Venus starts the week by baiting her Sun trap with a green cheese square. She hides behind the Leo sofa with the tweezers and waits … shortly, the Sun lets her know he is not amused by his new startled look.
Jupiter’s right bored in the Aries house on Monday night. Sighing with an extravagance of ennui, he twitches the daft electric blue cloak from the shoulders of a snoozing Uranus. He spends the night in disguise,tweaking Pluto’s tiddly toes just as Uranus did last week.
Wednesday’s Mars holds Jupiter at knifepoint … what? He’s MARS, this is what happens if he doesn’t keep busy – have you ever met an Aries at a loose end? Yeah, that’s what I’m saying … where was I? Oh yeah … at knifepoint for the cloak. The last we see of him is squeezing through the cat flap of the Capricorn castle. Poor Pluto, that’s the second bad night in a row.
Late week, Venus stands on a wheelbarrow outside the Aquarius kitchen window, berating Neptune and Chiron for not using the curtain tie-backs and inviting them to come see how she does it round Virgo’s.
On Saturday, Venus is booted out of Virgo’s for expressive use of curtain tie-backs. She sighs, uses the key to her Libran home, and pours herself a stiff one. Uranus interrupts her peace by asking if she’s seen his cloak. Leaving, he bumps heads with the Sun, who asks him if he’s seen the rest of his eyebrows.
Sunday’s Saturn gives Venus a hard stare, daring her to touch his rather splendid, swooping brows. I think we’ll leave it there, and advise Venus to do likewise.
Do you do as you would be done by? Been there done that? When all’s said and done, this week the do-er is being done to. Are you undone or did you done good?
Your focus is not the best this week. Too many late nights with a bottle, pork scratchings and the private browsing setting are beginning to tell. You celebrate a clean new start on Saturday: what’s a good way to celebrate?
Sunday’s hangover’s a killer, and please do something with those tissues.
Even though nobody is listening to a word you’re saying this week, it’ll still come back to haunt you in mid September. No, I don’t know how, just why. Sheesh.
The lucky among still cannot shake a vague sense of undirected unease that sleepwalks you to the biscuit tin at three a.m. The rest of you are really in the shit. Congratulations, as Bernadette Brady would say were she with you at the Hobnobs, you’re doing the astrology really well.
You know, Leo, a lot is said about how you love attention, how it makes you glow. How praise makes your coat glossy and the whites of your eyes bright. Less is said about how much people get back from you, about how your generosity beams the good stuff right back out. That’s a shame. This then is for you:
When no one else can understand me [not that I’m saying you CAN understand the rest of us, just that you love us anyway]
When everything I do is wrong [and blissfully under your radar as it’s not about you, oh sweet oblivion]
You give me hope and consolation [and sweeties]
You give me strength to carry oooonnnnnn [by not shutting me up because you’re not listening anyway, just smiling, which is fine]
And you’re allllllways there, to leeennnd a hand, with everything I doooooo [okay, so that last bit is stretching it]
That’s the woooonnnndeeeeerrrrr, the wonder of yooouuuuuuu.
Take what you want, toss the rest.
I’ve started writing this week’s Virgo three times now, and three times I’ve deleted it. Not highlight then Delete, but that satisfying Pacman backspace gobble of letter after single letter. Every time I’ve followed the aspects for next week and written something that is non-purposefully [word?] personally pertinent to a different Virgo I know. You would think I was nicking from what you’ve told me in confidence to parade your problems on here, and really I’m not. That would be vulgar. My conclusion has to be that, like some Cancerian natives this week, you are doing the astrology really well. Congratulations.
You’ve had a few days now to wear in your new technique of aggressive passive aggression. The rest of us are still in shock, frozen between slap and drop and roll. Refine the pricklier arsehole bits from next weekend.
There’s never been a better time. Well, not since the last time.
I’ve not heard a lot from you recently — everything okay? I hope you’ve got your head down and your bum up, busy working on that opus.
See Scorpio’s vid this week? Strike that and reverse it. Boss to Goth. Pluto sez.
This week a lot of sex will make a lot of things a lot better. F.A.P?
Throwing money at a situation this week doesn’t help. Unless you are a fast bowler with a pile of small, sharp-edged coins. Or you could stand on tippy toe at the tippy top of a tallest tall building you ever did see and drop pennies on people’s heads. That would work.
Distracted Astrologer is holding out for a hero.