Ave, my noisome ninnies! Last month! No, perhaps it was the month before! Perhaps not! Oh well! I can't be expected to remember. Look it up for yourselves if you're so concerned. Anyway, last month or the month before, you took a long look at yourself and the world and decided to be a pessimist, a decision which, unlike most of the others you have made in your wretched life, I can only applaud.
You opted for retirement from the human race and settled in a sea cave somewhere on the wild coast to become a recluse, another decision we can roundly applaud. But just as you had set yourself to live with solitude and pessimism as your only companions, a veritable busload of people from your past turned up to seek either redress (predictable) or the solace of your company (unfathomable). However, many of the latter were from your recent debacle in Athens where you starred as St Archer of the Tombs, well-known saint and traffic light. As they were low types with neither brains nor education, i.e. civil servants, politicians, celebrities and such, they were thus too easily influenced by your startling and eccentric charisma so we shall not wonder at their lack of discernment.
Enough of that! It's jaded June and these are the vile and bitter prognostications that pertain thereto. Attend me now as I spill them forth for you to collect, you wittering half-horse type persons!
As marauding Mars clashes with Pluto, dark god of the underworld, you hurl stones and seaweed and whatever else comes to hand in the direction of these interlopers. However, as vamping Venus enters neurotic Cancer, relatives and ex-partners shout that they will not leave until you pay back the money that you have borrowed (some even use the word 'stolen') from them over the years. As a New Moon gibbers insanely in nitwit Gemini, the supporters of St Archer take umbrage at the vexatious relatives and begin to hurl stones at them on your behalf, having mistaken your temper tantrum for the familiar fit of saintly ecstasy. Soon a noisy clash develops between the warring parties, driving you to further reaches of insanity as your efforts to escape the naughty world seem to sink deeper and deeper into the abyss of abject failure, an address with which you are all too familiar.
Your outburst becomes a full-blown tantrum as marauding Mars clatters into arrogant Aries. You shriek to the Heavens your discontent at this vile intrusion in what is extraordinary, almost theatrical performance (Mars in your solar fifth house). Though I must say, as a pessimist, such events should only serve to justify the view you have adopted and thus should be a comfort to you, in a miserable kind of way. Pardon the digression.
In the main, the new outburst only further inflames the angry relatives and ex-partners while the devotees of St Archer are more convinced the saintly light burns stronger in you than before. Soon, a minor war erupts as the supporters of St Archer make fierce assault upon your vengeful relations.
Great gods alive and dead, what's this? The Heavens reel with cosmic flatulence as earth abounds with the flailing and fisticuffs of grim dispute. The great Sol Invicti enters neurotic Cancer, ushering in another ghastly solstice to torment an overburdened world. Eek! The Full Moon leers in gloomy Capricorn and your solar second house. Ugh! Marauding Mars grapples in an unseemly fashion with jolly Jupiter. Aargh!
By the gods, my tiny jug-eared galoots! Your once lonely beach and cave are beset by tourists come to see the saint, idle onlookers and a bevy of legal persons and authorities called in to ensure the relatives get their just deserts and that traffic is properly controlled. In no time at all, there are car parks and turnstiles charging entrance fees, coffees stands and lawyers conducting seashore litigation to obtain a share of the profits.
Great Caesar's ghost! Has madness broken loose to take over your wretched life? As if in answer, ghastly planets disport themselves in loathsome Leo, the precursor to further dastardly doings in the odious sign of hairdressers and the overdressed! The Heavens groan aloud with wrathful change as you witter about your cave like a loon, desperate to escape the mayhem and find a land where you may practice your newfound pessimism in peace.
Great elephants and dancing monkeys, my snivelling lunatics! What will happen now? Perhaps you'll go on a quest! A sacred mission to find the wellspring of happiness (or misery in this case, you being a pessimist) that will satisfy your inner urges! By my little brown bottle, if I'm to discuss your inner urges (eek), I need anaesthesia and sleep, in plentiful supply. Hail and farewell for now!