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 Asperitus Casting Runes... |
Salutations, my rampant rulers of unmentionable body parts! We left you in a quandary last time, suffering something of a split personality. One part of you was the evil mesmerist, international torturer and media personality, Dr Caligari, while the other was an uncharacteristically fearful individual, prone to worry and the agonies of self-doubt. You had a somnambulist servant, a cabinet full of helpless victims, an array of exquisite implements and an international audience and yet you dithered, clasping uncertain hands to your heaving girlish bosom (so to speak). It was as if the abyss itself opened at your feet!
Great gods alive and dead, what's to become of us if you are to crack under the duress of ghastly planets farting in nasty aspect! For that's what happens as we open the book on manic March and the ignominious ides thereof. Sit back upon your private parts and attend me, frightful insect things! These are the vile and bitter prognostications for the month. Mischievous Mercury clashes with Pluto, dark god of the underworld as marauding Mars wrestles with jolly Jupiter. The cue comes to begin the show (it's live to air) but you cannot even select an instrument of pain, let alone stay your hand from trembling to pick one up. Those inside the cabinet plead for mercy from the evil Doctor, as vamping Venus conjoins in unseemly fashion with Uranus, the idiot god. You're almost moved by what you hear! Eek! They're trying to take advantage of your good nature! How unsettling! The rest of us were unaware that you had one. Perhaps there may be a remedy for this parlous condition. And, a remedy may be just what you need as mischievous Mercury moves to Aries and your solar sixth house. Your hands sweat. Fever racks your body. Miserable Saturn exerts his icy grip on marauding Mars and you're held in thrall to this paralysing uncertainty of purpose. Oh dear! It's as if you aren't 'you' anymore. How tragic! Come a New Moon in tear-stained Pisces, your worst fears are realized as the growing fracture in your nature becomes a chasm and you are actually split in two, Pisces being what is known as a double sign! Eek! Just think of it! One of you was more than mortal folk could bear and now there are two. But there may be sport in this for the rest of us yet for one is the dread doctor, Caligari! But the other is the wittering twerp you have become under the hideous eroding influence of jolly Jupiter, nasty Neptune and cranky Chiron. One moment, you're the twerp and, on hearing pitiful weeping and imprecations from the cabinet, you fly to release a victim as the great Sol Invicti and vamping Venus clash with Pluto, dark god of the underworld. The next moment, as you have the snivelling, overly grateful creature (a wretched little fellow and a Pisces, no doubt) right to hand, you're transformed into the evil doctor. Oh great gods, what's this? Cosmic cacophony unleashes its clamour upon a naughty world! And, as the great Sol Invicti rolls into arrogant Aries and your solar sixth house, your wicked delight in the use of sharp precision instruments returns. You seize an implement in your nasty insectoid fingers but mischievous Mercury then turns retrograde and the twerp begins to mewl and whine inside your tortured brain. 'Spare this one' cries the twerp. 'Nay,' says Caligari. Marauding Mars creeps into Aquarius, sign of the idiot god, and you become enraged, screaming wildly at yourself. But who is screaming at whom? The hapless and helpless victim looks on, one moment uplifted by vain hope, the next crushed by dark despair, as you bat the insults and exhortations back and forth between these parts of you. Marauding Mars conjoins in unseemly fashion with cranky Chiron and you seize yourself by the throat and begin to scream the word 'mother' aloud, uncertain now of which one of you you're meant to be. At that very moment, the Full Moon comes in loathsome Libra and your solar twelfth house (eek) and you're torn apart by the rising tide of desperately painful incidents you involuntarily recollect from childhood. You have dark flashes involving asparagus, cayenne pepper and mysterious immigrants from Antwerp. The wretched victim slips from your nerveless fingers and falls to the floor, seeming to have disposed of himself without your assistance. You're sweating, feverish and tortured beyond all reason and belief. Painful, yes! But will it make good television? Click here next time and see as we enjoy a further exciting installment of ASPARAGUS IN ANTWERP, A SCORPION'S TALE. Ta! Ta! | ||||
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