Great giggling gargoyles, little idiot types! It's devilish December and I've got something to say to you. It's vile! It's bitter! And it's prognosticatory in nature! In fact, it's the vile and bitter prognostications for the aforementioned month. Sit down upon your flatulent backsides and take in every word I say for there will be questions at the end, if either of us is still conscious.
Last time, we left you shouting your defiance from the dock in the court of the Akashic Council, as you railed against the judgements made upon you and dared the doom of ages to fall upon your tiny pointed head. So, what will happen this time? We'd best investigate! And the first thing we hear is the nasty grinding of marauding Mars as he thrusts his rude attentions into the private parts of jolly Jupiter while lugubrious Saturn and narcotic Neptune play voyeurs to the disgusting spectacle. And so does the ancient court accept your defence (or lack of it) by announcing their readiness to sentence you for the crimes of which you are, by your admission, guilty.
As a New Moon comes in your addlepate sign the outlook is grim, my tiny drooling wretches! And with mischievous Mercury still retrograde in Scorpio and your solar twelfth house (eek! misery incorporated), you begin weeping and wailing and gnashing your teeth, wishing you had not run off at the mouth (so to speak), a failing for which your ghastly sign is legendary. In fact, you become so depressed you do not actually listen to the sentence that the court hands out, another failing for which your sign is legendary. Cranky Chiron re-enters Aquarius, sign of the idiot god, in which he has previously disported himself in a despicable manner at an earlier point in the year, the exact timing of which I now forget, largely due to ennui. Ennui is, in fact, the sole reason I forget most things, apart from the renewal of the sacred scripts of which I am the irritable keeper. For they are the source of the delights to be found in the brown bottle and the silver tube.
Now, where was I? Oh, that's right! You're sitting in court, getting depressed while the Akashic Council burbles on about the punishment fitting the crime. But, by my sainted aunt, what's this? It's the hideous screech of cosmic gears, as the insane gods take a shortcut to the nearest watering hole. Thus, mischievous Mercury, now moving forwards, returns to your sign and, in passing, gropes cranky Chiron in a manner that should render him liable for prosecution in a civilized society. Thus are you possessed again by the ungainly twitching that dogged your saintly life in Athens! And, of course, flying flecks of spittle (they heal at a touch) and incoherent babbling make their presence felt in the once dry confines of the Akashic Court.
Suddenly, you remember that the very beginning of this nonsensical tale was your desire to become a pessimist. As you are severely depressed, you realize that you have achieved your spiritual goal. But what's this? Gadzooks! The odd humour of this epiphany makes you laugh aloud, alleviating your depression but causing you to think you have failed in your mission to become a pessimist as your natural optimism has reasserted itself. This realization, ipso facto, makes you depressed again.
By all the gods alive and dead! This is known as a vicious circle, a piece of geometric savagery devised, no doubt, by a person of the Greek persuasion whose beliefs were rooted in the philosophical preoccupations about fatefulness for which the Greeks are justly legend. And, by my sainted aunt, it surely is vicious for you, taking place as it does under the auspices of the unseemly congress of Jupiter in your solar twelfth house and Saturn in your solar ninth house! As vamping Venus clambers about the nether regions of Aquarius, sign of the idiot god, the saltations of St Archer bring the court to its feet. You launch into a sermon, complete with uncontrollable spasms, on the role of humour in the war between good and evil as you oscillate between manic laughter and hysterical tears. Eek!
As a Full Moon glowers in nitwit Gemini and mischievous Mercury fondles the private parts of idiot Uranus, mayhem erupts in the Court. The members of a previously subdued community, given only to engaging in sober discourse and wearing sensible shoes, break into riotous behaviour at the incitement of your garish display. They take sides, for and against the moral debate on laughter. They place bets on the judgement of the court. They begin to trade buffets and even blows in the excitement of the moment. And, through it all, St Archer rants, twitches and sprays the holy spray whose slightest touch incites all those present to wild insurrection. The great Sol Invicti grinds his way to grim Capricorn, visiting another solstice on a naughty world, and the court officials attempt to restore order by fining you and the unruly crowd whom they name maffickers and malcontents, rebels and recreants. However, neither threat nor fine will stay the spray and spasms of St Archer. Mischievous Mercury inserts his private member's bill into the parliament of narcotic Neptune and your torrent of words is psychic, inspired and touched by such frenzied ecstasy as would make women clutch their heaving bosoms and groan men weep without surcease. And when the little tike performs an obscene act with Pluto, dark god of the underworld, your roaring and ranting batters and buffets the listeners to their knees and even lower.
Whatever your special magic is, St Archer! You have cast a spell again this day, as vamping Venus begins to move into perverse reverse. As a New Moon comes in lugubrious Capricorn on the eve of the New Year, instead of fining you, a wearied and beleaguered Akashic Court withdraws all charges and sends you on your way, twitching, frothing and foaming, with a sizable financial inducement never to return.
What lies ahead for saltatious St Archer? Why, my precious loonies! It's another fabulous adventure! Click here next time and read about it. For the nonce, ave atque vale!