Greetings, idiot children of jabbering Jove! Consider the beauties of the English language, my jug-eared galoots! We have, by virtue of its beneficence, the word 'incompossible'. This refers to two things which, by reason of extreme incompatibility or inconsistency of nature, cannot possibly co-exist. To whit, the Spice Girls and musical taste! President Bush and the democratic process! Your ghastly sign and God's infinite mercy!
This last is a proposition of special merit for the incompossibility of these things is living proof the universe is indeed a benighted realm ruled by insane gods. Whoever could or would allow this (your existence) is a being that knows no mercy! Of course, we have other examples. Shopping malls and the ideal of human sanity! Rush hour traffic and any doctrine of universal brotherhood! Credit cards and the notion of independent wealth! One could go on, of course, but one will not, for one has a job to do! And that job is the vile and bitter prognostications for manic March.
So here they are, my twitching inanities! Read them and weep! As we left you last time, the vile digit of an insane god had touched you with its gruesome fingernail and vast array of unspeakable stains! Once touched, you had become a twitching, dribbling, saltatious living icon of holy lunacy rather than the ersatz 'prophet for profit' that impressed the marks, the tourists and the poor by preaching on the streets of Athens. By all the gods alive and dead, little turnips! This means you may have to be sincere in what you do and say, if you can stop dribbling and twitching for long enough. Mischievous Mercury clashes with Pluto, dark lord of the underworld, and the fit that's come upon you reaches fever pitch. Marauding Mars wrestles with jolly Jupiter while vamping Venus and Uranus, the idiot god, make unseemly concourse. Lurid colours blaze about your face and head, illuminating these vexatious saltations and making you visible for miles around. As mischievous Mercury moves to arrogant Aries, a stream of drivel issues from your lips, in tandem with the dribble whose inexhaustible streams fly forth to touch those who have not donned the wet weather gear that would afford protection from this meteorological display.
At the New Moon in snivelling Pisces, your retinue hastily gathers at your side, set to whisk you away to the safety of your home. However, they find you cannot be moved and so try to make a temporary shelter for you as you leap prodigiously, ranting and glowing. Yet you are in a state of high emotion and none can restrain you. Your dance grows wilder. Your followers throw up their hands and retreat in despair. The adulating crowds fall back, fearful of the danger. The constabulary move in, umbrellas raised and batons at the ready. Egad! You may be headed for a stretch inside!
And then, by my little brown bottle, horror is heaped upon horror for the great Sol Invicti enters arrogant Aries and the gruesome shadow of the Equinox falls once more upon this benighted earth. Mischievous Mercury adds to the confusion by turning retrograde and your wild babbling deteriorates to incoherent bestial sound as all your plans for profitable prophesy come to naught. Worst of all and unutterably nasty to boot, marauding Mars now creeps into Aquarius, sign of the idiot god. But what's this! Why it's a stroke of fortune that may have saved the day! How uncanny! Mars conjoins in unseemly fashion with cranky Chiron and a massive power blackout strikes the city. Athens is in darkness! Eek!
And yet it is not! For there, in the city square shines the light of St Archer of the Tombs. As the Full Moon comes in loathsome Libra, you become a traffic light to guide the errant motorist, shifting in the time-honoured manner from red through yellow to green (you also function as a beacon for low-flying aircraft). Your saltations transmute to a dance of hand signals, left and right, stop and go, that make you the finest officer on point the constabulary have ever seen. They put aside all thought of arrest and applaud you. Good fellows, one and all!
As the great Sol Invicti conjoins with vamping Venus and mischievous Mercury, your dancing lights restore order to a city in chaos and legend is made that day, my tiny nitwit things! It is the legend of how St Archer of the Tombs saved Athens from the gathering dark. It will become a feast day and be taught in schools, spoken of in cafes and bars and be the subject of many a prayer in church from now till it is forgotten at some time in the future. And gentlemen in England (or elsewhere for that matter) now abed shall think themselves accursed they were not there (in Athens), and hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks that crossed at the lights upon St Archer's day!
Gods, I'm feeling unwell! I'll have to rest now. Medic! Bring my little brown bottle and my silver tube! If I can arise from my bed of woe, I shall do so in order to write more of this piffle next month.