Greetings, lachrymose trollops! We left you last time, setting out with the shining light of a new cause celebre in your dewy eyes! The crusade you had inspirationally chosen was the restoration of the imaginary friend, that spiritual chum and emotional catchall so popular not only in the trials and tribulations of childhood but also with those whom adult life finds mentally inept or emotionally unfit for its harshness. A wide net, but, certes, you are the biggest piscine in it!
And, as it is clearly not possible for you to be accepted as a normal person in the harsh reality of the world, far better to invent a world of people (fantasy figures though they be) that you get along with and that accept you for who you are (ugh). Mayhap it sounds like the perfect strategy. But, by all the farting camels that can pass through the hem of a windsock, will it prove to be so! Or will it prove to be another chapter in the book of heartache and sorrow on the cover of which is writ the name of 'Pisces'.
Hark to me, you tiny loons! I am Asperitus, master of the vile prognostication and the bitter truth. Here is the cup! Drink the dread draught for the month of fateful February. The Full Moon that comes in ghastly Leo finds you caught up in the minor but important details of the business and organization of the society that will restore 'imaginary friends' to the human condition. As with any enterprise such as this, lack of concentration finds you out, poor health dogs you and distractions delay you.
Thus it is that, as mischievous Mercury slopes into your own appalling sign, you bring an imaginary friend to life so that you may consult in a sympathetic and helpful manner with someone that understands you. How marvellous and nauseating, all at once! Then, as vamping Venus obscenely canoodles with idiot Uranus, you decide that your imaginary friend will be just as you are, favouring the hour of twenty past two, fond of the use of the gold pen, inclined to pass out at parties due to excessive indulgence and also to spend too much time in the bath.
However, as the great Sol Invicti rudely intrudes on the nether regions of narcotic Neptune, you begin to worry that if your imaginary friend is just like you then you will suffer from the same neurotic concerns and be of little help to one another. Egad! Now there's an intelligent thought flying around all on its own!
And so it is that, as vamping Venus sways her hips lustfully in the immediate vicinity of jolly Jupiter, the crapulous one, you decide to create another imaginary friend that will in some way be different, more authoritative or self-assured and thus able to assist with the decisions you must make to put this great work into operation. And yet, as mischievous Mercury moves into perverse reverse, you worry about having an imaginary friend that's bossy, speaks nastily and deals with you in a high-handed manner. Gadzooks! That will never do! Thus, the next creation is another friend that is just like you and the three of you sit about, discussing gold pens and hot baths, hoping that it will soon be twenty past two again. As you can see, there is a snare of inevitable doom taking a stranglehold on this process.
And so it is that by the New Moon in Aquarius, sign of the idiot god, you sit amidst a numberless throng of imaginary friends, beginning to wonder which one is actually you. This, of course, is a problem you experience quite frequently in real life. But it's a lot wilder in the world of your imagination. The great Sol Invicti slithers into your unspeakable sign and you become anxious that, with so many of you, you won't be able to afford the alcohol for the birthday party and you'll run out of hot water if you all want a bath. Besides, you can't talk about gold pens and twenty past two forever! What will you do at a birthday party with dozens of imaginary people, all like you.
But, by my sainted aunt, it's then that a crisis of cosmic proportion occurs as marauding Mars barrels belligerently into idiot Aquarius and your solar twelfth house! Eek! You suddenly become sexually attracted to yourself! In fact, to an entire roomful of yourselves! Aargh! And it's your birthday!
Well there's a recipe for disaster if ever there was one. You can't resist the thrill of Mars, a ghastly thrusting article, as he rolls through your house of shameless abandonment, ecstatic addiction and self-undoing. Ugh! Orgiastic obscenity of an especially nasty, solipsistic, unhygienic and concupiscent kind is now your doom. As the busy messenger is still retrograde, you begin staggering about the room, falling over yourself, introducing yourself to yourself and trying to think of interesting small talk before you ask yourself to go to bed with yourself.
Yikes and double yikes, my tiny piscine ninnies! It's as though you're falling into a deep well with no means to reach out and touch the edges to slow this rapid descent. You feel as if you're about to drown in a sea of selves without even knowing which one of them you are. Help, you cry to Heaven! But Heaven and the gods only laugh insanely, which is quite as it should be, I can tell you, for they're all insane up here. What will you do?
Now, as I'm rather exhausted from creeping ennui and have entirely lost interest in you and your life, I shall to bed with my little brown bottle and my silver tube. Do click here next month if you can tear yourself away from yourself. For the nonce, my tasty little profiteroles, ave!