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    Leo | Soul Connection | Relationships | Runes | Zodiac

    LOATHESOME LEO...

    Click for Last Month  The Awful Ambiguities of June 2006  Click for Next Month
    Leo Greetings, odious hairdressing types! Welcome to jaded June. Last time we left, you abandoned the bridge of birds to Heaven (guarded by a bull and a bevy of fornicating beauties) to return to gainful employment in retail, safe in the company of your fatuous and sycophantic friends. What will be the issue of this hastily made and easily regrettable decision? Why, let us consult the vile and bitter prognostications for the current month and so discover.

    As mischievous Mercury enters neurotic Cancer, though you're back in retail and the city, your mind wanders as you reminisce about bridges, 'bird poo' styling mousse and occult powers such as you had come to know. Thus, you tend to forget what you are selling and to whom. As marauding Mars is in your sign, you're rude and abrasive dealing with the public, throwing change in their general direction and making improper sexual advances. Vamping Venus gropes the wrinkled skin and aging bones of miserable Saturn and wizened female persons in authority look down their noses, sniffing with disapproval at your conduct. The great Sol Invicti cavorts in unseemly fashion with Uranus, idiot god, and you fantasize about taking ghastly revenge on such types, soliciting information about their sexual habits and boudoir eccentricities from jealous or wounded ex-lovers. Lady Moon gallivants to the Full in silly Sagittarius and you hold a party where you drink too much, talk too loudly and laugh in that peculiar braying tone that makes you sound like an ass.

    But what's this? By my sainted aunt, tiny twerps! It's something subtle yet disturbing. Your thoughts wander. Images from the past flow into your mind. You seem to hear the thunderous stamping you made on the bridge, the challenge that drove back the doughty cattlemen. You see yourself poring over a book of spells as you dwelt in the occult palace by the river. You see your avian friends, crowding the air with bright wings and excreting everywhere. You see again a bridge of birds that led to the ineffable beauty of the Heaven you chose not to enter. And all the time, somewhere behind these images, you see the stark and glaring eye of Mr Griffin, the evil crime lord that was and is mentor and nemesis to you, my puling pussy types! What's happening? Why, it's as if you're out of your body, watching all that goes on around you from a distance. The laughter of friends, the ire of disgruntled superiors! It all seems superficial, vacuous and futile which, of course, it is, especially where your friends are concerned. As marauding Mars assails the private parts of miserable Saturn, it's as if you're gripped by a hard and ruthless hand that has the icy chill of death upon it. You shiver, despite the hot air all around. And then it is that all hell breaks loose in the Heavens!

    Great giggling gods and gargling gargoyles, it does! The vain and selfish Sun god rolls into slimy Cancer, visiting yet another ghastly Solstice on an overburdened world. You're seized by fits of trembling, weeping and wailing, falling prey to the grope of fear and the onset of anxiety! The Loony Nodes forsake the signs of Aries and Libra, moving to Pisces (eek) and Virgo (ugh). Egad! The values you live by seem now to be empty and meaningless. It's as though your world of retail and fatuous friends is falling apart. The 'too sweet' drink you're holding slips from your nerveless fingers. Shriek! And then a hideous New Moon comes in neurotic Cancer and you begin to feel unreal and plagued by phantoms from the past. Double shriek! Mischievous Mercury clatters into your own ghastly sign and yet you can say and do nothing, so transfixed are you by fear and confusion.

    Great gods alive and dead, what's happening to you, my tiny pussy types? Has the crisis of confidence you tried to avoid last time struck you anyway? Are you mad? Are you bad? Are you dangerous to know? And, more importantly, has the creeping virus of self-doubt penetrated that last impervious bastion of self with which the pussy is by birth endowed? Click here next time and see if you can escape from this prison of unreality that is known to astrologers one and all as the 'solar twelfth house'. Eek! In the meantime, ave!


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