Greetings, my little loonies! It is I! Asperitus! Terrible to behold and worse to listen to! I come bearing gifts, but I am not Greek! You probably won't like the gifts anyway, as they're much the same as those you had last time. The vile and bitter prognostications! Imbibed from the dread cup! Et cetera, et cetera! Of course, this dose is for obnoxious October whereas last time it was for savage September but, honestly, is there really any difference? It's a benighted universe that is ruled by insane gods!
The days drift into one another till there's no telling them apart, unless there's an increase in prescription strength or it's one's birthday or perhaps it's the birthday of some other person, someone whose birthday one should have remembered and didn't. Anyway, I suppose I shouldn't witter on like this otherwise I'll lose track and fall asleep. I think I'm late with the forecast as things stand but, with all the clocks in Heaven set at twenty past two, I'm not entirely sure. We don't have calendars here you know! That's why I rely upon the knots in my handkerchief. Calendars and insane gods are not a good mix! They look at them (the gods, that is), worrying about the passage of time and wondering if they should do something important or ceremonial, like declaring the end of the world or demanding more wine on the altars at the harvest. And then they start wanting the months of the year or the days of the week named after them! That's the worst thing, as they all have such peculiar appellations and love to fight about the pecking order!
Well, it's been nice chatting like this but I really must get on! Last time, you had found an angel to be a comfort in affliction, an ideal partner and your sexual fulfillment, though it must be said the angelic attentions required the use of instruments, as the creatures don't have sex organs. Whilst strange, the experience had it's appeal and 'strange' is up your alley, as a general rule. Thus, we left you drowning in a sea of total attention. So, what will happen this time?
Well, I'll tell you. Mischievous Mercury grinds his passage (eek) into morbid Scorpio and engages in unseemly acts with cranky Chiron. You find you're worried and disturbed, giving way to fears and concerns you can't allay. After all, the angels you met were boring, sycophantic creatures that sat about pleasing god and singing or taking notes. I mean, how can you take an angel to the supermarket or discuss the latest fashion in gold pens or chat about why twenty past two is your favourite time? And what is this creature going to do as regards providing proper financial support for your indolence and unspeakable personal habits and addictions?
As a Full Moon rages in idiot Aries, you find you're increasingly concerned about your angel's income potential and become so distressed that you buy a whole lot of things you don't need then lock yourself in the bathroom and cry. Largely, this kind of behaviour is wasted on angels, as you soon discover by dint of the fact that your particular one simply directs the angelic gaze (beautiful eyes, it must be said) heavenwards and sings 'holy, holy, holy'. Somehow, this leaves you unsatisfied, as mischievous Mercury gropes the private parts of narcotic Neptune. At the New Moon in lackwit Libra, you have irritable sex, make cutting remarks about the angelic 'implement' and spend more money, running up the credit card to see if the age of miracles is over or not, as paying the bill will certainly require one.
But what's this? Great gods alive and dead, my tiny turnips! It's a gaggle of ghastly planets, grinding a passage (eek) into the ghastly reaches of morbid and compulsive Scorpio. What news from the kingdom of the dead? Doubtless, you will soon discover! And indeed you do, but all the communication is from Heaven, not Hell for your angel is on the phone constantly thereto talking to god and the other angels about angelic business in which you cannot be involved. The deity is apparently quite picky about who he will speak to (several examples in history may be cited to prove this). Thus you never get a word in. And, these heavenly creatures communicate in language you can't understand or use words involving so many letters you become confused whilst listening. You feel excluded, have tantrums and spend time looking out of the window, wondering about the weather, death and the meaning of life. Not life as whole really, so much as your life in particular!
You've dabbled with demons, been a time traveller, been the dolphin of France, stood on your head, been a buccaneer, found an angel and yet you're still unhappy. You begin to think that it must be you, my tiny twerps! There's something wrong with you! That's what you think. And, of course, you're right (a thing not often said).
Eek! Egad! Gadzooks! And other such quaint expressions to indicate surprise and alarm. As further gruesome planets crawl into the sign that rules the anus, you become fixated on these ruminations as you hang out of the window, watching storm clouds gather. You wonder why it is that no one understands you! You wonder where you might find happiness with other people that are like you (snigger)! And you wonder why it is that you feel hungry again, right after eating a Chinese meal. The ghastly planets in Scorpio do nasty things to other ghastly planets that are in idiotic Aquarius and your solar twelfth house. You feel wretched and can't move from the window sill, so consuming are these aimless and deranged (it must be said) contemplations. The air is filled with mysterious whisperings. Strange breezes whisk your hair and clothing, leaving you in a visual disarray that matches your spiritual and emotional dishevellment.
Great gods alive and dead, what's this that's happening now? Eek! Aargh! Mischievous Mercury squeaks into perverse reverse in the sign of evil Scorpio. Darkness descends! It's Halloween, my wretched, tear-stained ninnies! The ghosts of failure and disappointment again are summoned from the dampness of your inner deeps to haunt you as you hang frozen at the window while angels chatter with the deity, somewhere in the background of your tragic life!
Where will you go? What will you do? Frankly, fishy types! No one gives a damn. Return here next time, if you will. Although, there'll only be more of this outrageous piffle on offer. And you're confused enough already! Ave, piscine horrors!