The taurobolium was the practice of sacrificing a bull to the gods (usually Magna Mater and Attis) in ancient Rome.

“A man descends into a pit or trench, wearing a toga of which one fold covers his ribbon-adorned head. The pit is covered with an openwork platform or flooring with many holes in it. A bull is then brought and its chest hacked with blows from a spear.”

“The huge wound spouts a flood of hot blood…which seethes in all directions…Through the countless channels provided by the perforations a stinking torrent falls. The priest enclosed in the pit gets the full force of it, exposing his befouled head to every drop; his robe and his whole body reek. Worse is to come! He tilts his head backwards, exposing his cheeks, his ears, his lips and nostrils, even his eyes. Without sparing his palate, he soaks his tongue in it, until his whole body is impregnated with this horrible, dark blood.” (Prudentius, Peristaphanon, X, 1028-40).

“The victim is removed, the cover taken off, and the ‘the pontiff, dreadful to see’ is extracted from the pit. He is hailed ‘with the idea’ that vile blood…has purified him while he was hidden in these shameful depths.’…in the Roman era the process consisted of being immersed in the spilt blood in order to identify oneself ritualistically, though imaginarily, with the victim. It was a substitution sacrifice. Inscriptions inform us that the slaughtered bull’s testicles were cut off and buried beneath an altar, just as the vires [meaning nutsack] of the castrated galli were ritually interred. [Link]

There’s actually a scene in the awesome, but cancelled HBO television show, Rome, where Attia of the Julii participates in the ceremony and is suitably doused.

Bathed in the blood of a bull, mouth and nose filled—just completely saturated in gore. That must have been one hell of a visual.

Here and there, in my spare time, I’ve been picking away at Julius Caesar’s “Commentarii de Bello Gallico” (literally translated as “Commentaries on the Gallic War”) [Link to the full book at Project Gutenberg], his account of the nine years he spent at war in Gaul (named by the Romans, a large area of western Europe, comprising modern day France, Belgium and parts of Italy, Switzerland, Germany and the Netherlands). It’s a great read, well worth the time if you dig history, romans, warfare, extreme violence and freaky pagan cultures (I mean, how can you go wrong with a recipe like that?). It’s full of battle and observations of a people that very little written account of exists. Druids are all over the place with all kinds of weird customs. My favorite tweaky little practice so far is the wicker man, a method of mass sacrifice, employed by the druids on behalf of the Celtic people to appease gods and ward away disease, or some other misfortune that has befallen them. A giant, hollow effigy of a man was made from sticks and then filled with human undesirables. Thieves and other criminals made the best stuffing material, though in a pinch, the average Joe might be used. The whole thing was then set alight, roasting those inside in one big bonfire.

“XVI.–The nation of all the Gauls is extremely devoted to superstitious rites; and on that account they who are troubled with unusually severe diseases and they who are engaged in battles and dangers, either sacrifice men as victims, or vow that they will sacrifice them, and employ the Druids as the performers of those sacrifices; because they think that unless the life of a man be offered for the life of a man, the mind of the immortal gods cannot be rendered propitious, and they have sacrifices of that kind ordained for national purposes. Others have figures of vast size, the limbs of which formed of osiers they fill with living men, which being set on fire, the men perish enveloped in the flames. They consider that the oblation of such as have been taken in theft, or in robbery, or any other offence, is more acceptable to the immortal gods; but when a supply of that class is wanting, they have recourse to the oblation of even the innocent.”

Julius Caesar’s book is the only written record of this practice. The veracity of his account has been criticized by several historians for different reason, chief being that Caesar does not claim to have witnessed the sacrifices himself and that in trying to drum up support among the citizens of Rome for his campaign, he might have exaggerated or invented the ritual in order to further paint the image of the Celt as barbaric and uncivilized.

But, if it were true, how insane a picture would that have been? Bodies writhing and screaming, stuffed into a wooden cage built in the shape of a man. Fat and fluids dripping to the ground as blackened skin curls and organs burst. Talk about a fucking Kodak moment to show the grandkids when they misbehave. I wonder what they did with the remains after all of it was burnt?

Moloch, also known as Ba’al or Hadad was a god worshiped among the Phoenician cultures of the ancient world. Depicted as a calf, ox or a man with the head or horns of a bull, he was at times known as a god of rain, thunder, fertility, agriculture and lord of the heavens.

