Astrology on the Web - Insufferable Sagittarius

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Asperitus Casting Runes...

The Irksome Journeys of July 2003
INSUFFERABLE SAGITTARIUS...

My dear little centaur twerps! How are you this month? Are you still mindlessly enthusiastic, sickeningly extravagant and pathologically cheerful? Are you still prone to endless and inane fits of boasting and exaggeration? Then all is as it should be in a benighted universe ruled by insane gods.

Now, dribbling imbeciles! What are we here for? We're here for the vile and bitter prognostications for jittery July! And so shall you have them, you rocks, you stones, you less than senseless things!

Last time, we left you in the deepest, darkest recess of a dungeon found beneath the moldering earth of your newly inherited castle in the bowels of a tiny, nameless European principality. Here you had come into rich estates and a vast personal fortune, courtesy of a recently deceased relative. But yet, your arrival to this domain was a disturbing one. Unkempt and drooling servants, an ill-tempered surgeon and an addicted blacksmith, these are the retinue you have acquired. In addition to these, you have ancient weapons, explosives in quantity and the unnerving piece de resistance, an open coffin containing the body of said deceased relative, looking remarkably chipper for a member of the choir invisible. You may have to summon a certain espirit de corpse to get through this month, little centaur galoots!

A gaggle of idiotic planets disports itself in excruciating Cancer and your solar eighth house as the month begins. Mysteries and secrets wrap their cloying threads about you! Occult shadows lurk at every turn as you flee in horror from the dreary, airless underworld to the halls above, halls that seem warm by comparison with outré chill of the dungeon, despite the icy damp that coats everything around you. But once upstairs, you find you cannot flee! Like a sleepwalker, like an automaton, you fall into the routine of castle life. The food is odious, the wine sour, the beds are hard and sex with the servants (they prove to be your playthings, by the way) has an off-putting necrotic chill, despite the fiery drooling vigour of it. No surge of customary vigour enables you to leave. Yet, though you dream of it every night, no burst of curiosity can compel you to return to the dungeon for another look at the pale and shining corpse of the deceased (you hope) relative.

Come the Full Moon in Capricorn and your solar second house, you make a startling discovery. While you are sole heir to a vast fortune, the only money you actually have to spend is a meagre allowance, paid weekly. While every need is cared for, you do not have the price of a horse-and-cart fare to the next village. You're trapped, little centaur imbeciles! You've lost your beloved freedom.

Venus the goddess clashes with Chiron and you sleep a leaden sleep, dreaming dreams where you fly through the night air with a grim-faced individual who looks disturbingly like the relative from the nether chambers. Mercury the messenger clashes with nasty Neptune and you discover a vast library room. There you immerse yourself in an ancient tome wherein is scrawled the eldritch history of your domain.

Come the New Moon in evilly coiffured Leo, you make a remarkable discovery that sends you running in circles in your bedroom till you fall over the washstand and cut your head. This is because mighty Mars is now retrograde in your solar fourth house. And before you're fully recovered (attended by the ill-tempered surgeon), Mercury the messenger moves into Virgo and your solar tenth house, bringing the blacksmith to your room to inform you an official from the local constabulary is at the gates. As you dazedly make your way down, a furious row erupts between the surgeon and the blacksmith. God, I'm bored now! You'll simply have to wait until next month to find out what this is about, if I can remember by then. Farewell, tiny imbeciles! Think well of me, even though I try not to think of you at all!