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    Go Back  The Jittery Journeys of November 2004  Go Forward
    What ho, nitwits of the ram type persuasion! I trust all things are 'pip pip' and 'top hole' for you as we proceed to the month of naughty November and the vile and bitter prognostications thereof! Don't bother to answer! My medication is dangerously low and I was never one to take unnecessary risks in the matter of converse with lesser beings.

    We left you last time, enjoying the fruits of your latest rustic foray. Sated in every sense, my little ovine twerps! Thus, this month, your newfound beloved urges you to undertake the journey of ovine enlightenment, described in last month's piffle. Vamping Venus conjoins in a disgusting manner with jolly Jupiter and you have one more round of everything sweet before you ready yourself to essay the path. Mischievous Mercury enters the lunatic sign of Sagittarius and your mind wanders through all you know about the disciplines of higher learning.

    Thirty seconds later, you've run out of things to think about but, fortunately, nasty Neptune clashes with the great Sol Invicti and find yourself surrounded by spectral figures wearing shepherd's cloaks and carrying shepherd's crooks. The blind panic in your body takes your mind off unprecedented rumination with regard to what everyone else would describe as your intellectual inadequacy.

    Eek! You try to flee but the world seems to spin till nothing is real but these grim provincial phantoms. They gesture spectrally as spectres are inclined to do. Ghastly planets fart in nasty aspect and the voice of your beloved whispers through the shimmering mists: 'Nay, my love! Do not fly! These are spirit guides! The bucolic Bolivars! They have etheric form only and dwell in a cave at the summit of a high mountain in Venezuela where they sit in sublime meditation (gods, do they know nothing of irritation) working for the good of humanity through the mysteries of sheep. They are the Essenes of Ovinity and will guide you to the ovine world.'

    Because you have an unfortunate tendency to believe anything anyone says if they promise you sex, you overcome what is laughingly known as your better judgement and set out to follow these sylvan shades. Lugubrious Saturn turns retrograde, making everything more depressing than usual. Marauding Mars enters morbid Scorpio, bringing a New Moon in that odious sign.

    And, great gods alive and dead, what's this! Why, you are initiated into unspeakable mysteries concerning sheep. Thus, because they are unspeakable, none but you and I will ever know them and I promise you I will never discuss them with your parents or anyone concerned with humanitarian causes or the practice of law enforcement. This, of course, is not to protect you. Rather, it protects me from another increase in dosage strength due to excruciating boredom.

    As vamping Venus makes a series of unfortunate aspects to miserable Saturn and cranky Chiron, you find yourself (because of these unspeakable revelations) moaning and bewailing the tragedy of your pathetic life and meaningless existence. As mischievous Mercury conjoins with underworld Pluto, you have a long, boring dissertation from the bucolic Bolivars that sets your mind at rest, even though you instantly forget everything they say. Nonetheless you are filled with renewed fervour. As the great Sol Invicti enters loony Sagittarius, you decide to launch a crusade to better the world by speaking of those mysteries of sheep and Ovinity that aren't unspeakable. One dreads to speculate as to their content.

    Vamping Venus moves into gruesome Scorpio and you find the same unrestrained sexual activity in the spirit world you have so recently enjoyed on the green green grass of your new home. It's all rumpy pumpy and deep mysteries at the moment so one must conclude that nitwit planets disport themselves in your solar eighth and twelfth houses at this time.

    This, of course, is the case. The great Sol Invicti then clashes with idiot Uranus, ushering in a Full Moon in addlepate Gemini and you decide to revive your masterwork writings of yesteryear. They are the rather boldly simple 'THE MEANING OF SHEEP & THE SEARCH FOR OVINITY' and the darker, more radical 'LAMBA SUTRA' (you'll find them in the archives). Vamping Venus and marauding Mars conjoin in unseemly fashion to rut in the cosmic gutters with nasty Neptune. And there you are, ram type twerps, poised on the brink of infinity! You are ready to launch yourself, by means of the ineluctable modality, along the road of the unnamable into the abyss of the unspeakable where you will dwell forever with the rest of that which is mysterious, sadly, by dint of its presence rather than its absence. You! Ta! Ta!

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