Greetings, O my odious arachnids, servants of the demon lord and churls of the chitin! We left you last time seething with frustration at the ill-feeling directed by others towards your ghastly sign. Drop the name of Scorpio into any dinner party conversation and you will certes dredge up gruesome tales of death, fiscal finagling and sexual betrayal. Either that or you will clear a space about you in the room as normal folk prove to have little stomach for the converse.
In fact, you had taken vengeance on a naughty world by releasing into Halloween night the phantoms of murderers, hung, drawn or quartered at some earlier date as the just and rightful consequence of heinous crimes. So, did the spirits rend the night air with weeping, wailing, gnashing of teeth and primal bowel-loosening fear? Let us consult the vile and bitter prognostications for noxious November wherein we may discover this and other things as well, interesting things such as the current time in Japan, the average wind speed of an ant's efflatus and the true identity of Jock MacRipper, Scottish serial killer and porridge-eating champion.
Now, on with the show! Mischievous Mercury is first cab off the rank as he turns tail again and moves forward in lackwit Libra. Thus, you wander about the place, talking to yourself as though you're another person. You also mishear what others say, trip over the furniture and experience painful confusion upon being asked to make up your mind. As the great Sol Invicti gropes cranky Chiron, you argue with a family member, play Swedish folk music in your bedroom and adopt St Vitus as your patron saint, praying each day to a dancing icon you've found on the net. When vamping Venus exposes her special area to dark Pluto, lord of the underworld, you argue over money with a friend, have an unfortunate sexual encounter and join a group interested in needlework or emergency surgical techniques for small animals. As Venus then slithers into lackwit Libra, you become painfully shy and stay at home a lot, dressing up as your favourite celebrity and posing in front of a mirror.
The New Moon comes in your nasty sign with ghastly aspects to narcotic Neptune and you start drinking heavily and begin to speculate morbidly on your identity. By my sainted aunt, my little tiny tots! This sounds serious. Mischievous Mercury pokes the pointy end into your sign and you begin calling everyone you know to ask them if Scorpios really are as horrid as the Sunday Papers say. And then, O lawks a mercy, if a particularly nasty piece of cosmic weather doesn't come and spoil things completely. With the usual bashing and farting, marauding Mars turns tail and moves into perverse reverse in neurotic Cancer. You argue with a bad tempered grocer, become ill after eating imported seafood and develop an obsession with the notion that small creatures live in your plumbing. Thus, you bang your pipes and shout each time that you take a shower or wash the dishes.
Odds bodkins, little rulers of the anus! It sounds as if you're losing your marbles. As mischievous Mercury gropes cranky Chiron, you try to talk through the issues with the crazy sibling the family keeps locked in the attic but all you get is an odd cacophony of squealing and keening that only contributes further grist to the mill of your sense of uncertainty. Feeling you must fly from the house, you decide on an overseas holiday in a sunny location. However, as marauding Mars bangs the bejesus out of vamping Venus on his rearwards (eek) run, you choose locations only to find they've been overwhelmed by natural disasters like floods or famine or attacks of giant cockroaches.
The great Sol Invicti rolls and clatters into silly Sagittarius so, to save dosh and avoid disaster, you decide to lock yourself in the large upstairs room, after disposing of your loony sibling. You procure a great deal of food and alcohol so you can look at pictures of Toledo, Budapest and, your personal favourite holiday destination, Sheffield in the UK. Mischievous Mercury gropes cranky Chiron and you email your family, misinforming them you've gone to watch the ice melt in Finland due to your interest in global warming. Then, as the Full Moon blazes in idiot Gemini, you hire a pair of supple sex partners, gag them so they can't talk, bind them so they can't move and get out your collection of mediaeval torture implements, one by one, before their widening eyes. What's life when you're a child of the demon king?
Click here next time for a further instalment of ARACHNID IN THE ATTIC. In the meantime, hail and farewell, O rulers of unspeakable body parts.
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