Woody Guthrie

Not one of his ten planets sits in an earth sign. Water takes four, with three each in fire and air, and four of the ten are cardinal. The Sun, Venus and Neptune sit inside two and a half degrees of Cancer, which is a very tight group of three. The record says Guthrie wrote This Land Is Your Land as an answer to God Bless America, played a guitar labelled this machine kills fascists, and that Huntington's disease took the last fifteen years of his life.

Venus sits conjunct Neptune at over four fifths of a degree inside that group, and the reading is idealised affection: artistic sensibility, tenderness, and a persistent tendency to see people as they might be rather than as they are. A song written as an answer to another song, claiming a country for the people living in it, is that last clause set to a tune. The Sun sits inside the same two and a half degrees, so identity, taste and imagination are effectively one placement here.

Mars sits sixty degrees from Pluto at over half a degree, power under command: strategic effort, surviving what would stop most people, and strength that does not need to be demonstrated. A guitar with a sentence painted on it is a demonstration, which cuts against the last clause, and the first two have the record's final sentence standing behind them in a way nobody would want. Huntington's disease took fifteen years, and nothing in these ten planets contains it, predicted it or explains it. It is a fact about an inherited gene.

The Sun stands at an awkward angle to Jupiter at under four fifths of a degree, belief in one's own scale meeting a limit: over-promising, and the particular discomfort of having been confident in public and wrong, which a record of two songs and a slogan gives nothing to test. His Moon sits on the twenty fifth degree of Cancer at noon with Leo still possible, so it is left out, and a four planet group in Cancer comes down to three. Jupiter and Uranus were the two retrograde planets. He died in New York on 3 October 1967, at fifty five. Venus stood square his natal Saturn at five hundredths of a degree that day. The Moon was balsamic and nought per cent lit, a phase that finishes things, lets them go, and is already looking past them.