|Alack and alas for you and your versatile extremities, my minuscule morons! My two-faced nonentities! You are wasted breath, meaningless efflations, lost in the wild and icy winds of an unfathomable void. You are of air and babble where I am of sublime irritation! Between us lies an unholy chasm across which I shall harangue you, as befits an haruspex of the seventeenth level when speaking to lesser beings such as yourselves. Woe I say unto you! Woe! Woe! Woe!
That's enough of the niceties! Let us proceed. As jittery January came to an end you had survived a plane crash, a semi-naked trek in the snow and the rigors of a journey to a forbidding edifice where lay a monastery filled with monks (entirely right and proper) devoted to the dark arts (eek) or so it seemed. In fact, you and your lover arrived at the time of the Full Moon rite and there were mutterings about a sacrifice. So was it pure evil that confronted you as cold fires burned and eldritch chanting assailed your shell-like ears in that distant monastery in a wild and wintry region?
Why, let us consult the vile and bitter prognostications for fearful February and see! Ghastly planets fart in the cosmic winds (you've probably come to expect that). In this instance, they break wind in idiot Aquarius and your solar ninth house. Monkish hands reach for your garb. Monkish imprecations fill the room. But through such agency do you discover that this is no dark rite at all and the sacrifice referred to was that of the silk parachutes you're wearing, not of your odious self. The monks belong to an ancient order of animal liberationists and their current crusade is for the liberation of silkworms from the slavery of silk production. Thus do they ask you to give the parachutes up to be burned in a ritual fire whose flames, charged with prayers and meditation will be sent through the ether to uplift silkworms across the globe to revolt against their masters and seize their freedom. They offer you monkish habits in exchange for the parachutes, for the sake of their modesty, not yours, as you have none. And, the only reason you couldn't feel the heat of the flames is that you saw them through a thick glass partition.
With marauding Mars in your solar eighth house and a New Moon in Aquarius, you find yourself fascinated by this occult lunacy and agree, not only to give up your silks but also to assist with the rite. Nasty planets frolic in the cosmos and you dance about the fire with the monks, making silkworm type motions and singing songs you are told are the spirit songs of said creatures. As you become accustomed to the outré chanting and the exotic dancing, you decide that it's really no stranger than doing Danny Kaye impressions (your last line of work) and begin to enjoy yourself, thus dancing more passionately.
And that's where the trouble starts, my little tiresome nitwits. For the machineries of Heaven are now turned on their heads as cranky Chiron moves into idiot Aquarius and your solar ninth house. Suddenly, you are seized by waves of exotic and exciting energy. Touched, as it were, by a higher consciousness! The Full Moon comes in nitwit Virgo and your solar fourth house and a tide of feeling rushes through you. You feel as though you are a silkworm yourself, suffering the duress of enforced labour, bereft of family, friends and community support.
Ye gods and little fishes, my airhead twerps! It's a genuine emotion! I suppose there's a first time for everything, but what will you do with it? As ghastly planets cavort in tear-stained Pisces, playing merry hell with Uranus, the idiot god, you actually begin to feel sorry for the silkworms. Really sorry! You swear that you will do something about it! You're filled with wild passion as you swirl through the rite, crying aloud with anger and rage at the injustice.
You stoke the flames higher as the parachutes burn. Vamping Venus enters snivelling Pisces and mischievous Mercury heads for a clash with dark Pluto, lord of the underworld. You resolve to give up your life of effete and acrobatic decadence. You will be pure. You will be chaste. You will seek knowledge. You will stay here in the monastery, study the ways of beasts and give funds for the preservation of life. Great gods alive and dead, you're a changed little twit! But will it last? Click here next month and see!