Divined beside a whispering trash fire and read from the sacred rusted rims of the Zodiac Cans.
♈ Aries (The Charging Possum)
The can rattled violently when I called yer name, Aries. On May 8th, your fiery spirit’s gonna clash with an unexpected obstacle—most likely a locked dumpster or a stubborn raccoon with a vendetta. Don’t try to force it; instead, find a side alley and try a different route. Listen for the sound of wind chimes made from bottle caps—there lies your opportunity.
♉ Taurus (The Slumbering Dog Under the Boxcar)
Yer can was warm to the touch today, Taurus. You’re due for some well-deserved comfort, like findin’ a half-full thermos of warm soup left behind by the kindness of strangers. But don’t get too comfy—complacency attracts mischief spirits and overly curious railway bulls. Keep one boot on, just in case.
♊ Gemini (The Chattering Rats of the Overpass)
Twin voices echoed from yer can, Gemini. One said, “Steal the pie,” the other, “Ask politely.” May 8th brings a fork in the road—and possibly a real fork, if you rummage behind the diner around dusk. Trust your wits and be ready to switch tracks quick; what looks like trash today might be treasure tomorrow. Or possibly a skunk.
♋ Cancer (The Moon-Eyed Cat in the Rain Barrel)
I seen ripples in the bean can water, Cancer, like tears from a sky spirit. You’ll be feeling tender today—don’t fight it. Seek solitude near running water (a leaky hydrant’ll do). Someone from your past may shuffle back into your life, smellin’ of old newspapers and apologies. Let ‘em speak, but don’t let ‘em near your stash.
♌ Leo (The Roaring Fire Barrel)
Flames danced high when I peered into your can, Leo. Yer pride’s flarin’ up. You might find yerself telling tales too tall or challenging a fellow hobo to harmonica duels. Be bold, but don’t mistake noise for meaning. The real glory lies in helpin’ another soul patch up their bindle.
♍ Virgo (The Neat-Fingered Squirrel)
Your can was arranged in perfect concentric rings of rust, Virgo. You’re itching to organize somethin’, be it a pile of found buttons or a ragtag crew of soup line philosophers. May 8th is your day to bring order to chaos. Just don’t expect thanks—they won’t see your genius ‘til the rats stop chewin’ their socks.
♎ Libra (The Scales of Balanced Loot)
Your bean can balanced on a bottle without fallin’, Libra. That’s a sign if I ever seen one. You’re walking the line between sharing and survival. Today, barter wisely. If you give your last sardine for love, make sure the love don’t disappear with the sardine. A raccoon offers wisdom near the freightyard tonight—listen well.
♏ Scorpio (The Silent Snake in the Sleeping Bag)
Your can hissed steam when I looked in, Scorpio. Secrets are brewing, and you’re at the heart of ‘em. Keep yer cards close and yer tin opener closer. Someone’s pryin’ where they shouldn’t, maybe even peekin’ in yer dream journal. Don’t confront ‘em directly—leave a cryptic symbol in the ash and let ‘em wonder.
♐ Sagittarius (The Leaping Deer Beyond the Fence)
An arrow-shaped crack split your can, Sag. May 8th stirs the wanderlust in your soul. You might hear the call of distant rails or rumors of a land where the soup’s always hot and the bread’s always crusty. Don’t ignore it. Pack light, trust yer boots, and watch for signs in pigeon formations.
♑ Capricorn (The Mountain Goat on the Gravel Heap)
Your can was buried under three others, Capricorn—always workin’, always climbin’. Today you’ll see the fruits of your labor: a better sleeping spot, a trusted friend, maybe even a new wheel for your cart. But don’t forget to breathe. Even the hardest stone crumbles without rest and the occasional swig of pocket whiskey.
♒ Aquarius (The Water Bearer with the Cracked Jug)
Your can spilled a trickle that smelled of ozone and stale beer. You’re full of ideas today—some brilliant, some barely soup-worthy. Share ’em, Aquarius, but be ready for raised eyebrows. An old friend with wild hair and conspiracy theories may help you launch your strangest plan yet. Go with it.
♓ Pisces (The Dreaming Fish in the Gutter Stream)
The inside of your can looked like stars floatin’ in sewer water, Pisces. Dreams are thick and strange today. Trust ’em. What you see in your sleep may guide you better than what your eyes show. A tune hummed by a drunk crow could be a prophecy in disguise. Don’t mock it—sing along.
Now go forth, children of the stars and the steel rail. May the wind at your back smell only slightly of fish, and may your beans be never spoiled.