Praise be to Artemis
For the hunt,
Endless and desperate,
Of ethereal things
Sometimes housed in the concrete
Merit seated, fleeting,
Running us ragged and feral,
A tumble of cunning and starvation.
Senses honed by hunger,
Rendering better able to stalk,
To hide, to pounce, to achieve.
Unable to stop or discern ambition
From purpose, from avarice.
Heeding the warning that is Narcissus
We bathe in our kill, camouflaged
In the blood and skin of our prey
For the sake of appearance
And to be dressed in our Deeds.
Praise be to Artemis,
Goddess of the Hunt.

Praise be to Ares,
Our lord of war,
Teacher of struggle,
Father of resilience and tenacity.
Emperor of the misguided fight,
Keeper of the keys to triumph.
By his strikes we are validated.
He who has not pledged
At our deity’s feet is still a boy.
Larva until he is double tied
To his own tumult and thrown
Into his own strife before he
Stands postbellum victorious.
Praise be to he who whittles us to point,
Removing excess and weakness,
Forging us in his eye and wake
To our own naked archetypes
Fortified by a pre-existing
Violence.
Praise be to Ares,
And we thank him for our wars.

Praise be to Aphrodite,
Who devotes us to Artemis,
Who devotes us to Ares.
Mother of creation, reflection of
Obsession. She is the destroyer of
Self and the teacher of our own
Torment, laying devotees out for
Voluntary sacrifice. She contorts
Fates with insatiable thirst
At the threat of madness.
By her name we are imbued with
A protective rage, a violent pride,
Folly and blindness. At her behest
We meet our capacities for evil
With no regret. Our Goddess
Grants us raison compounded
By a factor of our obedience.
She is our solace and our joy.
Praise be to Aphrodite
For our varietals of Love.

Here he comes! With his procession of
Maenads raving in reverie and religious
Conviction, bidding you join in their
Bacchanal. Dionysus to you!
You, who already have joined
With your feral dance, naked and
Unashamed. Let’s play! Defy and
Betray Aphrodite, Ares, Artemis.
Do it in my name! I dare you (not to).
Praise be to he who brings good drink,
Supplier of escape. Thy god is labyrinthine.
Complete with monster of Minos
Masquerading as the craving of
Nothing more than a few crushed grapes.
He is the myth-maker, spinner of
Illusion in which you are rapt.
Wrapped in rapture. Cradled in—
Overdosing on ecstasy and crowning into
Madness.
Praise be to Dionysus,
And the attempt at transcendence.