Tally ho, my little yoicks! Last time, you met the Fates, three sisters known in Greek legend as the Moerae! Egad! How mythic! This supernatural encounter came about as you fled to the forest to be a wild virgin after being disillusioned by catmint, werewolves and the aimless thresh and flail of your worthless existence. All this was, of course, due to the farting of ghastly planets, cavorting in nasty aspect, especially grim Saturn, grinding his aged bones in lackwit Leo and your solar twelfth house.
Wending your way along this tortuous path, you came upon the Fates! Eek! They invited you to join them and learn the craft of spinning the destinies of human kind. Egad! You can learn to spin the web of fate, my fusspot ninnies! You can be the weaver that binds and wield the blade that cuts when a strand runs out. You can put your hand, usefully (as is your desire), to the great wheel that turns and turns again.
So what do the vile and bitter prognostications hold for the current month, jaded June, if I have correctly counted the knots in my handkerchief? Let us imbibe from the cup, meddlesome misanthropes! For it is only by drinking deep of the dreadful draught that we shall discover. Mischievous Mercury slithers in slimy Cancer and you sit with Cloth-O (goddess of dishrags) and Lack-Cheese (goddess of allergies to dairy product), having a spiffing chat on domestic hygiene and the alternatives to animal product in food preparation. Cloth-O and Lack-Cheese are two of these fateful sisters. The third, Atrophy, sits silent in the background, as she only has small part in the proceedings. You idly wonder if Atrophy would like some assistance in handling her small part but, as marauding Mars careers into lackwit Leo, the sisters urge you to apply yourself to the task of learning to spin in fateful manner.
A raft of ghastly planets fart in nasty aspect and you find that, as you spin, you have visions. Eek! How spiritually evolved you are, my virginal types! It must be all those years of selfless service that have raised you to this peak of consciousness. And, in your visions, you see the ghosts of family, lovers, friends and co-workers, all from the past! They arrive in an incorporeal form, but clothed in the threads of your connection to them. As a ghastly Full Moon comes in silly Sagittarius, you realize you must wield the spiritual scissors and cut the skeins that bind you.
By my sainted aunt, you're having a cleansing, my teeny-weenie loonies! A clean out of the cupboard of life! That's almost your favourite thing, after surface-wiping and the expert use of those foul-tasting herbs you favour! And so you get down to the business of ending a cycle in your life. One by one the visionary figures come. You dutifully forgive those that have hurt you, criticize those that have displeased you (especially in bed) and put in their place all those that tried to control you. Then you wield the shears of fate and cut the threads.
But what's this? It's marauding Mars, roaring as he joins with grim Saturn in an improper fashion. As you cut, you're gripped by the chill realization that all your pain, my tiny twerps, has come from the company you've kept on the road of life, the attachments that you've made. Now you must proceed alone, keeping company with the fateful sisters and none other. That way will you be free! As if to affirm this grim decision, the great Sol Invicti grinds into neurotic Cancer, visiting yet another Solstice on a naughty world. Your mission is to stand apart from the hurly burly and learn the craft of weaving fate. You see a destiny beckon as a beacon on the far horizon.
Ye gods, tiny twits! This is all so moving! I'd be in tears if I wasn't half asleep with a serious case of terminal ennui. But what's this? Egad! Yet again the cosmos erupts with the flatulence of its shifting tides as the Loony Nodes forsake Aries and Libra, moving to wretched Pisces (ugh) and your own endearing sign (double ugh). It's a new path but what old karma is still to cross it? A New Moon comes in neurotic Cancer and you make a wish upon the wheel to learn all you can of this new task. And, as Mercury the messenger enters loathsome Leo, you fall into a trance, your hands fixed on the spinning. The wheel of fate turns, conjuring images so bizarre, that were a thousand scribes to write for a thousand years, they could not describe them. Phantoms fly in the web you weave, my shrewish twits!
Eek! What does this mean? What ghastly karma are you conjuring to come back and haunt you? As I'm feeling tired and unwell, I shall lie down, soliciting the aid of my brown bottle and that lovely silver tube to take my rest. Should you wish to read more outrageous piffle on the matter of fates, phantoms and your unutterably tedious lives, you will have to click here next time to do so. Should I happen to awake (shudder), I shall write more. In the meantime, ave, my frightful little types!