Asperitus Casting Runes...
Greetings, wretched rams! Welcome to the month of fearful February. Listen now with much snivelling and trembling to the vile and bitter prognostications thereof. For, lo, I am Asperitus, the oracle of bitter truth and master of sublime irritation!
We left you at the end of last month on the island of Crete, leading a rag tag and bobtail band of wild hill tribes and swearing vengeance on anyone who has ever wronged you. Idiot Uranus is in tear-stained Pisces! Jolly Jupiter cavorts in Virgo! And, with a raft of heavenly aspects too gruesome to mention, a Full Moon comes in fatuous Leo, tested by nasty Neptune.
Great gods alive and dead, ram type things! How can this be! You have a spiritual experience that leaves you swooning in the Cretan hills. You awake from an ecstatic fit to find you are a changed ovine! You are filled with the milk of human kindness! Gods, how I shudder! You determine to put aside your mighty oaths of vengeance and do good in the world!
Mischievous Mercury enters idiot Aquarius and you begin babbling about compassion and universal love, subjects as foreign to you as red cars and physical violence are familiar. Vamping Venus moves into your sign and a beatific glow of gentleness seems to fall from Heaven and enfold you.
As marauding Mars harmonizes with lugubrious Saturn in nitwit Cancer, you decide to make your home in the hills of this land. But wild hill persons you shall not be! Yours will be a commune of love!
As a New Moon comes in wretched Pisces, conjoining with idiot Uranus, you conceive a scheme both wild and mad, one that will bring peace to a naughty world. You choose the best voices from among your hill persons, train them as a choir, then set them to sing like Sirens on the rocks of Crete to lure ships in and sink them. But these sailors shall not drown! Oh no! They will be saved (as you have been saved), then fed upon the nectar of the gods (drugged), given a surfeit of all the physical pleasures known to man or beast (or at least those you know) and thus converted to the ways of peace! And you, little things of smelly horn and fleece, you shall be the new god of peace and love who shall bring this naughty world to a new age!
Great gods alive and dead, wretched rams! One can contemplate eternal oblivion with some equanimity, given the unfolding of this unseemly nightmare. See you next month!