Yippee Yi Yo, little goatish types! Last time we left you, the tragic tale of the Mirror of Dorian Goat had taken a mysterious turn. You were disillusioned with the art of gesticulation. You were driven to despair by Olympic souvenirs. You were soured by success without meaning and power with no thrill. In fact, you were driven to the edge of madness by the immovable cherubic smile on your face and evil leering face of the mirror.
Thus you had wandered, distraught, and found yourself in the confines of the Parthenon. There, a stone statue of the great god Pan spoke to you. Thus do you find yourself now on the eve of savage September, awaiting the vile and bitter prognostications thereof so your miserable life may be guided by a being more irritable (in a sublime manner) than you could ever hope to be. And, of course, that being is myself, Asperitus, the prophet of piffle! The high priest of poppycock! The pontiff of pandemonium! Did you know that the word 'pandemonium' means 'place of all the demons'? No, I didn't think so. Oh well! Sigh! On with the show!
As mischievous Mercury is retrograde in Leo when the month begins, you find yourself addressed by the statue of Pan. If you are anticipating some measure of spiritual wisdom to be imparted during converse with a deity then, sadly, you have limited experience of traffic with the other world. Once the introductory badinage about weather and football is out of the way, Pan imparts his teachings. In short (a thing the gods rarely are), he advises you to give up work, get drunk more often and have sex for the sheer pleasure of it. To this end, he conjures a satyr for you to fornicate with and offers you a cup of the wine he is drinking. This is all probably due to the entry of vamping Venus into your solar eighth house. Thus you take advantage of both offers and have the wildest sex you've ever had in this life or any other.
With Mercury moving forward now, Pan hiccups, farts, urges you to break the mirror and start having the kind of life the gods could actually take an interest in. He bids you farewell and returns to his inanimate state. You leave the Parthenon sated but bewildered. But, by my little brown bottle, there's trouble brewing in the Heavens, trouble that shadows your return to town. Marauding Mars clashes with underworld Pluto. An odious New Moon comes in the unspeakable sign of the Virgin. Vamping Venus clashes with nasty Neptune. Thus you discover, to your dismay, that the Olympics are over and no one wants your cheap and nasty souvenirs anymore. All your workers have resigned anyway and have gone back to sitting in cafes and drinking that battery acid they pass off as wine.
Explosive news comes from overseas too. Back home, your unruly children have burned down your house in an effort to get rid of the sponging relatives that had camped there in your absence. Thus, you are left with massive bills that bankrupt you and suck the profit from your success with the art of gesticulation.
Suddenly the air about you is filled with sound of the grinding gears of the cosmos as the great Sol Invicti wreaks the havoc of the Equinox upon the world once more by moving into nitwit Libra. You stand before the mirror, contemplating the idiot smile on your cherubic features while the gruesome mask of pain and despite stares back at you from the shimmering glass. Mischievous Mercury clashes with underworld Pluto as giant Jupiter and marauding Mars follow the great Sol Invicti into your solar tenth house. One last gesticulation ripples through your body and you smash the glass, ending forever the tragic tale of Dorian Goat, a fact for which we all may be genuinely grateful. You liquidate your holdings, pay your debts and, rather than take Pan's advice, fly to Tibet in search of spiritual solace. Once there, you flee to a monastery and make a commitment to a high lama in order to find yourself.
However, as the Full Moon comes in the insufferable sign of Aries, you discover that, due to myopia, you misread the contract and the lama you're committed to is actually spelt 'llama' and is of the hairy and four-legged variety. But, as mischievous Mercury moves to Libra, you realize you're so depressed that you can't be bothered to talk or listen to anyone anyway apart from yourself so a silent animal makes a fair companion. Thus, you mount your teacher and ride to the snow-clad hills in the distance, wondering vaguely why your life is such a miserable and depressing affair. Ask Saturn! And you will note, little goatish types, that this is all as I predicted at the beginning of the year.
Thus do we leave you, riding your llama into the sunset! If you have a mind to read more of this egregious rot, click here next month and, if my medication has done the job, I shall have written more. In the meantime! Tao tao for now!