The Universe Has Spoken

The only astrology I ever read and trust is Rob Brezsny's Free Will Astrology. I like it because it states the horoscope using metaphors and analogies with a moral at end. Plus it's usually accurate. I read it every week in New City. Here is what my horoscope (Virgo) is for the next week:

I was enjoying a leisurely bike ride in a rural neighborhood where'd I'd never been. The houses were sparsely placed amidst overgrown meadows. The temperature was balmy. My endorphins had kicked in and the fragrance of wildflowers had rendered me giddy. Then my mood shifted suddenly. While rolling downhill on a one-lane road, I hit a speed bump–freakishly, unexpectedly, right in the middle of paradise. Why was it there? My bike stopped cold and I flew through the air, landing awkwardly. The damage was minimal, and the shock was a bit invigorating.

Still, I advise you, Virgo, to watch out for and avoid a comparable speed bump out there in the frontier you're exploring. There's no inherent karmic necessity for you to experience an inconvenient interruption like mine. Add ten percent more caution to your roving and rambling.

Oh my. Speed bump? I'm pretty sure this just manifested itself. I'm in for some trouble. It's like you're on a path, a metaphoric path if you will, going along, and bam, out of the blue you're thrown in a completely different direction. It's always those things you don't see coming. Paths fork and curve when you least expect them to and then you're coerced to sit there wondering what the hell hit you and how to make sense of it all. Or something like that. Good thing I don't ride a bike.

The word "roving" makes me think of that Lord Byron poem, "So We'll Go No More A-Roving:"

So we'll go no more a-roving
So late into the night,
Though the heart still be as loving,
And the moon still be as bright.

For the sword outwears its sheath,
And the soul outwears the breast,
And the heart must pause to breathe,
And love itself have rest.

Though the night was made for loving,
And the day returns too soon,
Yet we'll go no more a-roving
By the light of the moon.


I think Byron was a bit of a perv. I like the word roving, though. I'm going to start using it. I'll call my friends and be like: "Hey, you want to go roving tonight in Wicker Park?" J. Timberlake brought sexy back, so I'll reinstate roving into modern language.

I guess now I have no choice then to proceed with caution in the next week, i.e, careful what I write, what I say, and where and whom I'm rove with. Yikes.

And since it's Thursday, meaning it's almost the weekend, here are a couple of songs that won't leave my head. I think they are both about love or something:

The new Interpol is slowly growing on me.

And of course the infectious PB&J.