Hola, my bullish types! I'm glad you've come, as I've just made up a further episode of BEEF ON A BIKE. This one will irritate and depress you more than previous installments, which, incidentally, left you cycling Finnish fens in pursuit of sauna, sausage and sex in the land of the midnight sun. Most entrancing of all were the orgiastic rune rites in which you had participated. These it were that brought the kind of coital completeness you had only ever dreamed of and, of course, a period of temporary deafness visited upon willing partners as you bellowed your satisfaction to the vast and dark array of elder gods and goddesses.
By my sainted aunt, little oafish types! It's time for prognostications of the vile and bitter kind! And here they are! It is in the midst of just such a rite that we find you, as savage September begins. Marauding Mars farts and fornicates fantastically in ghastly congress with the Loony South Node and you're swept into a trance by this latest orgiastic outing. As mischievous Mercury cavorts in lustful concupiscence with the great Sol Invicti, you begin speaking (or more properly bellowing) in an outre tongue from deep within your ecstatic state. Post-coital converse is not usually a strength. Generally, you tend to favour food, sleep or further fornication in the afterglow. However, those that still have a vestige of hearing left to them remark that speaking is definitely done and the language is neither your own nor is it the modern speech of Finland. However, one wise and learned among these obliging Fins recognizes the timbre of an arcane tongue, proper to the days of long ago.
Odds bodkins, tiny boofheads! It seems that you're channelling the elder voice of the country wherein you travel. Eek! What strange turn is this that you take on life's highway? Are you to become a medium and mystic? By my sainted aunt, we shall see!
As ghastly planets too tedious to name congregate in aspects too nasty to describe, persons gather to hear you speak. And, as your normal converse tends towards the soporific, you're quickly provided with the necessary erotic conjugation so that you once again fall into a trance and hold forth in the ancient tongue. Vamping Venus grinds a passage (eek) into anal Virgo and the numbers gathered soon swell to a crowd. Soon, you're channelling the elder wisdom of the Finnish, in particular the nine lost books of the KALEVALA! And this despite the best efforts of the ancient Finns to lose them!
But what's this? Quelle horreur! It's a horror too horrible to describe to you, tiny bovines! But as the bitter truth is my sworn mission, I shall essay the attempt. Loony Lady Moon comes to the Full in snivelling, teary Pisces, shafting a benighted world with her chill necrotic gaze, only to have said gaze repelled by a Lunar Eclipse. Eek! You're eclipsed by this blockage of the light. You're in a trance from which you cannot wake. Egad! Endless coitus and elder wisdom conspire to sweep away all vestiges of you. Needless to say, this requires only moments. Once the print of filled refrigerators, warm beds and compliant partners is erased, there's nothing left but snatches of favourite songs (unmemorable in the first place) and your fantasies of having a cupboard full of gold, chocolate or cheese. Marauding Mars bullies and blusters his way into loathsome Libra and you become an automaton, subsumed in your role as the Oracle. You're a sage in the land of the midnight sun, acclaimed by crowds that offer funds and horizontal favours to maintain the trance.
Yet you're numb, little twits, unaware of the wisdom that springs uncharacteristically from leaden lips, insensate to the rivers of ecstasy that course through your body. As the gutters of Heaven swell with rutting planets, so believers gather to drink your wisdom like dipsomaniacs while skeptics come to poke, prod and question till the bank of reason breaks before your implacable droning, flooding them with evangelical light. Gadzooks, my tiny turnips! What an incredible turn of events, wrought in this benighted world as dark Pluto, the underworld god, wrestles the great Sol Invicti and vamping Venus grapples with Uranus, god of idiots.
Great giggling gargoyles and damnable demons! It's the second New Moon in vexatious Virgo, bringing a Solar Eclipse to that odious sign. Your life is taken over! You're a plaything of the gods, my tragic leather boots! Ministering hands minister to your every need with all the planetary nonsense cavorting in loathsome Libra but you have lost control of your destiny! Will Finland finish BEEF ON A BIKE? Will you be the tragic hero of the Fins as was Hamlet for the Danes, undone by an inability to act? Click here next time and see. In the meantime, ave atque vale, my bullish types!