When we look to the sky and just see dying starsit's time to abandon Libra and Gemini.Call this the Age of the Polar Bear:Dissolving habitat and unbridled mean streak.
Say the Moon is in the House of the Pornographer,that you're a Reality TV Star with a Dalek Rising –astrological sociopath, well-suited for this modern age,only compatible with the Senator or the Bomb.
Me? I Was born in the Year of the Supervillain,child of war's aftermath and dwindling innocence Maybe I'm a Polar Bear, and all of this has been meltingmy entire life; so slow I'm only noticing now.
And you? You were born in the Year of the Kung-Fu Grip,under a Wu-Tang Moon, when Mars is in the TV Pitchmanand Venus can't be seen at all, eclipsed as she is bythe Pornographer and his endless cascade of television ads.
These things transform our conception of love, these things which sell us back our fortunesas though they were gifts, as though Horoscopescould be purchased with one-day shipping on Amazon Prime.
We look to the stars and find only social media.We look to the stars and find only cable news and streaming services.We look to the stars and find instead a thousand silent screams,agonized faces, born when the sun was in the House of the Refugee.
This is the dawning of the Age of the Jedi Knight or the Koala Bear,of resurrected fictions and silent extinctions, when Mercury's in 2 Pacand Jupiter's in Cobain, when Pluto is in Kobe and everyone is telling us how we should or should not grieve, and for whom.
This is when the dying stars look instead to us,and find instead just shabby Astrologers, poor Oraclesso lost in what they want to believe that they can'tsee the shape of the future's shadow as it falls.
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