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 Asperitus Casting Runes... |
What ho, ghastly little ovines! You've had an unspeakably time lately, wracked by grief, abandonment and neurosis. You've had difficulties with success, failure, lovers, sheep, philosophy, childhood, parents, weather and, on balance, mostly with yourself. And this is all despite the wave of wild vigour on which the journey to Arcadia began all those grueling months ago. Months! It seems like years really, but watching you try to get things right is a long and painful process.
Much of the suffering is, of course, due to the cavorting of ghastly planets in nasty aspect. This is no more than we expect. Lugubrious Saturn has imparted his debilitating misery as he drags an aging, ailing corpus through the sign of neurotic Cancer. Thus you've been obsessed with father and mother figures, parental authority and your consistent failure to gain any sense of control without the aid of bad temper and fisticuffs. And then there are the eccentric revolutions of Uranus, the idiot god, dribbling and twitching in tear-stained Pisces and your solar twelfth house, a place known to be the habitat of drug addicts, liars, lunatics and failures. Eek! No one in their right mind would dwell therein if there were any other choice. And, in addition to the outrageously odd orbits of Uranus in that place of mental and emotional ill-health, you've had to endure the passage of marauding Mars on these selfsame seas of misery. Thus, every effort you've made in recent weeks has gone awry or met with opposition from a hidden source. And, to add to this catalogue of indignities, with jolly Jupiter in your solar seventh house, you've doubtless seen others rise aloft on waves of gossamer success, leaving you far behind as they enter the celestial realms of jollity and self-congratulation. And so, with these cheery thoughts in mind, we enter the dark corridor where we find the vile and bitter prognostications for jaded June. As the month begins, insult is added to injury as marauding Mars grapples in unseemly fashion with dark Pluto, god of the underworld. The tantrum you were having when we left you last time escalates to an eruption of volcanic proportion. Seething rage boils up inside! You hurl your brightest shiniest red possessions to the far horizon in the wake of your retreating flock. You verbally abuse the ovines you once dearly loved and eschew the ovine path in no uncertain terms. You then banish the hovering spirits of the bucolic Bolivars with a storm of fissionable language, much of which is connected with body parts or function. Thus you indicate the foulest depths of your conviction on the matter of the uselessness of spiritual beings in modern life. You end this pyrotechnic display by calling the world and all that dwell within its confines by every nasty name you can conjure on the moment. Thus you decide it is the fault of this naughty world as a whole and your parents in particular that your life is the miasma of wretched suffering that it is. No one ever loved you, not even mummy and daddy! Vamping Venus slides into neurotic Cancer and your solar fourth house. You return to your domicile, bathe, collect your clothes and leave for distant climes. Jolly Jupiter moves forward again and you call your legal team, ordering them to sever every binding relationship you have. A New Moon gibbers in nitwit Gemini and you buy the fastest, reddest vehicle you can find and prowl the streets (who knows what city you're in), filling your head with superficial talk and hurling abuse at fellow drivers as you try to run them from the road. You purchase a vast array of fascinating gadgets with intricate mechanisms, bright colours and no practical use whatever. The method in your madness is that you seek to fly as far from Ovinity and its rustic wisdom as you can. Great gods alive and dead, what's this? Why it's the clatter of ghastly planets, rutting in the gutters of Heaven! Marauding Mars is among them and he moves to your sign, tiny imbeciles, clashing with mischievous Mercury. Vamping Venus clashes with jolly Jupiter while the giant one himself has unseemly congress with Uranus, the idiot god. You thus conceive a master plan. You will drive at speed around the homes of everyone in the world. You will burn rubber, honk your horn, play loud music on your car stereo and yell insulting remarks from your opened window. This will be done in the wee small hours for best effect and the world will live in terror of the vengeance of the progeny of belligerent Mars, warrior god (that's you, my tiny tikes). They'll pay for making your life a misery and not liking you. Great gods alive and dead, as if your troubles aren't already sufficient, the great Sol Invicti visits yet another gruesome solstice on an over-burdened world. Then, as the Full Moon comes in miserable Capricorn and your solar tenth house, you decide to begin this campaign of noisy terror at the old family manse. But what's this? By all the gods, at the very first honk, your mother steps into the street and tells you to come inside at once and go straight to bed. And, by my little brown bottle, such is the pain in your shattered psyche, seared as it is by these sufferings, both recent and lifelong, that these words strike a chord, etched in your tiny brain. You respond, a helpless child to the familiar sting of her lovingly abrasive tones. The prodigal returning home! You step from the car, surrender the keys and go meekly to your room. There you're greeted by familiar red sheets, familiar pictures of red cars and even the familiar hotchpotch collection of German pistol replicas, knives and blunt instruments on your bedside table. You swoon as you realize mummy and daddy still love you as they always did, little ovine things! And, thus comforted, you fall into the most blissful sleep you have had for many a moon. Until, from deep in your slumbers, an urgent plea comes to trouble your recumbent form. What's that? A distant sound! Is that the cry of sheep? Great gods alive and dead, what can be happening? Did you not leave Arcadia far behind to dwell again in the land of childhood bliss? Eek! What does this mean? Click here next month and see! Ave, ovines! | ||||
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