believe

Psychics, especially the tabloid variety, depend on three factors for their continued existence: outrageous claims, ambiguity, and their audience's short memory. Who, other than James Randi, goes back through a psychic's predictions to fact-check for accuracy? Psychics don't have a batting average.

Horoscopes are the same way. Even more vague than psychic predictions, their bromides, filled with "perhaps" and "maybe," are either so vacuous as to fit anyone, or so tentative as to be meaningless.

More absurd, and certainly more audacious, are annual horoscopic forecasts. I looked mine up the other day during a heated argument with an astrological believer, who, among other things, said "Maybe it doesn't work for you because you don't believe in it." That's right: it's a cosmic placebo.

I discovered that it's quite fun to read the annual forecast in hindsight, especially if you're a nerd and have a blog you can reference to dig up incidents that might otherwise be forgotten. (Confirmation bias, the prime trick of the clairvoyant trade, relies heavily on the selective and conflating habits of memory.)

So, let's go down the forecast for Pisces, month by month, thanks to Yahoo.

The miracles you started working during the holidays are alive and well in the New Year. Take it slow and be reasonable -- setbacks during the first week of January are nothing personal. Until the 21st, it's all in your mind; after this point, start talking.

The lame boy who leapt out of his wheelchair and the doughty old grandmother with encephalitis, who both recovered with a heavy dose of radioactive iodine and five well-placed quartz crystals, sent me lovely Christmas cards and large checks. The setback must have been the FBI investigation, but the charges were dropped. I started talking about it, but there's little point when no one's listening.

February brings a much-needed reality check. You're basically right, but feedback helps your fine-tuning. Starting on the 20th, your sincere passion turns you into a verifying, vindicating machine, and after March 7th, you're ideally positioned to spell it out for nonbelievers.

Turns out the radioactive iodine was unnecessary. After a quick chat with Ramtha I learned that the quartz crystals themselves can access all the quantum states of healing, and the iodine in fact causes a bit of superfluous spiritual interference. The high-school physics teacher who called my techniques "a base fraud" and "charlatanism" eventually came around when I offered her a forty percent partnership.

If spring upstages you in the last week of March, hold your own as a costar.

Spring didn't upstage me (there's that cautious "if"), and I maintained my control over the healing franchise. Letters poured in from all over the country as disciples brought a message of hope and healing to the masses. Even at five percent commissions, I put enough aside for a Caddy.

By April you're proving yourself through confidence, not insecurity. You're excused for focusing more on ego than spirituality, and it's okay if vanity colors your renewed purpose after the 20th.

"It's all about you," said my partner-turned-life-partner, who now shared one hundred percent of my heart, and fifty percent of my finances. I bought her gold-dipped roses and an Escalade, and cured her nagging eczema.

By May 5th, everyone gets the joke. But the 17th brings questions about fundamental issues and truths, and a downhill slide begins. You might even lose your sense of humor between the 21st and June 10th -- don't worry, it's not forever.

They got the joke alright, and indicted me for mail fraud. I sat in a white-collar prison for two months, writing letters to my adherents, like a modern-day Martin Luther King, except I wasn't fighting for everyone's civil rights, just my own. When the divorce papers came in, I went on a hunger strike for eight hours.

On June 22nd, you can find the energy that you thought might be all gone; then the 29th pulls you back into a healthy awareness or embrace. Life is upbeat and carefree until the end of July, when some heavy expectations drag you down.

She came back for me. She had run off with a Harley-riding thug in the West Coast Choppers, but she grew tired of his flowing locks whipping her in the face as they blazed across the Nevada desert. I was released on bail, saw the sunshine, and then she told the truth: she was expecting. A little Chopper.

Ready or not, big projects are on deck for August, and rejecting help between the 10th and 23rd just intensifies the pressure. Then raw inspiration and brute force save you. By September 2nd, you're almost as clearheaded and accomplished as you were six months ago.

I threw those problems to the wind and escaped this dreary life, hopping on a refugee boat to Cuba, with five other liberal dissidents who had grown tired of American oppression. We started up a cabal to overthrow Castro, and in a few weeks had enough weapons (thank you, CIA!) to put the plan into action. We waited for an opportune time. I cured one of the Marxist professor's warts.

But there's a price as autumn begins: You have to listen from late September through mid-October, whether or not you agree.

And I didn't agree with my advisors, who said that a full-on assault on Castro's presidential palace was too risky. I knew that with the proper crystal preparation, we'd be invincible to bullets, but those faithless cowards... but, like a good leader, I bided my time.

Friends rescue you on the 24th, escorting you through a fantastic Halloween. Uninvited guests start bending your life out of shape in the second week of November. By the 22nd, it's clear that your holiday season is spinning out of control. Stop fighting and don't stress. The first half of December proves just how broad your tastes are, and the coming of winter joins happy endings with promising beginnings.

Here is where the future meets the present. What good things are in store? Who are these friends, and will they rescue my coup, or rescue me from the coup? Will the fighting be in the field, or in a new relationship? Will I reunite with my ex and her new dumpling--is that the promising beginning? Our fault, dear friends, is not in us, but in our stars.