How To Get A Boyfriend According To The Epic Of Gilgamesh

how to get a boyfriend according to the epic of gilgamesh

be a terrible demigod king who rules his people so cruelly that they must call to the gods for help

be so horrible that the gods literally create a man just to deal with your bullshit and let him loose in the woods

send a prostitute to introduce the man to civilization by having sex with him for a week straight

literally have dreams about how much you will love this man

get punched in the face by this man that the gods created for you because you are terrible and need to be stopped

congrats, you have a boyfriend now

Sort of a spiritual cousin over here in Sumer. Yo, Devotee of Nisaba here.

So, I’m not sure I’ve ever encountered any other devotees of Seshat on here. Am I alone?

Sounds awesome. Is it a mixed group thing? Do you mind sharing what you'll be doing?

My celebration for the month of Šu-Numun is tomorrow.

Let this be a learning experience for my Wiccan friends. For the glory of the Dingir, and for the sake of my own sanity.

These are the children of Ereshkigal, the dark-eyed: Ninazu, by Gugulanna Heaven's-Bull Namtar, by Father Enlil who sits enthroned in state Nungal, by the queen of the dead and the dust of time that keeps her secrets. These are their titles. Ninazu, city-god, Enega and Ešunna, death-and-life through vegetation and the shadow of the never-never in his blood. Pitiless mace of war, dying and rising serpent-friend. He will suck the poison from your wounds. Namtar, inexorable. Right hand of the sinister, mouth of hell's crown, messenger of An and Ereshkigal and Nergal. Commander of demons whose very name breathes a plague, unfaltering fate, dutiful minister of his mother's court, Death who is the issue of the Dead's All-Mother. Nungal, the neck-stock, the dusty threshold bolt, the screaming lock, the fanged river of ordeals. Rebirther, reformer, who dwells in the mountain where Utu rises. Hers is that corner of the underworld man can return from reforged, the house of dust and shadows where a broken man sheds his old skin or wears it as burial shroud. Goddess Prison-Warden, her mother's daughter in the realm of men, radiant hope and beautiful despair, cool water of compassion on fevered brows. Hear their names in the bellow of a bull, in the snarl of a dragon, in the tolling-bell tones of their mother and as soft as crematory ash. They sit on the borderline like ravens on a fence, silent dark eyes and subtle croaked secrets, twilight-and-dawn owls, young-and-old serpents. Poison and healing, life found in death. Fear. Learn. Become braver for it. Ereshkigal, for deserved awe of you and your children, may your names be marked by the black-headed ones.

Blank, unmolded, full of potential Churning energy beneath a placid face Riptide beneath glass Mirror beneath breath And the wind on the water Where Great Above kisses Great Below Swirls in empassioned churning, Sprays forth glittering droplets from the dark To dance in the sunlight. But the world is not a blank Word document, is it? Fill in the blanks. Color by numbers And throw your watercolors in the sea To watch them melt away Like morning mist Like the sinking sun Like distant shores. I digress. Clear your throat. Breathe in. Now breathe OUT Like startled birds Surging waves Scales rippling over sinew as they lunge forward, Forward, Forward. Nets cast free, flying, Snaring wings, A snarl of fins, Jewels in the deep And the magic of flight. The pelican rips her heart out To feed her crying young, The ocean is the mother Of the open-mouthed shore. Give her your tired, Your hungry, Your poor, Give a man a fish and he'll eat once more. Teach a man to fish and he'll thrive on the sea. So does a goddess The onrushing flood Temper her maelstrom and Tender with care The blessings of nets That catch kinsmen and kind In binds of compassion, Doing as ought be done. The pelican tears out her heart The nets reach skyward The goddess lends an ear The nets reach seabound Open palms catch ceaseless tears The nets reach over the earth Between fishermen And the Fisher of Men An open palm Lies outstretched In waiting. Lady Nanshe with the pelican at her feet, clad in glittering scales, May your name resound on the lips of the black-headed forever and ever.

Somebody once told me

That a haiku is not real poetry.

I felt a coil of scales unfurl in my stomach,

fangs unlatch from my throat

As blood pooled on my tongue

And claws itched in frail human hands.

My laughter Is the three-page magnum opus

Full of brief ink-stained kisses

And a twelve-point Times New Roman coup.

I do declare.

Signed-

One blue blooded pen

Gushing visceral spurts of

Silver-tongued delight.