The shadow people came back wearing hula hoops and French berets.

Discordia's resident astrologer returns with more troubling news for your immediate future

Jun 02, 2025

Haruspex. Astrologer. Empath. Since the age of 37, Joshua Chris Bouchard has felt a powerful intuitive connection to the spirit realm, and has dedicated his life to helping seekers find their way. Now, he has kindly offered to put his clairvoyant abilities at our disposal as Discordia’s resident soothsayer. Whether your questions pertain to love, work, creativity, or even the nature of existence, the Horoscopes of Josh hold the answers you seek.

ARIES (March 21 - April 19)

NOBODY LOVES YOU. NOBODY LOVES YOU. NOBODY LOVES YOU. NOBODY LOVES YOU. NOBODY LOVES YOU. NOBODY LOVES YOU. NOBODY LOVES YOU. NOBODY LOVES YOU. NOBODY LOVES YOU. NOBODY LOVES YOU. NOBODY LOVES YOU. NOBODY LOVES YOU. NOBODY LOVES YOU. NOBODY LOVES YOU. NOBODY LOVES YOU. NOBODY LOVES YOU. NOBODY LOVES YOU. NOBODY LOVES YOU. NOBODY LOVES YOU. NOBODY LOVES YOU. NOBODY LOVES YOU.

TAURUS (April 20 - May 20)

It’s a decoy. What looks like a cherry blossom is actually a machine designed to harvest the filthy hands of anyone who tries to capture it. Corpse grinder. What’s got into you? Are you sick? Flesh collector. What would your dearest mother think of this? Inappropriate. You’ve evaded punishment. Sleeping in concrete fissures created by every weed that chooses life. In the end, the bears eat Goldilocks with a knife and fork, with her flesh and soul, and there is no such thing as guilt. You can’t hide in your Sunday best, and nobody can handle you at your fucking worst. Last night you had a dream. The shadow people came back wearing hula hoops and French berets. They demanded you visit every ice cream truck in town, be a big shot, make small talk, feed rabid dogs humping abandoned baby strollers. Nobody knows you have no feelings if you make yourself small enough.

GEMINI (May 21 - June 21)

Gemini, the days are getting longer. They will never end. And you’re dying faster. The clock is ticking, you can hardly piss straight, and you can’t blame anyone but yourself. How long have you let the plants go without water? Where have you placed the cleaning supplies? The garbage bin is on fire again. Whatever it is you thought living would be. An entire lifetime spent waiting for your life to begin. You deserve whatever you give. Open your eyes, see the sun burn holes through the half-empty water glasses near your head. It’s a complete mystery how you’ve lasted this long with nothing to show except your insides. Put all of that dogshit away. Everything is ugly. Even the dead laugh at you.

CANCER (June 22 - July 22)

Try implosion. Slowly and systematically line your bones with dynamite from skull to toe. Set off the charges in a perfect sequence. First to go are your feet, then ankles, then legs, and so on, until your precious brain turns into ancient fossilized coal for the barbeques of your children. Be warned, Cancer, there are things that can’t be recommended. Drowning yourself in the unflushed toilet bowl, letting your knives get dull, drunk dialing ghosts with numbers you can’t remember without your phone. Wake up, go to sleep, dream again of your own body in a pile of nails at the bottom of the stairs. Your grandmother is making toast with butter and jam. She’s been dead for years. You and her body learn embroidery. The painting of Jesus hanging on the wall, sun stained and grinning so peculiarly, like a crucified Mona Lisa.

LEO (July 23 - August 22)

Death happens all the time. In the pages of your books. The songs you listen to over and over again. Movies about saving the world. Bury yourself alive in a gravity blanket. The comfort of being crushed. Have the guts to stand up for yourself in imaginary conflicts with your enemies. The damn emotions won’t feel themselves. You can’t get weak now. Don’t fail. Walk 10,000 steps, 15,000 steps, 20,000 steps into the aftermath of breakfast gone bad. Worse than ever. Shit. No. The pinch. The deep down. The fear within. Summer is hot enough without the stifling intellectual prescriptions of armchair apparitions. They talk endlessly as if they can be trusted. Not evil, but still vile.

