angstoic.com Astrologer, Ang Stoic
Last Thursday’s Leo New Moon, locked in a bare-knuckle opposition to Pluto now retrograding at the gate of Aquarius, showed us what monsters we have become by our compliance to the dim, harrowing darkness that breeds our collective shadow. By lacking the courage to stand in our integrity, every shred of Leonine excess—the self-aggrandising bombast, our narcissistic entitlements, the lust for melodramatic dominance, the cheap, shallow theatrics, and the compulsive urge to be adored has engulfed this planet into a bunch of wannabes and yet nothing and no one amounting to very much at all. Pluto amasses the entire collective in a no-holds-barred ultimatum to give up all sovereignty for a low-grade ego-driven mask that obscures systemic rot. So long as you ‘perform’ the image of honour and heroism, you can carry on being subversively abusive. It’s time to look at what sick little monsters we’re becoming when we focus only on what’s best for ourselves.
The very few who, on this Moon, set their intention on standing strong, on being unflinching, certain in the face of certain doom, are the only ones left holding any kind of line. Under that Leo New Moon, most folded—flashed their teeth for approval, chased their bits of clout, put their asses up for sale into curated servitude. That’s what Pluto does, even to Leo, hands you some beans if you become it’s snivelling little sycophantic bitch. But the few who felt the quake beneath the pomp, who didn’t blink when Pluto yanked the curtain—those few have begun to harden, not into stone, but into resolve and have begun the interminable and irrevocable process of being transformed. Shining in your true light asks for more than performative displays, more than a mere aesthetic rebellion—but a mighty expression—raw, ferociously untamed, spine-locked conviction. Because when the system demands submission masked as virtue, and the cost of non-compliance is exile, only the brave stay standing. And though they have the power to transform, to lead the masses, they will be the ones who write what’s next.
By next Friday’s first-quarter Moon in Hades-ruled Scorpio the throttle will already be welded to the bulkhead. Collective momentum slams us hard into an uncompromising checkpoint, where the intoxicated growl of Leo’s overblown swagger smashes hard against Scorpio’s subterranean hunger for total possession; the air will taste of singed pride, half-digested vendettas, and the metallic tang of systems grinding under their own corruption, forcing every compromised participant—every zombified performer, spectator, saboteur—into a single, brutal reckoning with the walls they built, the appetites they fed, and the power they ceded while all the while applauding their own illusions of control.
I am in awe of the very few who rise to the occasion—those who will weaponise that Scorpionic venom into surgical truth-serum. And though it might appear to congeal into a frightful act of self-sabotage, threatening to nail them to a humiliating cross, once the lunar tide turns, denial of standing in one’s integrity becomes shackles, and any voice still waiting for permission will be swallowed whole by the machinery it refused to confront.
Then, as the quarter Moon locks its volatile on the Sun‑Moon midpoint onto a South‑Node Mars in Virgo—the atmosphere mutates from theatrical scuttlebutting to full forensic assault, because that displaced warrior, already addicted to fault‑finding and covert dominance, now receives a live current, scrutinising every motive, indexing each weakness, and converting half‑baked vendettas into itemised kill‑lists; competition stops being sport and becomes a meticulous surgical procedure to purge, violently cleanse, executed with a manicured modicum, spreadsheet accuracy, and zero tolerance for loose threads. This activated hunger for pristine victory drives the blade deeper than any Leonine flourish ever could, carving through pretence, through alliance, through one’s own flesh if necessary, for the single, merciless reward of knowing that no rival, real or imagined, survives the thoroughness of this audit.
And then there’s Venus, who, having drifted into Cancer, ushering her usual promises of comfort, nourishment, kinship, and candle‑lit amnesty, immediately finds herself head‑butting against the cold masonry of the Saturn‑Neptune complex—one planet demanding hard limits and accountability, the other dissolving every promise it makes—so that any quest for peace, love, and mungbeans shatters on impact as euphoria and sadness take turns at the wheel. Nurturing gestures warp into obligations, and though nostalgia reopens raw fissures, sentimental vows buckle under reality‑testing gravity.
As we then head into the mother(fucker) of all Aquarian Full Moons (Aug 9), those brave few who can stand firmly through Leo’s humiliating rite of passage now undergo an emotionally altering struggle: it’s a choice between the soft escape of curated comforts or holding the line as affection morphs into trial by water and stone. Only those capable of loving without possession, protecting without control, and dreaming without nightmares will keep their hearts from becoming collateral in the next cosmic showdown. All relationships are under stress if we are stopping short of being present, authentic and without signs of mental derangement.
ARIES ♈ | TAURUS ♉ | GEMINI ♊ | CANCER ♋ | LEO ♌ | VIRGO ♍ | LIBRA ♎ | SCORPIO ♏ | SAGITTARIUS ♐ | CAPRICORN ♑ | AQUARIUS ♒ | PISCES ♓
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Ang Stoic is renowned not just for his searing accuracy, but for his empathetic, personalised approach and deep astrological expertise, guiding clients through major life transitions—career changes, relationship upheavals, Saturn returns, midlife crises, and other pivotal phases. With his penetrating insights and warm, supportive style, he empowers you to transform challenges into opportunities for growth and self-discovery.
Your words are profoundly dramatic and terrifying in their accuracy. Caligula has been resurrected to rule over a crumbling empire as he, in his madness, claims godhood. He will make his horse a senator and his ass a judge. He will spread suffering because he can. There is no Claudius in the wings. Only Nero tunes his violin as the reek wafts through the air. All empires fall because of greed, arrogance, over-extension in war and injustice towards its people.
What is most disturbing at this point in history, is that there are monsters pulling Caligula’s strings and those monsters are global. It is not just the peril of an empire whose time has come. It is the peril of a planet. Will the monsters be slain or will it be like a hydra with multiple heads growing from each slice of the sword?
I hope that the stars and planets will guide us to a kinder, more just future.