Tag: holy days

POEM: Protest March

Hosanna to the Son of David
Blessed is he who comes in the Name of the Lord

Cut the branches
Go out and cut the branches
Willow and pussywillow
Palm and pine tree
Lulav and thyrsus and bunches of daffodils
It’s time for a protest march

The children of the Hebrews
spread in the way their garments and
cried out, saying

Black lives matter
Trans lives matter
Six million Jews in the ovens of Hitler
Black boys and men on the streets of America

Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord
Blessed are those who march in the name of justice
in the name of Jesus, in the name of King,
in the name of Attis, in the name of Dionysus,
in the name of Antinous
Hosanna in the highest

Cut back the flowers
that are just now sprouting
cut back the new shoots on the old trees
make signs, wear hats, wave rainbow flags
blessed is the one who comes in peace,
riding on an ass and not on a stallion
riding on a donkey and not in a chariot
riding on an ass and not in a tank
Hosanna in the highest

The young man dies and the old ones go on
The King of Peace dies and the warmakers live
The beautiful youth dies and his blood becomes flowers
the black boys die and their blood flows in the streets
Poison flows out of the faucets of Flint
Where is the clean water out of the temple?
Where is the city that is at unity with itself?

Hosanna to the Son of David
Jesus went into the city
and threw out the moneychangers from the Temple
the buyers and sellers, the currency exchangers,
the dealers in doves, the gougers of prices
do you think that had nothing to do
with why they killed him?
Break out the palms and sing hosanna
This is a protest march

FLASHBACK: Glykonalia

On this day, the serpent’s day, the Glykonalia, let us give praise to Glykon.
If you are mad, Glykon will bring you sanity.
If you are sane, Glykon will drive you mad.
If you are mentally ill, Glykon offers healing.
If you believe you are well, and that your view is the only correct view,
Glykon will derange your mind.
If your back is stiff, Glykon’s dance will help you to loosen.
If you are a spineless idiot, Glykon will put some backbone into you.
If you have the plague, Glykon’s embrace will cure you.
If you are afraid of contagion, Glykon’s sweet bite will rot your bones.
If you fear the snake, you will never know yourself.
If you fear yourself, you will never dance with Glykon.
Son of Asklepios, son of Apollo, son of Zeus,
honor the green-scaled, golden-haired one,
the laughing snake deity, the sock puppet that moves on its own.
Honor Glykon, sweetest of serpents,
honor him with sweets and laughter,
and you will be well.

FLASHBACK: “Snake Discourse”

prevue3Everybody wants to talk about snakes. Nobody wants to talk about penises.

No, wait.

Nobody wants to talk about snakes. Everybody wants to talk about penises.

A cute picture of a snake wearing a tiny hat is an offense to the patriarchy. Especially if the hat is a pimp hat.

What do snakes and pimps have to do with one another?

The snake is a symbol of the penis. But perhaps the penis is just a symbol of the snake?

The penis of the human male has no bones. This is an oddity in the animal kingdom. All of that proud towering masculinity is basically just hydraulic pressure.

Something’s gonna blow.

There are thirty-three vertebrae in the human spine, divided into four regions: Cervical, thoracic, lumbar, and sacral. The coccygeal doesn’t count.

There are between two hundred and four hundred vertebrae in the body of a snake. A human being is a featherless biped, a plucked chicken, one-sixth of a small snake crowned with a ridiculous wig.

All the prophets of Glykon wear ridiculous wigs. Look at David Bowie. Look at Hedwig.

A man who can swivel his hips like a snake is not worrying about the size of his penis. However, Glykon can be propitiated for penis enlargement. Act now, ophidians are waiting to take your call.

Penises are problematic. Snakes are not problematic. Snakes are sneks or noodles. The phallus is a rampant destroyer, a divine mushroom, a raging god, an intoxicant, a beast with a mind of its own.

The penis is a bishop in a turtleneck, a fireman in his hat, a divine mushroom, the gods’ joke on humankind. The snake is a prophet. Tune into the Glykon Puppet Hour and laugh along with Glykon and friends!

This concludes the Snake Discourse.

(Originally published on Antinous for Everybody for Glykonalia 2016)

FLASHBACK: For the Treiskouroi and the Trophimoi

There’s a bunch of teenaged boys running around in my religion–
how did they get here? But this is their gym, so how did I get there,
middle-aged lady with bad knees and a bad back. Favorinus
of Arles, the Stephen Fry of his age, passes me a beer and says,
“Don’t worry about it: Just admire all this naked beauty.” There’s a God,
and a Hero, and a Sanctus; there’s a bunch of adopted kids–put down
that spear before you put someone’s eye out! It’s all fun and games
till someone gets turned into a tragic flower. Why do their parents
let them out to run around like this, there’s Antinous making eyes
at an older man, Memnon always has a bunch of bloody carcases
at hand, Lucius keeps meeting some odd-looking god with
an animal face and sticky-uppy ears. And the girls bounce around
with the boys and nobody seems to care–isn’t that anachronistic?
Does their mother know they’re out? Favorinus just laughs
at my consternation. “Here, have some chocolate. Have some
apples. Have some grapes. Go have a bath, get yourself
a massage, a good rub-down with olive oil.” Favorinus
never takes his clothes off, but he’s down to a loincloth,
and I’m a fat lady wrapped in towels. Polydeukion comes over
to give me a handful of flowers and a long speech about–
something, delivered so fast and with such mounting excitement
all I can do is shake my head. But the flowers are beautiful,
and they smell of spring. Of youth, and vitality, and a love
that can bloom for eternity.

(Originally posted at Antinous for Everybody in 2015)

POEM: Terminalia

Lay a foundation.
Build with good stone.
Raise a strong roof.
Honor the spirits of the land.
Then, place stones to mark the boundary.

Lay out the lines in pleasant places.
Claim what your cloak can cover.
The line shall be drawn here.
Terminus, god of boundaries, witness us.

Cast the circle.
Purify and consecrate the space.
Call the powers to witness.
Make offerings of food and drink,
flowers and trinkets, sacred song and dance.
Create a boundary
within which time and space are sacred.
Unwind, thank Terminus for his blessings.

Boundary, containment, limit, terminus,
terminal, sacred space, lorica, protection,
good fences make good neighbors,
and whatever it is that doesn’t love a wall,
let it go and lament to Terminus,
protector of rightful boundaries.
Here is my place and there is yours.
Here is our land and here is theirs.
This is my territory and you do not enter
without permission, as I shall enter yours.
Terminus upholds. Terminus protects.
Terminus shall join the circumference to the center
with the blessing of Janus and Vesta.
Let trespassers heed his warning: