• The Fling Issue

    July Horoscopes

    The Fling Issue
    Horoscopes 3

    Everything you need to know about the Earth opening up and swallowing your planets or the other way around.


    Corina Dross is an artist, astrologer, and rabble-rouser best known for her illustrated card deck, Portable Fortitude. Based out of Philadelphia for the last ten years, she’s currently splitting her time between the East Coast and the Northwest.

    Horoscopes cover


    July 2015

    This month is a big, sloppy mess of a kiss from a drunken god – the bacchanalian type whose head is ringed in grapes and whose legs terminate in shaggy hooves. No one gets a dignified escape; we’re all getting pulled into the dance. Hate to dance in public? Too bad. Fighting with your sweetheart? Now you’ve got an audience. Whatever we’re doing this month, we won’t be doing it alone, or at a reasonable volume. We have become immoderate in our obsessions, belligerent in our affections.
    July kicks off with an intense Full Moon (Pluto and Mars are yanked into the dance, upping the odds of it becoming a mosh pit), while the planet of love (Venus) and the planet of rowdy good times (Jupiter) curl up nearby in Leo, the sign of every David Bowie song. Whatever is buried in our hearts is getting dug up. Whether we like it or not, we’re coming back to life, pins and needles and morning breath and aching hearts and all. Now’s the time to love hard, no matter what happens next. With Mars in Cancer all month, we’re also called to defend where we live: our homes, our intimacies, our gathering places – be they churches or streets. It may not look like we’re winning, but the fight is far from over. We’re also asked to notice the ways that care can be resistance, and resistance an act of care. Who do we consider part of our circle, a member of our tribe? Whose lives have meaning to us? How much of ourselves do we stake on this? 

    There’s a good chance we’ll find the love we need this month, which rarely looks the way we expect it to. How will you know you’ve found it? It will feel so much easier to be brave. 

    “The practice of love offers no place of safety.”

    bell hooks, All About Love: New Visions

    “Love comes with a knife / not some shy question/ and not with fears / for its reputation”



    Yes, you can dress up with your housemates and pretend to be underwater creatures. You can flirt scandalously as you wave those prosthetic tentacles and swaying fronds. You can leave crush art in each other’s shoes, cook elaborate breakfasts, and share those breakfasts in bed – but it’s best to leave it there. If ever you heed the adage “house booty is bad booty,” now is the month to do so. You’re learning something about your sexuality right now that you need to pay attention to: if you can’t keep your pants on, be prepared to learn those lessons a little more publicly. 


    This is the month you stop staring miserably into Google Translate and start speaking in tongues. You’ve been patiently trudging through so many stories that aren’t your own, methodically hacking away brambles from the path, pausing to squint up at the leaden sky, trying to navigate by the hidden sun. Finally, the clouds are lifting. When the spirit hits you, you’ll be unstoppable. You won’t need your machete, or your laptop, or your patience. All you’ll need to do is make way for the rush of inspiration, and let it take you where you need to be. 


    Little hummingbird whose natural heart rate is 1200 beats per minute, now is the time to regulate that tempo. The good news is you have vitality to spare, and meaningful activities for all that energy to spill into. What might be harder to see is you no longer need to be hyper-vigilant. Your pufferfish defenses can unpuff. Your pace may still be faster than average, but it gets to be yours: you determine your rhythms this month. That may be the only thing you still need to guard against – your own tendency to speed up when it would be fine to slow down.  


    You are surrounded by love this month, but it’s not all easy. Amidst the feasts and cuddlings and late night talks, watch out for a certain telltale feeling in your gut. You know what that dark knot means – someone is trespassing in places they ought not, or asking you for more than you ought to give. What do you do with that feeling as an adult? When you were younger you might have lashed out, or ran off and slammed a door, but what are your current skills for navigating love that mixes you up? This month you’ll find your tenderness and rage are mashed together in a sticky ball, and you can’t just leave it festering in the base of your stomach. Find ways to express both. 


    Years ago, you flung yourself away from the people you loved most, like a kite on a string, so you could gather experiences and stories like a sail gathers wind – trusting you’d be able to find your way home one day to share the bounty. In your wide arc you’ve stumbled into beehives and constellations, listened to the long song of the wind for so many years you almost forgot your name – and now you’re so full, so dusted with magnolia pollen and starlight, that your only course is homeward. Don’t be shy when you meet your old tribe again. Remember what you want to offer, like the first flower of spring, to each of them. It’s not too late; distance will never make you strangers. 


