• Vol. 09
  • Chapter 09

A Taurus Moon

I've been playing the Minotaur for about four months now.

Hooves. Horns. Snout. The lot.

The girls seem to like it – I mean, I guess they're objectifying me, but I'm okay with that. I protest, of course – but they know it's in jest. The more human I insist I am, the more animal they say I must be.

Astrology.com tells me my moon is in Taurus, so I guess it makes sense.

Astrology is different, though, since they started building skyscrapers on the moon. People are being born there, and that's a whole different globe-game. It's a whole new world for the industry – Luno-astrology.

The Zodiac's the same out there, and the planets' place in it too, for the most part; but there's one notable exception: none of the moonborn have the moon 'in' anything.

Instead, from their vantage point, it's the Earth that travels through the animal-circle: from Ram to Bull, Crab to Lion, Scorpion to Centaur to Sea-Goat and from Fish to Ram again.

And if any of this 'means' anything at all – which I accept is a stretch of astronomical proportions – then what might it *mean* to have the Earth (and everyone on it) traversing Libra the moment you were born? To have the whole of humanity, and everything they ever wrote and did, and every other living being, and all their fossils – hanging in the balance?

Don't ask me. I'm just some earthbound brute. My moon's in Taurus. I couldn't possibly imagine.