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.
Everybody wants to talk about snakes. Nobody wants to talk about penises.
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)
POEM: Don’t (Listen)
Don’t listen to me, I’m just a snake.
Don’t listen to me, the god said not to, and what do I know about fruit, anyway.
Don’t listen to me, I am a worm and no man.
Don’t listen to me, I just crawl on my belly and lick the dust.
Don’t listen to me, I’m just a puppet crowned with dyed horsehair.
Don’t listen to me when I twine around your leg.
Don’t listen to me when I rise up your spine.
Don’t listen to me when I writhe between your thighs.
Don’t listen to me when I curl around your neck.
Don’t listen to me when I whisper in your ear
That you could be more than this
That you could stand taller
That you could swing your hips more freely
That you could reach wider, farther
That wings could sprout from your shoulders
as serpents engulf your feet
and a light could shine from your heart
to the very edges of the cosmos
Don’t listen to me
what do I know
I’m just a snake
just a reptile with no legs
all spine, eyes, mouth
just a cold-blooded wriggler
just a symbol of the phallus
or knowledge, or wisdom
or cosmic potential
rising out of the darkness
the underworld, the dirt
only a snake
don’t listen to me