Valentine’s Day is a load of old sacred bull!
I mean, come on, what passionate man or woman with their bottled-up libido is going to get sexy over a damn Hallmark card and a box of heart-shaped chocs? We’d all be a lot more sexually aroused if we beat each other on the backsides with strips of goat flesh. The whole commercial Valentine’s Day is like goat droppings compared to the pagan passion (which comes from the Latin pati, which means to “suffer.”)
Now Lupercalia is a festival! None of that Hallmark crap:
The festival was called Lupercalia, and it was partially to honor Lupa, the legendary wolf who suckled the orphaned twin brothers Romulus and Remus, who went on to found the city of Rome. Lupercalia itself was building on an even older festival, called Februa, associated with cleansing and fertility — it is from Februa that we get the name February. For Lupercalia, goats and a dog were sacrificed, and then two high-ranking young men representing Romulus and Remus went up to the altar and had their faces smeared with the sacrificial blood. After the blood was wiped off with wool dipped in milk, the men stripped naked, cut strips of skin from the sacrificed goats, and ran around the city, joined by other enthusiastic young men. Women who wanted to get pregnant would position themselves so that they could be flogged on the backside with these strips, which was supposed to cleanse them and make them fertile.
And why do we celebrate some namby-pamby Christian martyr who disobeyed the Roman Emperor Claudius II and married young men? Boring. What we need is to bring back a Priapus or a Pan, a lascivious deity who lets the animal out of his pants and goes from door to door full of fertility.
“We should treat all the trivial things of life very seriously, and all the serious things of life with sincere and studied triviality.” Oscar Wilde
The new Underworld, Barking. Fantastic!
Wild Beasts Two Dancers. This is an amazing album. It’s like pop meets aria.