Greetings, O plain and practical plebeian types! Last time we left, you had become a rebel, a recalcitrant and the last of the great individualists! What will happen to you this time, now that savage September has struck? Why, let us consult the prognostications of a vile and bitter kind and so discover.
It's ill news for you, my little surface-wiping nonentities, for ghastly Saturn drags aging bones and wrinkled skin into your ill-starred sign. Eek! Egad! Gadzooks! And other such quaint expressions to indicate surprise and alarm. This ghastly development now reverses the revolutionary thrust you had set yourself to follow. You adopt a grim and worried countenance and become severely depressed. The chapter of your imaginary illnesses turns into a 'three volume' novel. You then you look about for something suitably dreary and uninteresting to occupy you, such as counting the grains of dust when you sweep, rotating the crockery so all your dishes will show equal wear and lastly unravelling all your garments so you can wash them thread by thread then sew them up again.
As marauding Mars gropes the nether regions of Uranus, the idiot god, people behave outrageously to shock you, demanding to know what's changed within you. However, you're too anxious and obsessively reserved to offer any answer so you keep your head down. Mischievous Mercury gropes dark Pluto, god of the underworld, and you fight with your family, ending all communication due to irreconcilable differences, practical and ideological. You decide you need to find the correct faith to follow and thus purchase many books upon the subject. However, as the busy messenger moves on to Libra, you take work, massaging buttocks, designing underwear or polishing kidney stones to sell as jewellery items in order to pay for these acquisitions. As dark Pluto, lord of the underworld mounts his chariot and moves forward, you fill your home with more books, and also CDs and DVDs on various religious topics and teachings. Vamping Venus gropes the body of Uranus, the idiot god, and you decide to help others less fortunate than you are. Given you're depressed, anxious and unable to converse normally due to a pathological sense of worry, it's difficult to imagine where you might find such hapless creatures, outside of a war zone or a disaster area. As vamping Venus moves forward and the great Sol Invicti wrestles in unseemly manner with idiot Uranus, you take to having brief and disappointing sexual encounters with people you don't like, just in case you're not suffering enough.
A nasty New Moon brings a Solar Eclipse to your vexatious sign and you lose your identity on a shopping trip, somewhere between the dry-cleaners and a visit to the pharmacy to pick up a prescription. No longer knowing who you are, you return home and watch a DVD on flagellation as a form of religious worship. You decide this is the very thing for you, nonentity that you are! As the great Sol Invicti, marauding Mars and dark Pluto engage in acts of surpassing obscenity, you thrash yourself with car parts, electrical wiring and stockbroking reports. You also impersonate family members, yell at yourself and submit to random sex with aggressive persons in authority (in case you're not suffering enough).
But, by all the gods alive and dead, what's this? Why, it's the great Sol Invicti, as he rolls and clatters into loathsome Libra, visiting another Equinox on an overburdened world. And, strangely, by my sainted aunt, it's good fortune for you, little irritating surface-wipers! The business of selling polished kidney stones suddenly booms, as foreign persons desire them greatly while those more local purchase them as jewellery items to give to acquaintances or relatives they hate. You visit hospitals to purchase stock and, as the Full Moon comes in idiot Aries, you have secret sexual liaisons with surgeons, hairdressers and engineers, but only if they use their instruments, just in case you're not suffering enough. As mischievous Mercury slips the pointy end into evil Scorpio, you record a tract for yourself on the blight of happiness but continue to make a fortune in your new business. As marauding Mars clatters into neurotic Cancer, you donate money to causes, such as the prevention of dyspepsia in crustaceans and shellfish, the growers of the Virgo rose and a medical research team dedicated to finding a cure for flatulence.
Ye gods and little fishes, tiny Virgins! That's it for the month really! One wishes it could be more painful for you but, with lugubrious Saturn in your sign, some suffering actually is enough! We leave you to colour coordinate the clothes pegs and the washing, and also to devise a machine that will thrash your buttocks with a hairbrush, thus leaving your hands free to perform useful tasks so you may better serve the world. Ugh! I must stop before creeping ennui overcomes me. Should you wish to read more drivel on the topic of suffering, do click here next time. In the meantime, ave, my tiny turnips!