Tally ho, carping curmudgeons! Last time, after a bizarre spiritual experience, we left you depressed and disillusioned with the world as you withdrew from the illicit trade in catmint. And now it's time for prognostication of the vile and bitter kind, pertaining to malodorous May, the current month, as I'm reliably informed! And it's also time for the first gripping episode of WILD VIRGINS OF THE FOREST.
Gadzooks! Egad! Eek! And other such quaint expressions to indicate surprise and alarm. Should you be concerned that the excitement may be too much for your delicate nervous system, do not give way to virginal worry. Nay! For, after a breathtaking, knife-edged start, things will soon degenerate into unspeakably dull and awful irritation that has been your destiny thus far. And, speaking of awful irritation, ghastly planets fart in nasty aspect to begin the month and you flee the hellhole of Syria for an unknown forest in a nameless range of mountains that loom in the distance, a proper occupation for mountains, let it be said.
Hideous presences cavort in your solar ninth house, which is the astrological explanation for this rustic preoccupation. Mischievous Mercury clatters into cloddish Taurus and you begin talking to the trees or the stones or some other unutterably dull and senseless things that are the object of your bucolic conceit. As hideous planets trine one another in the water signs (how aqueous), you decide the song of life you seek to sing is writ upon the sheet music of the natural world, in among insects and leaf mold, no doubt. You will seek it on the wild mountainside and live there as a hermit, in accord with the behest of grim Saturn in your solar twelfth house, an unwholesome realm of solitude and sorrow.
The Full Moon comes in gloomy Scorpio and you hum a rustic ditty as you stroll across the rolling hills towards a valley, a happy wanderer indeed! But by my sainted aunt, what's this! As the great Sol Invicti and mischievous Mercury make concupiscent congress with dark Pluto, lord of the underworld, you espy a cottage in the valley before you. And in that valley, by my little brown bottle, sit three crones spinning at their wheels.
Ye gods and little fishes! What mystery is this, my tiny virgin tikes? The three look up as the messenger and the vain and selfish Sun god move into the restless and perverted climes of supple Gemini, the two-faced one! A New Moon comes in that same slippery, loquacious sign and the three crones speak to you, as you stand transfixed at the entrance (eek) to their valley.
'We are the Moerae! The fates that rule the lives of all human persons!' they declaim. 'As we spin, life is born and destiny is woven. As we snip, life is extinguished.' They snap sharp scissors in a most convincing manner at this point. Great trumpeting turnips! Are they spinning a yarn, my darling little twerps? Or is this the 'sixty denier' truth?
'Join us, tiny virginal nitwit!' they cry aloud. 'And we will teach you to spin the fate of this naughty world, as we do.' Egad! It seems they know you well, given the use of the term 'nitwit'. Though, of course, this may be an obscure reference to their art. Whatever the meaning, it's an offer too good to refuse for the fervent but heartsick seeker that you are. Perhaps this is the way you can do good in the world and serve the cause of human betterment! By spinning a better life with the craft and skill taught to you by divine ones.
You immediately accept this fateful invitation, little knowing the dark wood you will have to traverse in doing so. The three introduce themselves as sisters and, one and all, give you their names that you may all converse in a proper and dignified manner, a manner befitting those that hold the fate of men in their hands. The first is Cloth-O, goddess of dishrags. Oh joy! The second is Lack-Cheese, goddess of allergies to dairy product. Most germane to your concerns! The third is Atrophy who has only a small part in the proceedings. They are the three sisters, the spinners of fate. Have you so quickly found your Arcadia? Click here next month and follow the thread of this twisted tale. Until then, hail and farewell, my virginal ninnies!