Hail to you, odious arachnids! Gird your ghastly loins and prepare for woe as the month of manic May opens up its guns for a broadside. Latterly, the weird wanderings of cranky Chiron and narcotic Neptune have been a plague on your solar fourth house, bringing eccentricity, confusion and inebriation into your personal life, clouding your vision and intoxicating you with unfamiliar emotional responses such as fear, anxiety or self-doubt. You will have found your family somewhat confusing or you will have encountered them in spirit form, should you happen to have disposed of them already.
Amidst this welter of uncertainty, the first cab off the rank is that of mischievous Mercury, skittering into nitwit Gemini and groping the aging bones of grim Saturn, the ruler of old age and death now ensconced in irritating Virgo. Thus, you form secret plans to fleece your friends, to fornicate with their spouses or eliminate the more annoying ones. As grim Saturn groans and creaks into forward motion, you prepare for mayhem. A New Moon comes in cloddish Taurus and you murder a current partner or find a new one. Narcotic Neptune makes obscene congress with the Loony Nodes and you fill your home with intoxication, subtle lies and the aroma of frankincense, which you decide to cultivate so you can start a cottage industry.
As jolly Jupiter moves into perverse reverse, you lose all interest in travel, communications, siblings, neighbours and associates while your lawyer departs on holiday. As marauding Mars barrels into lackwit Leo, you clash with professionals, organize the public by shouting, manage artists or dancers and prance about in a threatening or demonstrative manner. Planets too ghastly to name fart in aspects too tedious to recount and associates break off relations with you because you've become too peculiar.
An odious Full Moon blazes in your sign, so you record their names in a black book and then tell them that you've done so, just to enjoy the rush of fear that turns their knees to water. The great Sol Invicti clatters and rolls drunkenly into lunatic Gemini and you plot secretly with occultists, taxmen, prostitutes and morticians. You invest in a urinal franchise, foreclose on a few mortgages and wander through graveyards, speaking with the spirits of the dead. As the vain and selfish Sun God grapples with the aging bones of morbid Saturn, you decide you don't need friends, as they only interfere with business or try to get their hands on your money. As mischievous Mercury writhes in an obscene embrace with Uranus, the idiot god, you go back to the graveyard, dig up an ancient corpse and play ten-pin bowling with the skull and bones.
By all the gods alive and dead, what's this? It seems your first strike brings you to the door of a most mystical experience. For suddenly, as the busy messenger moves into perverse reverse, the bones form into a body that picks up its skull then says 'I am Maxim Gorky and I will lead you to the Lower Depths'.
Great giggling gargoyles, O my odious arachnids! What does this mean? And what will happen to you now? Sadly, I'm expiring from creeping ennui and must instanter seek my little brown bottle, the silver tube and the kiss of silken sheets. Kindly click here next time and we'll continue your journey into the mystic. For the nonce, ave!
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