Gadzooks, ranting and rambunctious ninnies! It is I, Asperitus, oracle of bitter truth, speaking with you, the odious ovines and first cab off the rank for the ghastly wheel of animals that is the Zodiac belt. How are you, say I! But the question is one of form only. By my little brown bottle, don't dare to answer! I have neither the time nor the inclination to converse with lesser beings (yourselves).
Last time, you were in the act (in flagrante delicto, I suppose) of becoming a Stoic. This absurd development was consequent upon a watery initiation, one involving the realization of parental abandonment and the teachings of the mysterious bucolic Bolivars, they whose wisdom may not be revealed to anyone else but will never be remembered by you, the only one who hears it. A fine example of the mystery tradition! As a consequence of plumbing these emotional depths, you decided that to want nothing was the sublime state! For wanting things you could not have has been an open wound for you, has it not, my twittering imbeciles! Desire frustrated is a source of constant pain! Stoicism is a philosophical stance of service and restraint devised by Zeno, a gentleman who was not, in fact, the sixth Marx brother but a Phoenician thinker of the fourth century BC. Here endeth the lesson! Here beginneth the cant and rant of vile and bitter prognostication for maudlin May!
The great Sol Invicti clashes with jolly Jupiter and you adopt a grim look and wooden gait you believe will make you look as stoics once looked in days gone by when they wandered stoically on Rome's seven hills. But what's this? Great gods alive and dead, it's marauding Mars skulking into snivelling Pisces and your solar twelfth house. Eek! Why that's a ghastly place of horror and ennui if ever there was one!
What will happen now? Distant figures hurl abuse and sharp objects but you ignore them stoically. You fall prey to lunatic fears and fancies but suppress them stoically. Vamping Venus wrestles with dark Pluto, underworld god and you elect to eschew contact with the opposite sex, or the same sex, or indeed any other sexes you may have missed whilst on your journey of wild and profligate behaviour. Mischievous Mercury clashes with lugubrious Saturn and you feel depressed. But then you realize stoicism is depressing so your feelings are only natural. Come a New Moon in cloddish Taurus, one that brings ghastly aspects to nasty Neptune, you decide to give away all you have so you will not be encumbered by material possessions, other than the simple necessities. However, as there's no one about you can actually give them to, you just leave them where they're lying on the ground, a habit of yours that has driven parents and partners to the edge of sanity throughout your life.
Lugubrious Saturn then clashes with the Lunar Nodes while mischievous Mercury moves to Taurus and you realize that without your shiny things you won't have friends as no one likes you for yourself. This stoicism is tricky, isn't it, my tiny nitwits! You'd almost have to be a stoic to become one, if you take my meaning.
Marauding Mars clashes with jolly Jupiter as the great Sol Invicti wrestles with dark Pluto, lord of the underworld. Egad! The rain and winds begin again. You weep, feeling lonely and abandoned as before. The bucolic Bolivars float in midair, looking mystical but saying nothing. You begin to wonder if this is because they actually have nothing to say.
Marauding Mars next conjoins in unseemly fashion with Uranus, the idiot god and you realize you're as miserable now that you are a stoic as you were before you became one. Perhaps your lifelong conviction that religion is the opium of those who don't like red cars and hitting people (your preferred options) was actually correct.
Gadzooks! Perhaps you're the bearer of universal truth and you just didn't know it. The Full Moon blazes in lunatic Sagittarius and you laugh insanely at your misery. You're disillusioned with philosophy mere moments after you began with it. Eek! This could turn nasty, tiny Ram type things! Where will you seek comfort? You call out for Mummy and Daddy (your sheep) but they gambol off in another direction. You plead with them to come back but they ignore you. The bucolic Bolivars turn their ethereal backs. You're alone and not very stoic at all. Thus, you do as you have always done when a crisis comes. Ghastly planets fart in the cosmic winds and you mutter angrily to yourself, have sex with an imaginary partner (there's another name for this) and throw your toys after the retreating sheep.
I'm going to have to lie down. I'm feeling unwell. Do click here next month and see if either of us can make sense of this odious debacle, risibly referred to as your life. Ta! Ta!