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 Asperitus Casting Runes... |
Alas and alack, virginal ninnies! It's tragedy for you this month, awful August by name. And it's tragedy that, in its turn, brings the ghost of a distant smile of resignation to the faces of the wisest of this benighted earth.
At the last reckoning there were three of us. However, I must say, I haven't heard from the other two in some time. Perhaps all that gold was too much of a temptation. After all, just because you're wise doesn't mean you can't be smart as well. And, it may be the keeper of the myrrh fell victim to the myrmidons of a rough brigand lord. Yet I am still content to while away the idle hours in Heaven with the aid of my prescription strength frankincense. And, I am certainly familiar with the ghost of a distant smile of resignation as I look upon the antics performed by the natives of the ghastly Wheel of Animals, known more popularly as the Zodiac belt. But enough of these pleasantries! Otherwise you may think I am interested in converse with lesser beings such as yourselves. Behold me and tremble, lily-livered types! You wipers of benches, cleaners of floors and makers of beds! Attend to me, anal poltroons! For I am Asperitus, oracle of bitter truth and these are the vile prognostications of the last wise man left alive, although I must say that I do think it's the medication that keeps me going these days. I have enough of it to give the nod to life should I wish to do so. Gadzooks, my frightful little persons! The month has already begun while I've been wittering on. It began, of course, with ghastly planets farting in the cosmic winds. But, we've come to expect that, haven't we! In this instance, mischievous Mercury conjoined in unseemly fashion with narcotic Neptune as cranky Chiron returned to grim Capricorn. Thus, you're spending a lot of time wondering and worrying about accomplishing the mission you have set for yourself whilst gaining sufficient sexual gratification with shamans, witch doctors and aggressive foreign persons so that you won't miss it in the celibate times to come. After all, you're off to Tibet to seek the 'mariphasa lupino lumino' in the high Himalayas. This wondrous bloom will eradicate the werewolf blight that you yourself have visited on a benighted world. All very well, this 'saving the world business' but you have it clear in your mind that sex in a foreign land is rather like using the toilets there. Hygienically unreliable and also inclined to disgusting odours! Thus, like the squirrel, you're storing nuts for the winter, as it were. Anyway, once you've had enough of that (a point you invariably reach, usually in the midst of someone else's excitement), you begin to lay plans so that you may undertake your mythic quest. If any of this is unclear, by the way, kindly read last month's forecast and do try to keep up in the future. Back to the planning! However, I must say this stage of things does not go well. At the New Moon in lackwit Leo and your solar twelfth house, you give way to such a bout of worrying that you end by trying to communicate with angels or disembodied spirits or perhaps just talking to the wiser part of yourself. Of course, where that wiser part may be located is a forecast of another kind altogether. And, sadly, a briefer one than this! You consult a Mediterranean fortune-teller with a volatile temperament, but he simply screams at you that all your efforts are misguided and you should under no circumstances leave on a journey. As jolly Jupiter slithers into congress with the loony South Node, you find you are fiscally challenged anyway and must return to work in the real world. This is quite a shock after your days on the mountain and with your technological allergies and phobias on show. However, you bear the indignity bravely with the greater good in mind. Vamping Venus moves into Libra and you find work as an aromatherapist and earn extra money by exposing your shapely buttocks at private parties in the evening and on weekends. This latter is a cult pursuit for fabulously wealthy people who take so many drugs they can't achieve sexual fulfillment in any other manner. As mischievous Mercury moves forward, you find you're doing well at these activities. And, when the Full Moon comes in lunatic Aquarius, you put off your journey to Tibet and give yourself the promised experiment with bondage, so as to prevent any unnecessary deaths among the non-werewolf community. And yet, my tiny ning-nongs, the time for each thing comes in its own time. Thus, the great Sol Invicti grinds his way into your anal sign (eek), bringing to your attention to fact that it is time to go. You book your tickets. You pack your bag. You board your flight. But do you not hear the grunt and groan of ghastly planets as they rut in the gutters of Heaven! In chief, the offender is marauding Mars as he harasses narcotic Neptune and mischievous Mercury with his improper attentions. Dire developments come to subvert your mission to find a flower that will rid the world of the ungodly werewolf. A mysterious figure on your plane arises from the seat across the aisle and says aloud, 'this plane will not be going to Tibet!' Egad! Methinks this might turn out to be a proper pickle. And you, with your dodgy digestion where pickles are concerned! What will happen now? Return here in a month and see, my irritating twerps! In the meantime, hail and farewell! | ||||
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