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    BITTER ARIES...

    Go Back  The Jittery Journeys of June 2004  Go Forward
    Salutations, odious sons and daughters of the war god! Last time we left you in the midst of gathering misfortune as various aggrieved relatives, litigants and a body of riotous persons came to dance on your prone form in their high-heeled shoes. This was, for some, in order to exact vengeance for past peccadilloes. For others, it was just for the general joy of doing so, a pleasure the rest of us can readily embrace, given the opportunity.

    Now, what’s that I hear? Why it’s the vile and bitter prognostications for jaded June, rumbling in ominous fashion! Let us endure their idiot eruptions with the equanimity found on the path of sublime irritation. As a loathsome Full Moon comes in nitwit Sagittarius, you are assailed by such forces as I have described and give utterance to a wild and mawkish outcry, lamenting that your life is as futile as a faked orgasm during masturbation and that your yourself are a wretched failure. Had you asked, my dear little ram type things, I would have told you all this without the accompanying fuss. Unnameable planetary bodies dance the unspeakable cosmic polka and you lose your job, flee the scene and rend your garments, wandering the streets like a mad person, declaiming with vigour but no subtlety (your accustomed style) on the subjects of doom, despair and the wretched fate awaiting all humankind.

    As lugubrious Saturn swans in neurotic Cancer and idiot Uranus cavorts in your solar twelfth house, you dwell upon such miseries, questioning the meaning of existence, as if you still believed there actually is one! Come the New Moon in idiot Gemini, we find you rambling, ranting and raving in a dishevelled and odiferous state. Mischievous Mercury and the great Sol Invicti edge into neurotic Cancer for the Solstice and you secure some miserable hovel to be the dwelling place of your wretchedness.

    Marauding Mars bullies his way into Leo and your misery becomes a drama for all to witness as your hair flies wild and your movements take on a ghastly and somewhat threatening acrobatic character. Sober Saturn clashes with nasty Neptune and old friends shun you whilst family members talk about you in worried tones. You take to carrying an old tin bucket, the repository of your meagre possessions.

    But what’s this, little ram type obscenities? Vamping Venus goes direct and passersby begin throwing money into the bucket as you perform these daily rites of misery. Your beady eye examines the growing pile of coins and notes and you add a little vigour to the show. The pile increases further. Thus you launch into a veritable toe-tapping frenzy of grim despair.

    By my little brown bottle, things might not be at the dead end they first seemed to be! Click here next month and see!

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