What ho, my fine, finny flibbertigibbets! Ghastly doings are afoot in Heaven! And thus, as we all well know, ghastly doings are set to transpire on earth! We left you in a somnolent posture, reclining and declining on all the footpaths of the world (figuratively speaking) while persons of an 'all and sundry' nature tramped on you in uncaring fashion. They ignored your parlous condition (as is customary) and put your clothing (a bath towel, as I remember it) and cosmetic adornment in disarray.
As I also recall it, you were crying out for love in a loveless world. Sigh! How tragic! And how out of touch with the reality of a benighted universe ruled by insane gods! Enough of that! Let us get on about the vile and bitter prognostications for the current month, obnoxious October, as I'm reliably informed by the staff here in Heaven. Eek! Insanity is unleashed on the very first day as the farting of ghastly planets threatens to engulf this benighted world in a disgusting cloud of noxious miasma! Marauding Mars is, of course, in the forefront of the flatulence (or should that be 'at the rear') as he turns tail on the world and begins moving in reverse!
Eek again and 'egad' to boot! How unseemly and disturbing! He does so in the cloddish sign of the Bull, grappling nastily with vamping Venus in morbid Scorpio. From your somnolent posture, you are untimely ripped by an altercation between foreign persons about the possession of a bull. Perhaps it's a wounded toreador (retrograde Mars) in dispute with his dark-eyed Spanish paramour (Venus in your solar ninth house)! What do you think? Hmm!
As your recollection of this will be, in time, as hazy as your recollection of everything else (your life included), we may never know. Suffice to say that what transpires is Spanish in the main (note the pun)! The New Moon in loathsome Libra brings a Solar Eclipse to the evil South Node whilst mischievous Mercury interferes with the private parts of jolly Jupiter. A ruckus erupts, blasting you from conscious! Death and blood abound in the Spanish manner as hot words fly and knives are drawn. The minions of the law rush to end the affray but only serve to extend it to a minor civil war, with a change of government thrown in (also very Spanish!).
By my little brown bottle, what's this? Why, it's the Heavens erupting into worse clouds of flatulence than the flatulence we had before! Marauding Mars makes unseemly congress with jolly Jupiter and dark Pluto, lord of the underworld, to form another finger of god (you had one divine digit last month, if I remember aright)! This one comes amidst the blood bath in the streets, with you barely conscious and the minions of the law calling for body bags by the score. The Full Moon blazes in arrogant Aries, bringing a Lunar Eclipse to your house of money and the bath towel (last remnant of your riches) is stripped from you by a passerby to stanch the flow of blood from some nameless victim of this atrocity. The great Sol Invicti gropes jolly Jupiter and legal persons arrive by the gaggle to set the machineries of liability suits in motion. Mischievous Mercury ruts in the gutters of Heaven with marauding Mars and the crowd around your naked, semi-conscious form roils and seethes in a most unsettling manner. A minion of the law places the lead of the bull (the cause of this fiasco) into your nerveless fingers as he stretches to subdue an hysterical passerby with the expert use of his long baton.
But, by my sainted aunt, what's this? It's the great Sol Invicti, lurching into morbid Scorpio! And following upon his wounded heels comes jolly Jupiter, slithering into that same hag-ridden sign. The Heavens open! A torrent of rain descends, scattering the hooligan hordes and banishing the blood bath in a sodden moment. You wake from your unconsciousness, refreshed by this nectar from the clouds. You find yourself nude in a public street (eek), holding onto the leash of a bull (ugh) and watching the waters rise (aargh).
Gadzooks, tiny fishy types! Should you be King Canute and tell the tide to turn back? Should you devote yourself to Mithras, the Roman god, and sacrifice the bull to save yourself? Or should you trade your bull for a dinghy and become a new Noah, riding to safety on the current wave (note the pun) of flooding? These and other questions, abstruse and inane, may or may not be answered when you click here next time! Perhaps the angels you have sought will sing for you at last! Or perhaps they will not! In a benighted universe ruled by insane gods, who can say! Ave, my finny fools!
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