Dionysos Throws in the Towel

εὐαἵ, εὐοἱ

IO ! IO !

The god of wine and mystic forest-mountain trances slides off his donkey with a thud, narrowly missing a holy pard, who growls when Dionysos grabs its tail.

His maenads begin to cry, casting their thyrsi in a despondent heap, rending their leopard skins amidst wails and sobbing as angels collect the pinecone tips and burn them. The angels now gather the dismembered wildcats and forest creature limbs, along with the bloody deerskins, into a separate pile.

Tambourines are confiscated next, numbered and assigned the initials of their respective Bacchante owner before being bagged as evidence.

The leaf-crowned god writhes in convulsions before the Pantokrator, babbling, begging for a bottle of Mad Dog and moaning piteously as he rips the grape-vines and ivy from his brow.

It’s all over, forget it, Dionysus sobs.
My maenads are murderous bitches anyway. . .

Don’t take it too hard, buddy says Pantokrator Christos.
Court will probably send you to a 16-week outpatient program, maybe prescribe some meds till you can get on your feet again. Would you like some support from a counselor, O Dithyrambos, white bull roarer of forest shadow, leaf-crowned youth of Nysa, great Bakcheios, panther-faced fawn-render—

But Bacchus cuts Him off:

Come ON man, don’t rub it in. Forget all those bullshit divine titles.
It’s over. I don’t even care any more…

His weary eyelids close and he grimaces. But suddenly a new and desperate hope surges in his wine-soaked brain as his eyes flash open:

Wait—if I do the program will they reduce my charges?

Hypocrites’ Pretty Pleas

Aug13

Michael Wigglesworth (1631—1705)

Another sort of Hypocrites make their pleas.

LXXXI.

Then forth issue another Crew
(those being silencéd),
Who drawing nigh to the Most High,
adventure thus to plead:
“We sinners were,” say they, “’tis clear,
deserving condemnation;
But did not we rely on thee,
O Christ, for whole Salvation?

LXXXII.

“We did believe, and oft receive
thy gracious Promises;
We took great care to get a share
in endless Happiness.
We pray’d and wept, and Fast-days kept,
lewd ways we did eschew;
We joyful were thy Word to hear;
we form’d our lives anew.

LXXXIII.

“We thought our sin had pardon’d been,
that our Estate was good,
Our debts all paid, our peace well made,
our Souls wash’d with thy Blood.
Lord, why dost though reject us now,
who have not thee rejected,
Nor utterly true sanctity
and holy life neglected?“

XCI.

“Thus from yourselves unto yourselves,
your duties all do tend;
And as self-love the wheels doth move,
so in self-love they end.“
Thus Christ detects their vain projects,
and close Impiety,
And plainly shews that all their shows
were but Hypocrisy.

Poetry of Internet Marketing

Aug13

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Fake Penitence: Doom

Aug12

Michael Wigglesworth (1631—1705)

The Judge uneaseth them.

LXXXIV.

The Judge incens’d at their pretens’d
self-vaunting Piety,
With such a look as trembling strook
unto them made reply:
“O impudent, impenitent,
and guileful generation!
Think you that I cannot descry
your hearts’ abomination?

LXXXV.

“You nor receiv’d, nor yet believ’d
my Promises of Grace,
Nor were you wise enough to prize
my reconciléd Face;
But did presume that to assume
which was not yours to take,
And challengéd the Children’s Bread,
yet would not sin forsake.

LXXXVI.

“Being too bold you laid fast hold
where int’rest you had none,
Yourselves deceiving by your believing,
all which you might have known.
You ran away but ran astray
with Gospel Promises,
And perishéd, being still dead
in sins and trespasses.

LXXXVII.

“How oft did I Hypocrisy
and Hearts’ deceits unmask
Before your sight, giving you light
know a Christian’s task?
But you held fast unto the last
your own conceits so vain,
No warning could prevail; you would
your own Deceits retain.

LXXXVIII.

“As for your care to get a share
in Bliss; the fear of Hell,
And of a part in endless smart,
did thereunto compel.
Your holiness and ways redress,
such as it was, did spring
From no true love to things above,
But from some other thing.

LXXXIX.

“You pray’d and wept, you Fast-days kept,
but did you this to me?
No, but for sin you sought to win
the greater liberty.
For all your vaunts, you had vile haunts,
which for your Consciences
Did you alarm, whose voice to charm
you us’d these practices.

XC.

“Your Penitence, your diligence
to Read, to Pray, to Hear,
Were but to drown the clam’rous sound
of Conscience in your Ear.
If light you lov’d, vain glory mov’d
yourselves therewith to store,
That seeming wise men might you prize,
and honor you the more.