- Yippee Yi Yo, tiny creatures of the sex organ persuasion! It's time for your monthly dose of twaddle. Poison from the pen of the pontificating prophet! Bile from the black bottle of the baffling bard! Or, as such are more familiarly known, the vile and bitter prognostications from the aperture (the mouth, of course) of Asperitus, oracle of the truth that never hesitates (even for a moment to speak its name).
Last time, it was Halloween, and you were in the slough of despond, even more than somewhat! The body and mind of you, and whatever more private parts you possess, were in the keeping of an elderly spirit guide who has turned out to be something of a possessive demon. Thus had you risen to dizzy heights of wealth and power, as life coach and mentor to as much of the population as could be gripped and groped within the designated period! How cruelly obtained! How cruelly discarded! It sounds like another day at the office for you insectoid types! However, the rub was not in the ceaseless gratification but in the complete absence of feeling for you, a passenger in the back seat of the careering vehicle of your life. It's not so much a question of death where is thy sting but rather life where is thy sting? Still in the tail, tiny gruesome creatures, as we shall see!
I am late with the forecast. However, I do not blame the current political crisis for this laggard behaviour as I slept through that as well. In fact, I would have slept even longer had it not been for the ceaseless racket that issues from the bowels of the benighted universe ruled by insane gods in which I, of course, must dwell. Thus, I will not discuss this matter further but begin immediately to recount the irritations missed and then pursue those yet to be had.
Odious planets disport themselves in nasty aspect and your sense of alienation grows as bodies and dollars pass through your hands as water passes through a tap. Marauding Mars clashes with miserable Saturn and you feel oppressed! Egad! You feel depressed! Aargh! And, what's worse, you feel repressed! Eek! As the old devil (Saturn) turns retrograde, you feel as if you're immersed in a black cloud and longing for the days of atheism when you set out boldly to encourage others to join with you in this flouting of the notion of the deity. Life seemed simple then.
But this, little scorpion twerps, is a benighted universe ruled by insane gods and one of them, it seems, has a hold on you now. But, great gods alive and dead, what's this? Why, my little anal things! It's ray of sunshine on an otherwise cloudy day. Marauding Mars enters your sign and you move from bleak depression to a simmering volcanic resistance in a trice. You surge within (gods, what a revolting proposition). The New Moon comes in your own ghastly sign and these tides of resistance become an assault force, born in the scorpion volcano of your inner depths and erupting outwards to throw off the grip of this spirit that has possessed you.
Damn the solstice! Damn cranky Chiron and miserable Saturn! Damn everything that holds you back from being all you wish to be (this life coach business is more serious than I thought, by the gods)! Vamping Venus disports herself in the Heavens and you begin your struggle, in the middle of a public broadcast as it happens. Great gods alive and dead! The battle for control of your spirit is taking place on live TV. Imagine how famous you'll be regardless of the result. You wriggle, vibrate and contort yourself into any and every position known to man, woman or beast! Mischievous Mercury conjoins with underworld Pluto and wild and violent cries issue from your throat. The audience runs screaming from the studio as desperate cameramen and directors catch all the action as they duck from the flying missiles and expletives that fill the air about your struggling form.
It's the Full Moon in nitwit Gemini as the great Sol Invicti clashes with idiot Uranus and you expel the demon from your body by screaming an ancient magical spell you did not know you knew. By my little brown bottle, you've succeeded! You collapse, exhausted to the floor. The now disembodied spirit acknowledges your victory. He smiles a quizzical smile and wanders off into the ether to seek more vulnerable game than you. Of course, your career as a life coach is at an end after this fiasco, but you open your eyes to find that a contract has been placed in your hand, offering you the starring role in THE EXORCIST XVII because of your outstanding performance.
Hooray, my artful arachnids! You have triumphed over evil, or so it seems! Click here next time and see how your career in film (Uranus in Pisces) is going to progress. Until then, farewell!
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