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    Virgo | Soul Connection | Relationships | Runes | Zodiac


    Click for Last Month  The Eccentric Exigencies of August 2007  Click for Next Month
    Virgo Huzzah, virginal thingies and surface-wiping types! Doubtless you've been busy in the interim, devising some new method of folding things that go in drawers or folding things that don't go in drawers or designing the 'purse pack' hand towel so that you never have to use the one in a public toilet. Enough said really!

    Now, before I fall ill from ennui and have to take a prolonged swig from my gorgeous little brown bottle, I had better get on with the prognostications for awful August. Prognostications! You know the things! They're of a vile and bitter nature and they fill the cup of life from which you drink with much in the way of cosmic disfavour, sticky moments and general insanity. Or was that 'inanity'. I can never recall which it is or whether one can actually tell the difference between the two. Nonetheless, in Heaven, we call this cup the 'dread draught' and it is now poised to tip at your trembling lip.

    Attend me, O witless loons! Last time we left, you had made rumpy-pumpy with a demon lover and craved in every fibre of your being to renew these infernal conjugals. So, awful August begins with the pointed end of mischievous Mercury inserting itself into lackwit Leo. Thus do you thrash about in a parlous and unhealthy state, talking to yourself deliriously and crying for the return of your hellish paramour. Strange and colourfully dressed creatures come to tend you in your affliction. But, as you're deranged, you know not who they are or from whence they come.

    And what's this? Great griping grandmothers! It's the bash and crash of marauding Mars as he steams into lunatic Gemini. Agile and aggressive persons petulantly assert their authority by shouting at you as you lie, trapped in the desperate anguish of a semi-recumbent decline. You neither know nor care who they are or what they want, yet a penny of another sort drops, just as jolly Jupiter lurches forward in silly Sagittarius. Great gods alive and dead, my virginal ninnies! You're on the edge of an emotional precipice, lost in a trance and set to plummet to the depths of dark despair. Such misery is of course to do with the presence of lugubrious Saturn in your solar twelfth house. Eek! A nasty realm this is, populated by psychics, charlatans, drug addicts and longshoremen, not forgetting plagues, plots, poisons, poorhouses, poverty and prisoners. And so it's au revoir to the letter 'p'.

    In the meantime, hidden truths from a ghastly childhood reveal themselves, prancing in your subconscious, cavorting in the garish garb of heartache and sorrow. As vamping Venus slithers in reverse into lackwit Leo, you recall lost loves and romance betrayed, weeping uncontrollably. You remember a myriad of personal failures, such as your failure to appear on stage in a theatrical performance, having sewed yourself to the cushion on your dressing-room chair, the result of a desperate 'last minute' effort to improve your costume. And, worse still was the kindergarten cross-stitch competition where you came a poor second to the ghastly child whose parents could afford the gold and silver threads, unlike your own parents who drank excessively, spoke several languages and argued in a loud and irritating manner about politics or religion. Even worse is the phantom ache in your back, reminding you of the times you had sex on the ironing board, in the broom cupboard or on the lunch table at work so as not to rumple the bed or soil the sheets you slept in.

    As the New Moon comes in the lackwit sign of the Lion, you roll and thrash, troubled by dreams and nasty memories, all as ghastly planets too tedious to name fart in aspects too nasty to describe. By all the gods alive and dead, little surface-wiping loonies, you don't know what is real anymore! It's as though a mystic drug has entered your system and swept you away to the unnameable realms of hideous horror. Oh well! How sad! Never mind! Suffice it to say that you look upon your tearful and tragic past and find it entirely wanting. You realize too that you never really loved your demon lover. You just wanted to be bad and thus flout the authority of each carping imbecile that ever ordered you about and demanded that you be good. This is the hidden meaning of A VIRGIN GOES TO HELL.

    But what's this? By my sainted aunt, it's an extraordinary thing. Mischievous Mercury puts the pointy end into your sign and you rise up from your maudlin narcolepsy, clear-headed and sharp tongued. Some ghastly little official in a suit is demanding that you give him your name, as you've committed some offence by lying down in a public place. You knock the rascal to the ground with a nifty crack on the conk, drag the jacket off his back and jump on it in the wet grass. You then tie it around his ankles and roll him down a nearby slope. As the great Sol Invicti rolls and clatters into your sign, you wish yourself happy birthday! As vamping Venus rolls out the soft bits for narcotic Neptune, you decide you will not work for a living anymore but become a 'performance artist' whose mission is to flout authority. You will be contumely, refractory and recalcitrant. You will also be unruly, unmanageable and, on the days of the week that have a 'y' in them, you will be uncontrollable. You will practice defiance before a mirror and will neither comply nor conform upon request. By my little brown bottle, tiny twits! You will be an iconoclast. Eek! How daring!

    Thus, as marauding Mars rams the ramrod into the nether region of mischievous Mercury, you seek minor officials and persons in uniform, whereupon you challenge their authority, make rude remarks on the topic of their digital extremities and knock off their caps, should they happen to be wearing them. But yet there's more of this insubordination to come. As a Full Moon in snivelling Pisces brings a Lunar Eclipse to your house of partners, you decide you will never have a normal relationship again. Whatever anyone tells or asks you to do, you will do the opposite. It will be your mission in life to disobey. Here beginneth the tale of the Perverse Virgin. Should you be remotely interested in reading more of this piffling conceit, kindly click here next time and you may be able to do so. Hail and farewell, O fractious fuddy-duddies!

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