Great barking bandicoots and masticating monkeys! It's you, my hircine horrors! And I must speak with you, or so I'm told by the staff here in Heaven. It seems I must clarify the turning of the cosmic wheels in these, the last remaining days of jittery January. By my sainted aunt, it's so damnably late now that it hardly seems worth it. After all, we could simply return to our slumbers and wait for a better year, imbibing deeply from the little brown bottle in the sure and certain conviction that one will never come.
That's a grim statement, isn't it! And one suitable for your depressing sign! Ugh! The rulership of Saturn! Burdensome indeed is the karmic stone you drag about the place with chains that are no doubt fixed to your knees, a most Saturnian part of the body, I assure you. However, on the subject of Saturn, I divine that the lugubrious lord and master of illness, old age and calcification would simply say 'better late than never'. Thus are we condemned to our respective fates! I, Asperitus, laggard, lunatic and lollygag extraordinaire, must write prognostications. You, my teeny-weenie goatish types, must read them or not as you will. I expect you have nothing better to do anyway.
In the interim since we spoke, many things have happened but little has actually occurred. However, out of the goodness of my heart, I shall recount those events of a cosmic and astrological nature that have cast their irritating shadow on this benighted earth. Last time we left, you were severely depressed and wondering if you should buy a book on philosophy in order to understand the meaning of life. I put this down to the presence of Jupiter in your solar twelfth house (eek) but it may well be that you simply drank too much over the festive period and became deluded. The delusion of course being that life has any meaning whatsoever. A Full Moon came in the neurotic sign of Cancer early on. Females will have been emotional in your presence. Family members may have thrown food at you or received the wrong prescription from the chemist and spent the evening mooing like cows. Vamping Venus slithered into idiot Aquarius as mischievous Mercury cavorted with Uranus and you will have called a 'phone sex' line but will have accidentally connected to a Swedish service that you ended up enjoying, despite the language barrier. The great Sol Invicti and mischievous Mercury performed lewd acts in your sign and you will have lectured all and sundry about reality once again. As marauding Mars rammed his rude bit into the underworld of dark Pluto, you will have had a mysterious explosion in the basement, a nasty cut to the thigh or had a blunt object thrown at you by an outraged foreigner.
That brings us up to date, I think. Thus, we begin the vile and bitter prognostications that will cause you to tremble in your tiny booties, goatish types! Mischievous Mercury rallies himself for a run through the sign of idiot Aquarius and you lecture everyone about money and become even stingier with spending. Marauding Mars crashes into your sign and you become angry with the world. You shout and knock things over. You crash into people in the street, threatening them or demanding sexual favours. Pretty much the same thing as far as your appeal is concerned!
As the New Moon comes in your sign, you decide you will stay angry, and wander the streets, buffeting passers-by and shouting at them. As the great Sol Invicti clatters into Aquarius, sign of the idiot god, your fellow pedestrians are so intimidated by your belligerence that they throw money at you in a desperate effort to get you to depart. You soon see this is a fiscal opportunity and intensify your efforts. The fiscal rewards intensify accordingly. As vamping Venus gropes her way into the sign of wittering Pisces, you decide to try a tragic and tear-stained approach as well as the aggressive one, just to vary the daily business. After you add an almost lethal dose of foetid aroma to your clothing, you find this works equally well.
Great dithering dung beetles! You're onto a good thing here, goatish types! You find a battered perambulator to carry spare filthy garments and hide the money you're raking in. Great tittering toads! Jolly Jupiter impales Uranus, idiot god, on the prong of his trident and you decide you're on a mission to learn of life on the streets. Huzzah! That will be your new philosophy, the tenets of the lowlife and the twilight zone! You will be a wastrel, a 'down and out', a homeless tramp without status, family or gainful employ. Yet you'll have your grubby little hoofs on a fortune in no time at all. After all, if all life is suffering, why shouldn't suffering make the dosh! It seems a simple enough proposition and as close to genuine philosophy as you'll ever come! But will it prove to be so? Or will it become as complicated and unsuccessful as every other endeavour in the interminably miserable fiasco you call your life? Click here next time and see. For the nonce, hail and farewell, goatish tragedies! The insane gods salute you.