VIRGO (August 23 - September 22)

Where giants have eaten brutalist buildings, and sucked the beaches dry, drank the oceans from used coffee cups, while you’re left waiting, Virgo, for something to happen, like an unfinished plot, a cat’s shit in the foyer or plane crash in your living room, and that long and disgusting fantasy of immortality as they watch you in your sleep, tickling your feet, purposely leaving the door ajar, etching themselves in forgotten film stock, etching vinyl with canine teeth, a violence that can’t wait until dawn to wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up………………………………………………….………………………………

LIBRA (September 23 - October 23)

- Where are you going?

- Where I’ve always been.

- Is it a place?

- No.

- Is it a thing?

- Don’t be silly.

- Then how do you go?

- I fall away.

- Cut the horseshit.

SCORPIO (October 24 - November 21)

LESSON No. 1
FALLEN LEAFS FULL OF BACTERIA

LESSON No. 2
ENGULF YOUR BODY IN THE FALLEN LEAFS

LESSON No. 3
ASK SOMEONE TO TAKE A PHOTO OF YOUR BODY IN THE FALLEN LEAFS

LESSON No. 4
DOG SHIT EVERYWHERE

LESSON No. 5
IT’S BEEN A WONDERFUL DAY IN THE FALLEN LEAFS

SAGITTARIUS (November 22 - December 21)

Don’t listen to people. They’re always wrong. With their good fucking intentions. Have you tried doing the one thing that helped me one time? Have you heard of this new exercise? They say blueberries can cure your deafening malaise. Don’t let them get in your face, Sagittarius. Dissociate. Cut. Implement the heavy stink of strangers into the deep roots of your houseplants. Let their voices echo in your unwashed bathtub. Make their hands pull out the tendons from your chicken breasts. Any day now, when you least expect, they will all betray you. Sometimes they call you a narcissist, but you’ll show them, because you’re smarter than them. You have your sights on the hordes through plastic blinds, the sliver of space in the doorway, even while you sleep. You need proof.

CAPRICORN (December 22 - January 19)

EVERYBODY LOVES YOU. EVERYBODY LOVES YOU. EVERYBODY LOVES YOU. EVERYBODY LOVES YOU. EVERYBODY LOVES YOU. EVERYBODY LOVES YOU. EVERYBODY LOVES YOU. EVERYBODY LOVES YOU. EVERYBODY LOVES YOU. EVERYBODY LOVES YOU. EVERYBODY LOVES YOU. EVERYBODY LOVES YOU. EVERYBODY LOVES YOU. EVERYBODY LOVES YOU. EVERYBODY LOVES YOU. EVERYBODY LOVES YOU. EVERYBODY LOVES YOU. EVERYBODY LOVES YOU.

AQUARIUS (January 20 - February 18)

A deep, long, satisfactory sigh. Picnics for morons. It’s morning. Off to the beach. Burst into flame. This is so fun. Skin cancer. Demi-glace bodies in sunscreen. Children killing themselves with collapsing sand castles. Music. Barbeque. Blood stimulant. Brain washed out in E. coli lake water. Maybe it’s all fine. Maybe you have an undiagnosed anxiety disorder. Maybe you just can’t bear the feeling of the light on your skin. Your date finally asks, Are you okay? You’ve barely touched your indignation. You try to respond, but there are no words, just a white foam thickening in the heat. You try to get up and leave but you’re already dead.

PISCES (February 19 - March 20)

“What is born will die. What has been gathered will be dispersed. What has been accumulated will be exhausted. What has been built up will collapse. And what has been high will be brought low.”

― Sogyal Rinpoche, The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying

Joshua Chris Bouchard is the author of *Burn Diary* (2023, Buckrider Books), the lead singer of the band LINENS, and the editor of BAD DOG MAG. He lives in Toronto, Canada.

Listen to the latest from LINENS on Bandcamp.