    The floating sensation began not when you stepped off the edge of the cliff, but a few moments before – when you saw what was coming and decided to walk straight towards it. That lightness you feel is the absence of those heavy questions: Are you making the wrong choice? Is this a terrible mistake? Will you lose everything? They’ve all been answered now. Even if some answers are “yes,” there is still this buoyancy holding you up. Your anxieties are much heavier than your mistakes. This month, while you plan your next move, remember to keep lightening your energetic load. You don’t need to pack fear, or backup fears, or keep any crumbs of fear you find in your bag. It will be far more interesting to discover what, exactly, is holding you up right now.  


    Here is how you recognize your tribe: They will look like dried stalks of yucca in the desert. They will howl at the new moon. They will stand astride several continents. They will sing in voices so dissonant that harmonies bend and form nonetheless. What do you do when you find a member of your tribe? Draw a crossroads in the dirt. Leave breadcrumbs. Exchange tokens like safewords and passwords and calling cards. And then – here’s the kicker – let them wander off, and let yourself get back to your own mission. You’ve been on a hard path for a few years, but you haven’t lost your way. You’ll need to call on your tribe this month, but only for high fives and electrolytes as you near the finish line. You got this. And we got you. 


    In their halls of records, most cities keep building blueprints on large sheets of brittle blue paper. The blue is luminous, the planned walls a grid of ghostly white: mere ideas of walls. Plans for containing and taming space. A hundred years later you can examine this blueprint and see how the buildings have changed over time – walls knocked down or hidden, porches extended, new logic imposed on outdated plans. This month you need to do some detective work to discover where you keep corresponding records for the structure of your life: you set some intentions seven years ago that are still shaping your future. You may not even remember what they were, which is all the more reason to find and unfurl that dusty blueprint. Remember what old dreams you’re still living by, and no longer need. 


    Here’s the paradox about having and losing: the richer our joys and the longer they last, the worse our sense of loss when they end. As though our lives would have been better without the awe of love and inspiration, without the alchemy of desire and ache of longing fulfilled. This month, if you are rich in love and connection, you’ll be aware of how much you have to lose. Something will deepen from this awareness, some seed is already growing. But if you’re only aware of what you’ve lost, revel in those memories. According to some theories on time, this forward motion is always an illusion. In some sense, that beauty you added to the world is continuing now, and now, and now.  


    Scarcity ain’t gonna cut it anymore. You’re already so good at sufficing, and expecting less, and being unsurprised when even less than that comes back around – it’s time to choose the lush, reckless, daring profusion that you’ve always felt was out of reach. It will be messy. It will range beyond your control. You may not even recognize it as desirable, but you no longer have the option to starve yourself. Even if all you can claim in abundance is city noise and fields of broken glass, claim them as your birthright.  Claim the cement and the mosquitoes, the cacophony at rush hour, claim the beads of sweat swimming plentifully down your face. Gorge yourself on the abundance of whatever is rich and alive around you this month: take it in like a feast. It’s time you were well fed, and able to greet the morning with a luxurious, cat-like stretch. 


    First things first, you’ll want to pick all those ghosts out of your hair – most come out easily as dandelion fluff, but a few are like gum. What unsticks you from a bad story? Some patience, and a comb, and something oleaginous enough to take its place. Loosen the hold of other people’s memories by pulling something long and sweet through your own fibers, saying all the while: “This is mine; this is not mine.” Sweep up all the husks that are not yours and toss them out the back door with the stray leaves and kitchen scraps. Repeat as often as necessary, until you feel what Melville called “the rare virtue of strong individual vitality ... of thick walls ... of interior spaciousness.” 

    It’s time once again to pull off the hardest trick you know: bundle up all that suffering and repackage it as some kind of wisdom. Old memories are resurfacing and calling out to be given a new set of clothes and fresh sense of purpose. It’s always hard at first, dredging up the worst things and measuring them, assessing them, turning them out, and sending them off into the world. It stirs up so much dust: old ghosts like lint or dandelion fluff, needing to be picked out of your hair and teacups. But when you’ve pulled it off, the spaciousness that follows is divine. You need an open tundra, you need an entire horizon of air to breathe right now. Recirculate those ancient wounds, and let your lungs expand.  


    There is no romantic dinner without dishes to clean after. Or if music be the food of love, there are also broken guitar strings and cables to trip over, carpets molding under basement drum-kits. You tend to take a dim view of these realities, dearest fish, preferring the eternal present to the eventual aftermath. This month, you’re being asked to show your love by paying attention to these very details. What does devotion look like in the day to day? What happens when you spill all your sweetness into cleaning up spills? Now is the time to perfect being a service bottom.

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