, which contains many local and national poetry favorites and benefits the Philly Slam Team's trip to nationals. Come out and celebrate with us at The Fuze tonight, July 30, at 7:30 p.m., InFusion Coffee and Tea, 7133 Germantown Ave. For more info, contact turtleinkpress@gmail.com.)
Leo (July 24-Aug. 23): Listen to the Redwalls song "Thank You" and any other gratitude-themed songs you can think of. (Send me your list!) While you're listening, draw a picture of someone you're really, really grateful to. Make a detailed list of why, and give it to the person ASAP.
Virgo (Aug. 24-Sept. 23): Take out a copy of Blake's Songs of Innocence and Experience. Look up "The Tyger" and read it aloud. Draw a picture of your favorite animal. Paste it to a piece of construction paper. Beneath that, write all the things your animal could say, if it could speak.
Libra(Sept. 24-Oct. 21): Find yourself a shaman, or hope that one finds you. He or she will instruct you on how to visit the underworld and will probably drum while doing so. Find your power animal. Ask him or her what to write about.
Scorpio (Oct. 22-Nov. 22): (Props to Lynda Barry on this one!) Draw a diagram of the exact moment your heart was broken. Put yourself at the center of the page, draw/list what is above you, below you, etc. Sleep with this diagram under your pillow. Your dreams will digest it into a poem.
Sagittarius (Nov. 23-Dec. 22): Write down everything you overhear in the next 24 hours, paying special attention to the children on the bus. Their questions are your new gurus. Write religious texts on their behalf. Now print up tracts and stand on street corners circulating them.
Capricorn (Dec. 23-Jan. 20): Learn the names of 20 new butterflies. Write them little plays. Is the Blue Morpho hooked on the nectar again? What's her relationship to the Tiger Mimic-Queen? Do they go out with Malachite for rotting fruit? What's going on with Mexican Sister? (I could do this all day.)
Aquarius (Jan. 21-Feb. 19): Those love letters you keep getting? Print them out and cut them up lovingly, preferably with patterned craft shears. Rearrange them like refrigerator poetry. Glue up sheets of them so that passers-by will feel adored but also confused. As always, bonus points for glitter.
Pisces (Feb. 20-March 20): Find an Office Max or similar store that's going out of business. Buy up all the red pens at a steep discount. Use these to begin listing your gentlest memories, in order of their similarity to rose petals. Make these into origami roses to hand out to everyone you'd like to meet.
Aries (March 21-April 18): Get a small notebook like comedians carry. Start collecting jokes, one-liners, funny status updates, etc. After you've been collecting them for a while, print them out on little slips. Sneak them into fortune cookies when nobody's looking. Invite your true love out for Chinese food.
Taurus (April 19-May 18): Begin by making a list of all the friends you regret losing. Now make each one a mix tape whose songs explicitly express that regret. Mail out the mixes if you can stand to, wrapped in collages from back issues of Real Simple magazine. Translate your ex-friends' responses into new poems.
Gemini (May 19-June 21): Set your timer for 10 minutes. Make a list of all your lost loves. Doesn't have to just be people. What about lost jobs, CDs, hats you lost in the mosh pits of your wayward youth. Go into detail about every facet and sting. You'll feel better.
Cancer (June 22-July 23): What's that thing that's been pissing you off? Google "pantoum" and write about that pesky obsession — the rhythmic repetition gives you the go ahead to ruminate ruminate, ruminate! What a relief!
Filed Under: Poetic License
 |
Filed Under: Poetic License
Critical Mass welcomes devoted poet/avid concert-goer/nerd-grrrl extraordinaire Jane Cassady to the fold; her weekly horoscopes will run in this space every Friday morning.
With Advice from Lady Gaga, William Carlos Williams and Band of Horses
Cancer (June 22-July 23): Once, during my Orange County days, my friend Jaimes was driving me home on the 405 when the dash lights started flickering. He got us safely to a gas station before the alternator died. He then proceeded to get out of the car and yell angrily skyward, asking God why this had happened. Rage against unfairness this week. Stomp your foot.
Leo (July 24-Aug. 23): Never get a couch that needs a slipcover. You will spend all of your time arranging the fabric to try and cover up the spots and stains. Get something that's good and beautiful all the way through. Your ass deserves it!
Virgo (Aug. 24-Sept. 23): Since your deepest desire is to be confided in, practice keeping confidences. Sew whispers and secrets into your coat like satin patches. It's a little warm for this.
Libra (Sept. 24-Oct. 21) You like parties with lots of costumes. Next year you'll be my date for the Steampunk World's Fair, "A Three Day Expedition into Yesterday's Future!" Start buiding yourself a copper shell, lit with glowsticks. Meanwhile, Halloween is mere months away — start boning the corsets, building the scaffold.
Scorpio (Oct. 22-Nov. 22): I believe in haircuts. Lay back and let a stranger shampoo you. When the scissoring begins, let each strand represent a mistake you'd like to forget. Someone will sweep them away.
Sagittarius (Nov. 23-Dec. 22): Your viral video of the week is "Yosemitebear Mountain Giant Double Rainbow 1-8-10." Go camping by yourself and show enough awe to rival early American wilderness painters. It's almost a triple rainbow. It goes all the way across the sky. What it means is that you'll have everything.
Capricorn (Dec. 23-Jan. 20): I bought a poetry collection called The Art of Losing: Poems of Grief and Healing. I'm surprisingly giddy to read it. Let's open up to a random page, shall we? "If you can bring nothing to this place/ but your carcass, keep out." (William Carlos Williams)
Aquarius (Jan. 21-Feb. 19): In The Golden Compass, Lyra, the heroine, reads archetypal symbols on said Golden Compass to plan out her next move. Here are your symbols, Aquarius: The Key, The Notebook, The Butterfly, The Giant Squid.
Pisces (Feb. 20-March 20): Please enjoy this quote from Lady Gaga's latest Rolling Stone interview: "When you work as hard as I do or you resign yourself to something like music or art or something, you have to commit yourself to the struggle and commit yourself to the pain. And I commit myself wholeheartedly to my heartbreak. ... It's a representation of my work. As artists, we are eternally heartbroken." Discuss.
Aries (March 21-April 18): Interviewer Lynn Hirschberg apparently makes a habit of coaxing rock stars into ordering French fries fried in truffle oil, then using that as an example of how bougie they are. Don't let anybody tell your story like that. Be like M.I.A. and release a retaliatory single. Or two.
Taurus (April 19-May 18): I think I need to use my weekly So You Think You Can Dance time for something else. Mia Michaels' phlegmatic alterna-sniping is no match for Mary Murphy shrieking about the Hot Tamale Train. It's just not so fun anymore!
Gemini (May 19-June 21): Here are some great lyrics from the Band of Horses song "Factory": "Now then later, I was thinking it over by the snack machine/ I thought about you and a candy bar/ The Now and Laters, now that I've got, stuck between my teeth/ I fell asleep to the greatest movie of the year." Do just that kind of motel ruminating.
PREVIOUSLY >> July 9-15: Mix-tape obsessions
Filed Under: Poetic License
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