What ho, rancid Rams! Attend me now with your unsightly and unclean little ears! If there is no deity among the insane gods that is the protector of cretins, imbeciles and the brainless, your goose is cooked. This is not a pretty introduction, I grant you! But it is the best you'll get from me! For I am an haruspex of colossal stature and mighty brain! I am the bard of babble, the herald of harangue and the prophet of piffle, what's more! Yea, I am Asperitus, oracle of bitter truth and these are the vile and bitter prognostications for awful April.
Tremble in your tiny booties, errant offspring of odious Mars! The list of your ill deeds, from the insidious infringement to the piddling peccadillo is at this moment being reckoned in the coinage of karma by the insane gods. And a terrible telling it will be if the general run of divine retribution in history is anything to go by. After all, we've had Sodom and Gomorra, have we not! And the ten plagues of Egypt! Then came the Dark Ages where rampant barbarism was brought on by a fit of divine pique at the decline and fall of Rome.
A very nasty thing, the declining and falling of Romans! Most displeasing to the gods! These selfsame gods then punished the Saxons for invading England by letting the Normans do the same and take it over. They punished the Puritans for being moralistic (another thing the gods don't like) by making them create America which in turn visited tobacco, McDonald's and foreign policy upon an unsuspecting world. And then there was disco music! Clearly, a divine punishment of the white race for the practice of slavery! So, sit on your flatulent backsides and read a bucolic tale of barnyard indiscretions involving ram's tears, the counting of sheep and the coming home to roost of the chickens of naughtiness. Yours, of course, tiny imbeciles! For divine retribution is on your trail.
We left you last time in floods of tears as you navigated the streams of abject sorrow flowing from the dark and bitter lake of realization that it was ill treatment by your mother and father that had made you into the frightful wretch you are today. You howl, wail, weep and carry on in a generally appalling manner, as rains fall, storm winds blow and the phantom crew of the bucolic Bolivars waits with a silent compassionate patience your behaviour does not at all seem to merit. Due (predictably) to ghastly influences, you are in dire straits, my little ovine tikes! You wonder if life or anything about it is worthwhile! No prizes for guessing the answer there. You even begin to wonder who you are and if anything at all is real... You rage at the Heavens that you did not study some philosophy or esoteric belief that might guide you through this stormy passage.
What discipline would suit you? Great Heavens, tiny twerps! Do you think you might be an existentialist? Living with you is hell for other people, but it's not really the same thing, is it! Perhaps you're a solipsist or a fatalist or a nitwit! Before you reach for your dictionary, remember the last is the preferred option for the rest of us, though those with a smattering of education may lean towards the solipsist in kinder moments. As it's multiple choice and you know what the audience thinks (nitwit), you could opt for fifty/fifty. 'Phone a friend' is out of the question, as you don't have any!
I suppose I had better chuck some astrology in here for form's sake. It's the New Moon in your ghastly sign, one that brings a Solar Eclipse. You fall prostrate to the sodden ground at the feet of the bucolic Bolivars, begging for guidance as you no longer know which way to turn. Ghastly planets cavort in nasty aspect while appalling cosmic intercourse takes place between the signs of leaden Taurus and idiot Aquarius. Mischievous Mercury then moves forward and your spiritual mentors begin a seemingly interminable discourse on the fusion of basic values (Taurus) with the ideal of universal brotherhood (Aquarius). Eek! How ghastly! Though it's nothing more than you deserve!
However, you are not ready to surrender to their simple teachings for marauding Mars conjoins in unseemly fashion with nasty Neptune, causing you to rave and thrash in tearful delirium. Mentally, you slay your offending parents, over and over in the kind of ceaseless psychodrama to which you are addicted. But what's this! Great gods alive and dead! Change is afoot! For, suddenly, the Full Moon comes in morbid Scorpio, bringing a Lunar Eclipse to your solar eighth house!
Egad, my tiny ovine twerps! The words of the bucolic Bolivars (droning along all this time) take hold in your puny consciousness and you have a startling revelation! It's only your great desire for things, approval, sex, money etc, that causes you this pain. Well, that's right, isn't it! Remove the desire and all shall be well. Radical emotional surgery, but it's worth a try! What do you think? As ghastly planets rut in the gutters of Heaven, you rise from your prone and damp position, filled with the light of self-realization. You know the philosophy that will be yours. As vamping Venus clashes with nasty Neptune, you cry that you will be a stoic, like the great Roman folk of old. You will live a simple life, do without all but the necessities and find happiness with your sheep in the wilds of Arcadia, protected from the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune by the armour of right conduct.
It sounds good, doesn't it! But, as usual, dark shadows gather at the edges of your beloved forest. Click here next month and see what lurks within them. Ave, you silly stoic persons!