Greetings, my nitwit neck-less exponents of the agrarian frolic. Last time we left, you were in the act of surrender to the wild forces of spirit and the underworld as you had given up your day job, sold your business and gone to live in seclusion on your remote property, the garden of earthly delights.
Most of this was driven by a combination of chagrin and regret about your own foolish mistakes. Nonetheless, you are a stubborn beast and will admit neither to failings nor peccadilloes with any ease. And so, sublimating these deeper feelings, did you incline to the sensory delights that come from the solitude of the wild garden. A few tiny treats, plucked from the herbaceous border and you found yourself amid a swirl of spirit beings, set to entice you into dreams of unearthly delight and wild intercourse with the otherworld.
The more literate among you (gods! Is there one) will have noticed that I used the collective noun in regard to the gathering of spirit, i.e. swirl. There are others, of course, that fit the generic description, e.g. a gossip of aunts, a glee of revellers, a fart of schoolboys, a smut of perverts and so on. Of course, there are also those better known appellations, a murder of crows, a siege of herons, a rag of colts, a parliament of owls and a dolt of politicians.
Don't fret, my tiny bullish types! This is just a teeny-weenie digression into linguistic matters of subtle charm. We shall not remain in this foreign land for long. Thus do we return to the mainstream of our story on the instant! And the mainstream is of course the wretched article risibly known as your life, as told in the vile and bitter prognostications for jaded June.
These are they! Marauding Mars clashes with Pluto, dark god of the underworld, and seductive bodies entwine you in an otherworld embrace that seems more corporeal than spiritual and is like nothing you've known before. Vamping Venus moves to neurotic Cancer and you're surrounded by creatures of mystic beauty, seeking to attend to your every need. Jolly Jupiter moves forward in Libra and your solar sixth house and you acquaint yourself with body movements so subtle and refined that you're intoxicated, as if you had drunk of the piquant liquors of Heaven itself (I can vouch for the potency).
The New Moon gibbers in lunatic Gemini and wave after wave of unutterable pleasure shatters the values by which you have always lived, awakening deeper and darker appetites that rise up from the bowels of your bovine nature. Eek! The nasty solar eighth house must be involved! Which of course it is! Oh well! Let us don the mask and gloves of proper moral protection and proceed with caution.
Gadzooks! There's trouble brewing, my tiny nitwit things! It's marauding Mars. He clatters into Aries and your solar twelfth, the worst place of misery and suffering known in the vastest reaches of this benighted universe ruled by insane gods. And, not only that, he clashes with mischievous Mercury, as Uranus the idiot god and jolly Jupiter make unseemly congress. In your intoxicated state, still weak from the weariness of the troubles you have known, the spirit beings lead you off into the shadows of a distant gap in the hills that surround you.
The great Sol Invicti wreaks the havoc of another gruesome solstice on an over-burdened world. Aargh! And, what's worse, the Full Moon sends her chill necrotic light blazing from the sign of miserable Capricorn and your solar ninth house. A twisted path opens before you. It leads deep into the hills then down into the earth. How cavernous! Marauding Mars clashes with jolly Jupiter and you go weak at the knees, feeling feverish and sweaty. Egad! You may be unwell. Please don't breathe in my direction!
Mischievous Mercury and vamping Venus then conjoin in unseemly fashion with aging Saturn and the beautiful ones of spirit seem to fade before your very eyes, bidding you a farewell that is pale and hollow after all the sublime congress you have shared. You look up as if from a trance. Ghastly planets grind and crash into loathsome Leo and your solar fourth house. You see nothing above you but earth!
Eek! You're underground! You see nothing around you but a maze of tunnels! Eek! You're in a maze. As grim Saturn prepares to don the mantle of the Lion, a disembodied voice cries, 'You'll have to find and slay the Minotaur, my tiny boofhead twerps!'
Egad, whoever it is, they seem to know you well. Quelle horreur, cloddish things! You're going to have to face the hidden monster of your inner self. Will this be the dream from which you do not wake?
What an unnerving thought! And, in fact, my nerves are feeling somewhat frayed so I'll have to lie down. Medic! Bring me my brown bottle and that lovely silver tube you have. In the meantime, come back next time. If I can recover consciousness and my shattered sensibilities, I may write further drivel to accompany the drivel I've so far written. Hail and farewell, bullish types!