Monday’s Moon pulls herself out of her trench, dashes across to the Gemini house, and uploads her pics of yesterday’s Mars Uranus firework display to Flickr. Meanwhile, the fading eclectic electric crackle inspires Mercury and Venus to grab some alone time in the Scorpio basement jazz club. Forgetting the Sun is quietly sipping a mojito in a booth, they turn the sign to Closed.
Tuesday’s Sun, not quite over the shock, has interesting things to tell club co-owner, Pluto. More mojitos. And some salted peanuts. Knackered Mercury sleeps through his afternoon meeting with Jupiter.
Calmly equanimous due to his stay at Libra’s, Saturn takes Mercury for a head-clearing autumn walk on Wednesday.
Thursday’s Mars has had enough of jazz. It never goes anywhere. He packs his army surplus backpack and yomps across to Sagittarius’s spacious home. He’s the first one here, this year. There will be company soon enough.
Friday’s Sun offers Venus a mojito. With a slow wink, she asks for extra sugar.
Apologies for the weeklies being more miss than hit these last few weeks. I’m living in a displaced kitchenless muddle of brick dust. The snug physical space I’d carved out for Distracted is full of old kitchen innards (and brick dust); the snug time space I’d kept aside has been sucked up by hoovering (brick dust) and trying to make food from old kitchen innards. Yup, we’ve still got the builders in and it has reached critical impact. All good, but rather disruptive. And don’t talk to my Pluto-plagued second house Cappy Moon about the loss of savings.Tell it to think instead about the transformed home.
Brick dust: has ever the concrete been more nebulous? Saturn, ruler of my Moon and Venus, co-ruler of my Mercury, meet Neptune, co-ruler of my Sun. Perhaps brick dust has been this distracted astrologer’s problem all these muddled years.
Overwhelming impulses to start a holy war after midweek should be treated with caution. Could you not just, oh I don’t know, paint tin kettles in pretty flower designs or something instead? No? But stitching explosives into your vest will ruin the line, you know. Most unflattering.
On Monday, spell out your desires with magnetic letters on the fridge door. Be direct and succinct: you simply don’t have enough letters for rumpy pumpy. (I think I last saw the X in the fruit bowl.)
A delicious start to the week soon becomes frustrating. Don’t try and talk your way out of trouble you have caused — you’ll be called on your bullshit. Collect.
You’ve been doing a bit of growing recently. It’s again time for a new shell, once more the old one’s a little tight. It’s a vulnerable thing, this shell-shifting. All soft skin and exposed tender bits. Leave the move until Thursday, when Pluto and the Sun give you the thumbs up to enjoy a bit of a nudey stretch before you scuttle off into your new roomier armoured shelter.
Blooming heck, but there was a lot of bonking in this week’s UK broadcast of True Blood. Bonk, bonk, bonkybonk. Loads of ‘em at it. The next day I followed a link to this Sesame Street True Blood skit and my head went pop, just a little. This week, Leo, unlike me, who struggled a bit, you are perfectly placed to keep a childlike joy and sense of innocent fun whilst rampantly getting your end away.
I spend a little time working with a perfectly pleasant Virgo who simultaneously expects all around them to give their most excellent best, whilst indicating in a thousand fiddling ways that nobody else can do anything even adequately. This week, Virgo, if somebody around you bursts and you find your head being held down in the toilet bowl while the cistern is flushed, be sure to let them know, as you splutter up for air, that they are really very fortunate to have you around as a litmus indicator of their own personal underachievement.
It might feel distinctly unsparkly, Libra, but some alone time this week will help you work out which thoughts are truly your own. This is not the best time to follow the herd. Mind you, a million lemmings can’t be wrong.
This is your time! Trick or trap! Throw a party for one! Celebrate darkly! Have a cake with a black candle! And clowns*! Happy happy happy!
*No Dark Side adjustment required.
In his fabulous book, The Inner Sky, the fabulous Steven Forrest makes a simply – and absolutely – fabulous observation about you Saggies. Your sign is not the archer but the arrow. You are shot off up and away into the far distance, seeing and wondering about all. Not least the nature of the archer. Are there parts of your quest, your questioning, your journey, which have been flagging recently, Sag? Not to worry: from midweek your flight feathers are smooth and your arrowhead is wind-sharp steel. Oh yeah, and you have a firm shaft.
When midweek puts sugar in your tank, remember there’s always the bus. It’s been a while, but they still run to the same old necessary destinations. Before you lock and abandon your car, remember to root around in the ashtray for enough coins for your fare. Exact money only.
Swings and roundabouts, people say. You lose, you gain. Swings and roundabouts. Nobody ever mentions what happens on the monkey bars. This week, Aquarius, find the monkey bars.
Tricksy times call for the Fortunately game. Make the trickier bits of your life into a simple sentence, stick in fortunately as a connective, and add an extra clause. For example:
- I have no milk in the fridge and no money until Friday, fortunately, I’m lactose intolerant.
- My husband has left me for Sven, his personal trainer, fortunately, without his grunting snoring fetid duvet-stealing bed-hogging body I can now sleep soundly, and wake relaxed and refreshed.
- My left arm is covered in bed bug bites, fortunately, I joined the dots together with a green Sharpie and now I have an uncanny indelible likeness of Mel Gibson on my forearm.
(No, not such a good example, that last one.)
This used to be DA’s place in space and time.