Hola and hooray, my miserable goatish tragedies!
Last month we left you full of the joys of inspiration as you had thought of yet another means by which you could exert your legendary powers of control and thus profit from the subjugation of others to your goatish will. All this has come through the onset of those disturbing gesticulations that have been your affliction since you arrived in Greece, due of course to the entry of idiot Uranus into Pisces and your solar third house.
Still, you are a pragmatic creature and have found that the threat of your flying limbs causes others to obey your instructions with a promptness somewhat lacking in recent times. Thus you have decided to encode these wild gyrations into a kind of martial art that you will both practice and teach. It will become the new dance craze of the corporate world as magnates and CEO’s everywhere fling their limbs about to keep recalcitrant employees in line.
The Full Moon blazes in loathsome Sagittarius. Ghastly planets cavort in unseemly aspect in the Heavens and we find you, little goatish tragedies, armed with a multitude of mirrors and digital cameras, recording your every erratic move for the instruction manual that a dozen secretaries are even now writing according to your dictation. Vamping Venus eclipses the great Sol Invicti and you study your image, beginning to see a strange beauty in this saltatious figure, captured on camera, almost as though it’s another side of you, one hidden beneath the fašade of depressing misery more familiar to us all. You let a rare smile play about the contours of your wooden features. The ghost of a laugh begins to haunt the graveyard of your speech.
Great gods alive and dead, goatish tragedies! You may be beginning to like yourselves a little! How can this be! Even in a benighted universe ruled by insane gods, such a thing would be beyond description or belief. And yet, by my little brown bottle, it appears to be happening!
Come the New Moon in fatuous Gemini, this unspeakable nightmare has come to pass for you see, in the mirror, a creature of surpassing beauty reflected back. Where you are normally the leaden creature of misery and ambition, this dancing figure is the wild mountain goat, always ready for a risk and a laugh. You look longingly and wish you could become exactly what you see. A strange feeling enters your body as the image shimmers with life.
And what’s this, goatish types! The great Sol Invicti enters neurotic Cancer, bringing the Solstice and new companions and old associates gather round, speaking warmly rather than feigning interest in order to get something from you. Marauding Mars moves into loathsome Leo and you feel stirrings in the nether regions as you thus prepare to drink from the font of love that bubbles at your fingertips. Mischievous Mercury conjoins with sober Saturn and young and old alike come seeking your advice.
It’s happened, hasn’t it! Vamping Venus goes direct and the image you saw in the mirror now is you. A magical transformation is complete for it is the wild mountain goat you are, my little things of knobby knees and stringy beards! Great gods alive and dead! A world in which the goatish tragedies have become likable may test the limits of even my powers of sublime irritation.
But wait! What’s the errant thought that races in my mind? If you’ve become a beauteous mountain goat, what’s happened to the more familiar miserable creature? Shall we look in the mirror and see, my little Dorian Goat? Perhaps next month! Until then! Ta! Ta!