Huzzah, cretinous Centaurs! Last time, in order to escape the press of vexatious litigants and adulating worshippers, your peregrinations took you deeper into the sea cave to which you had fled in order to become a fully fledged pessimist. Soon you found yourself thrust into a tiny metropolis of plainly dressed foreigners at the cave's other end. Such persons thereupon described you as 'idiot', using thirty-seven different words to do so, then apprehended you and had taken you before a local authority. All this may be described as seriously depressing and thus may bring you closer to your goal of genuine pessimism.
However, we shall wait on developments before making a final judgement on the matter. In the meantime, we had best consult with the vile and bitter prognostications for awful August, which I am reliably informed by the staff here in Heaven is the current month. Attend me, tiny lunatics! It is I, Asperitus! Arrogant augur! Haruspex of harangue! Prophet of piffle!
As mischievous Mercury kicks things off by queering narcotic Neptune's pitch, you find yourself surrounded by a babble of voices you cannot understand as you are led into what appears to be a court of law. The room is furnished in the plain fashion, obviously intended to match the garb of the folk about you. A great bench heads the room and chairs are set in front of it, as well as the all too familiar dock in which you stand, in a manner that indicates a level of past intimacy with such arrangements.
Great Heavens, my little nitwits! Perhaps they mean to fine you for an offence you've committed. After all, you'll doubtless have enough unpaid fines for violations related to parking, alcohol and speed to paper the walls of every bar you've ever drunk in. It may be your past has finally caught up with you. That could be depressing! All the more so because cranky Chiron has recently returned to miserable Capricorn, promoting the impecunious state in no uncertain terms. Suddenly, the plainly dressed folk fall silent and proceedings seem set to begin. It is the New Moon in lackwit Leo and an elderly female mounts the bench (eek) and stares at you in a manner that may be described as somewhere between the bemused and the befuddled. A list is then read out. It's quite lengthy so it's probably a list of the charges laid against you but, as you still can't understand a word that's being said, you're not entirely sure. It may simply be a list of all the different addresses at which you've been resident in these last years. Or a list of all the different causes you've supported and then lost interest in. A question is directed at you. You look up, uncomprehending. You speak up, trying to enquire what is afoot, but a sober look from the elderly female on the bench silences you. It seems also to strip a layer of varnish from the dock in which you stand. The question is directed at you once again, but comprehension is still a friend far away, as is the case so often in your life.
As marauding Mars clashes with the perverse reverse messenger, the elderly female waves peremptorily and a uniformed officer handles you roughly, placing a small electronic device in your ear. It is apparently a translation device for, instantly, the low-pitched hum of voices comes clear. Mischievous Mercury then moves forward once more and the situation is finally revealed. You're not in a foreign land, my tiny addlepates! This is the court of karma in some dream world that you've apparently entered. For all you know, your body may be comatose back in the caves where you were, or the object of some tug-of-war between the adherents of St Archer and the litigating band of relatives and ex-marital partners. Vamping Venus slithers into decadent Libra and a rather gracious person with an eccentric walk is introduced as your defence counsel.
The Full Moon blazes in lunatic Aquarius and it seems you're to be tried by the Akashic Council on charges of mindless optimism, excessive enthusiasm, personal indulgence and profligacy, and telling awful jokes in difficult situations. A body of equally grim-looking persons joins the elderly female on the bench as the great Sol Invicti grinds his way into anal Virgo (eek). They begin to read the entire list of charges once again.
Great gods alive and dead, tiny tikes! Is this a nightmare you have woken into? For everything they've charged you with is true, so your goose is well and truly cooked before proceedings begin. Gadzooks! A hideous clattering erupts in the Heavens as marauding Mars, war god and patron saint of psychotic belligerence, assaults narcotic Neptune and mischievous Mercury with his improper attentions. And, the worst of it is that he does so in your solar sixth house of work and health. You feel dizzy and feverish! Your throat burns like fire! By my little brown bottle, you're swaying in the dock, clearly unwell. As the great Sol Invicti clashes with Uranus the idiot god, you begin twitching and gyrating in a most unfortunate and saltatious manner.
Ye gods and little fishes, tiny imbeciles! Is this St Archer of the Tombs all over again? Or are you in the grip of a malady even worse than sainthood? What in all the twenty-nine hells is going on? Sigh! I'm rather tired now so I think I'll have to rest. Do call again next month and I'll see if I can conceive an explanation for this outrageous piffle. Until then, my little centaur loonies! Ave!