Ave, insectoid travesties! I'm late with the forecast, I know. However, as you were unconscious when we left you last time, I didn't think you'd notice. Anyway, we'll make up for lost time by proceeding at speed. Attend me now, my morbid lunatics. I am Asperitus, oracle of bitter truth, and this is THE SCORPION'S TALE or ASPARAGUS IN ANTWERP!
At the end of awful April, you were aboard the ship of ghosts, on the seas of nightmare, sailing for a distant land called 'dark secrets from the past'! Eek! How ghastly! But how predictable as far as you're concerned. So where will you be in maudlin May?
Let us consult the vile and bitter prognostications and find out. An adulating public howls for the merest flicker of your mesmeric glance. This is due to the success of your new reality show, THE CABINET OF DR CALIGARI! But as jolly Jupiter and idiot Uranus wrestle in a bizarre, erotic cosmic concatenation, you live instead in a world of anaesthetic dreams. On and on you sail in the vessel of the unconscious, deeper and deeper into the hidden realms, wherein dwells Pluto, dark god of the underworld and dread lord of your ghastly sign!
Come a New Moon in cloddish Taurus, with odious aspects to narcotic Neptune from both the great Sol Invicti and loony Lady Moon, you find yourself at the throne of the dread one. He sits, polishing his helmet, staring into some distant beyond while you wait for him to speak. 'Lord Pluto,' you cry, hoping to draw his attention to your plight. This means 'wealthy one' and is a traditional piece of flattery and the correct form of address for a lunatic deity who could burn you to a cinder with a single glance.
He looks up at last. Eek! Your gaze wavers beneath the dread eye of Death.
'Board the vessel,' he intones. The gods tend to do a lot of this 'intoning'. Apparently, it makes one seem as if one possesses dangerous powers when one speaks in a dreary and sombre monotone. The gods learned this long ago and the churches picked up the trick and followed suit.
'But, dread lord,' you stammer in reply, 'I've just disembarked!'
'Not that one, you twittering insectoid!' Great gods alive and dead, he seems to know you well. 'This one!' he intones again, pointing to a small rowboat beside the river that flows at his feet, manned by an odd-looking person.
Gadzooks, my little imbeciles. This must be Charon the boatman, waiting for you on the River Styx. Are you about to die? The aspects in the Heavens are pretty nasty, I'll admit! The Full Moon comes in idiot Sagittarius.
'Pay the ferryman,' intones the lord of death. Eek! You pass a coin and board the boat. Giggling planets twitter insanely in the sign of loony Gemini as you are taken on a fantastic voyage on the river of death into landscapes that become increasingly bizarre. And then suddenly you realize what all this is about, my noxious little twerps (that's a piece of luck as I had no idea myself)! The sign of Gemini is in your solar eighth house! The grizzly place of death, sex and the terror of taxes! The strange and outre landscape that you look upon is the landscape of your own twisted mind.
Egad, my frightful and fiendish articles. You're seeing your own psyche! What will you do! I'll have to stop now. I'm exhausted and must rest. Kindly click here next month. Should I have recovered by then you will doubtless get more of the same. Ta! Ta for now!
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