Some people start wars. You just start the party.
Buckle up, Firestarter—the Sun’s in your sign and everyone’s acting like YOU personally crashed the F-15E. (Honestly: serve, legend.) Mercury and Mars are plotting Pisces fever dreams, Saturn wants to drag you back to earth, and yet all you want is a little divine mayhem. Trump’s trillion-dollar ask? Child’s play compared to your weekend Target bill. The cosmos is giving “ancient Greek epic” but set at Coachella: your friends are dramatic gods, and you’re trying to keep the lyre (or Bluetooth speaker) working. The waning gibbous Moon? You’re the person at the house party who cleans up everyone’s drinks, then starts the after-afterparty. Take a page from Dee Freeman’s book: command the room, but leave before you have to explain your actions. Some will call your moves impulsive; I call it “art.” Unfiltered, uncensored, unapologetic: go forth and conquer.
That was the vibe check.
The Drip fits every Aries. The Oracle is couture: your exact chart, down to the minute.
