Greetings, overdressed bottom types! Last time we left, you were on a sexual escapade of gargantuan proportion. Casting aside the adept use of fruit and New Age healing, you were set to write a book about sex whilst having it, a book called the Carnal Suture. Now, as I'm late with the forecast (as usual), I shall recap recent events so that we may essay the vile and bitter prognostications for the current month, jaded June if I have counted the knots in my handkerchief correctly.
Mischievous Mercury slithered into the neurotic sign of Cancer and you wondered if all the coitus was a right and responsible way to behave. You also received distressed communications from family members, asking for money or some advice on the proper fruit to choose for their therapeutic undertakings. Ugh! How very five minutes ago! As marauding Mars clattered into Leo, you wondered if you should put your shoulder to the wheel at some greater work than fornication, one that benefits humanity with right and proper service. Oh how noble and yet how ill-conceived, a phrase that may be applied, in general, to the entire thresh and flail and your wretched existence.
As the great Sol Invicti then groped the private parts of Uranus, the idiot god, you instanter cancelled the coital project, sent the fawning sybarites to join the Salvation Army and set off in search of useful work. Eek! As vamping Venus exposed her nether regions to the gaze of cranky Chiron, you sank into a slough of despond, disillusioned with the carnal path and the too too solid flesh. Triste est omne animal post coitum, praeter mulierem gallumque, as the philosopher has it.
Vamping Venus disports herself in the presence of jolly Jupiter and you become more depressed as you realize how much this exercise has cost, with no chance now of any fiscal return. A hideous Full Moon blazes in nitwit Sagittarius and you wander the streets of the city, searching for direction and that chance encounter that will magically transform your life. But, as the great Sol Invicti grapples with dark Pluto, underworld god, you receive nothing but buffets and abuse from an uncaring crowd. With jolly Jupiter in Scorpio making all manner of unseemly eructation with other ghastly planets, you wonder if you should move to Morocco, wear a fez and make magical potions with witchhazel. Or perhaps you could travel to Norway and be a ski instructor for persons that have had a problem childhood. Or you could fly to the Transvaal and begin a high-minded but futile campaign to save the wildebeest.
However, when marauding Mars clambers on the aging bones of grim Saturn to have evil sex, you decide to stay where you are, ask someone you know that's important for a job, earn money and buy expensive things. Hardly a noble cause, my tiny turnips! Nevertheless, it seems nobility will be thrust upon those that do not choose it for, with miserable Saturn in Leo, you find you have lost so many friends and have also developed a phobia about groups, due to your constant failure to get on with anyone. This contributes to your depression and severely limits the options as to whom you can ask for work and what kind of work you can do.
And, by my sainted aunt, the cosmos roars and clatters with the grim announcement of the Solstice, as the great Sol Invicti slithers into slimy Cancer. Thus do you address your solicitations for gainful employment to a crusty and authoritative elderly person, distantly known to you, and in charge of the lives and destinies of many. Depressingly, work is in plentiful supply with no doubts about the usefulness and nobility of its nature. The Loony Nodes forsake Aries and your unspeakable sign to take up residence in Pisces (eek) and Virgo (ugh).
Thus, under the influence of Saturn in lackwit Leo, you find employment in a home for the aged, on a council scheme that funds the painting of colourful and uplifting designs on the mobility carts set aside for the use of the incapacitated residents. While such employment is clearly namby-pamby, bleeding heart, lefty/liberal, and of a piece with the more wasteful aspects of council and government funding, it compares favourably with the general use of official funds. For instance, there is the purchase of finger food and imported champagne at receptions or the bribes for foreign dignitaries, business persons, elected members of government and the fellow representatives that attend them. Lastly, there is the expense of clandestine visits to houses of ill-repute by aging and overweight councillors that will one day, no doubt, be riding about in just such a vehicle as you have painted gaily for their upliftment.
Thus as a New Moon comes in the neurotic sign of the crustacean, we leave you talking with embittered or demented elderly folk whose deafness allows them to listen to your complaints about your wretched life without hitting you or driving away in their mobility carts before they're properly decorated. But, as mischievous Mercury creaks and grinds his way to lackwit Leo, setting himself for a cycle of perverse reverse, is everything in a benighted universe quite what it seems, my flouncing floozies? Click here next time and you will discover the poison in this bitter dish. In the meantime, ave!