As time has passed, he has been transmuted and assimilated into other cultures and religions, often vilified. Baal and Moloch both became demonic entities in the Judeo-Christian religions. For example, the demon Beelzebub’s name came from the Hebrew, Ba’al zvuv. Whatever he happened to be god of, or whatever his name might have been at any given time, according to tradition, Moloch sure liked his sacrifices. He particularly enjoyed roasting children alive.

The Rabbi Shlomo Yitzhaqi wrote:

“Tophet is Moloch, which was made of brass; and they heated him from his lower parts; and his hands being stretched out, and made hot, they put the child between his hands, and it was burnt; when it vehemently cried out; but the priests beat a drum, that the father might not hear the voice of his son, and his heart might not be moved.”

Another version of the story tells that the statue was hollow, having seven compartments with flour placed in one, turtledoves in another, a ewe in the third, a ram in the fourth, a calf in the fifth, an ox in the sixth, and in the seventh a child. The statue was then heated, killing and roasting everything inside.

The Carthaginians worshiped Moloch/Ba’al under the name of Cronus or Kronos. The historian Cleitarchus wrote:

“There stands in their midst a bronze statue of Kronos, its hands extended over a bronze brazier, the flames of which engulf the child. When the flames fall upon the body, the limbs contract and the open mouth seems almost to be laughing until the contracted body slips quietly into the brazier. Thus it is that the ‘grin’ is known as ’sardonic laughter,’ since they die laughing.”

Another Greek historian, Diodorus Siculus says:

“There was in their city a bronze image of Cronus extending its hands, palms up and sloping toward the ground, so that each of the children when placed thereon rolled down and fell into a sort of gaping pit filled with fire.”

That’s some seriously tweaky shit. I wonder if Carthaginians had barbecue sauce back then.

Human sacrifice is a surefire historical pisser. However, if you’re building that dream house, castle or whatever…you may want to consider having a hitobashira or “person-post”—literally a human being, usually a woman, that’s buried alive in the foundations or walls of a structure to ensure stability and protection.

“Legend says an old peasant woman is the hitobashira of Maruoka Castle. She allowed herself to be built into the castle’s base on the condition her son would be made samurai. The daimyo reneged on his promise and the locals say that when the moat floods (which it often does) it is the old woman weeping for her son. Another tale of hitobashira says a beautiful maiden was sealed into the walls of Matsue Castle. She was said to be fond of dancing and after her death a law had to be passed forbiding girls to dance in the streets. The spirit of the young girls [sic] would become jealous and it is said the castle would shake and shudder.” [Link]

There’s no real evidence to support these stories, but you have to admit, it’s kind of cool. I’ve also read of a legend that tells of hundreds, thousands…sometimes up to ten-thousand people being buried alive within the Great Wall of China, facing outward towards the rest of the world to protect and stand watch. However, that story has almost no basis in fact, or so I’ve read.

This morning, I’ve been reading about Xipe Totec, the flayed god of the Aztecs. Presiding over disease, the seasons, agriculture, goldsmiths and a few other things, Xipe Totec flayed his skin to bring food to the people, symbolic of a maize seed, shedding it’s outer layer prior to germination. Naturally, he is often depicted as not having any skin, or as wearing skin like a mask and clothing (check here and here. Note the flayed skin from the hands, hanging off his arms). Sweet. Some interesting points concerning sacrifice to “Our Lord, the Flayed One”:

“Annually, slaves were selected as sacrifices to Xipe Totec. These slaves were carefully flayed to produce a nearly whole skin which was then worn by the priests during the fertility rituals that followed the sacrifice. Some accounts indicate that a thigh bone from the sacrifice was defleshed and used by the priest to touch spectators in a fertility blessing. Paintings and several clay figures have been found which illustrate the flaying method and the appearance of priests wearing flayed skins.” [Link]

“Xipe Totec is drawn as a large figure wearing human skin from another person, symbolizing the “new skin” the earth wears every spring. The skin usually has an incision where the heart was removed, ties in the back to hold it on, and no penis. Statues of Xipe Totec may have at one time had outfits made from human skin, but as they are they are immediately recognizable by the puffy skin, double lips, and exceptionally sunken eyes, all designed to mimic a figure wearing someone else’s skin.” [Link]

“During Tlacaxipehualiztli (“Flaying of Men”), the second ritual month of the Aztec year, the priests killed human victims by removing their hearts. They flayed the bodies and put on the skins, which were dyed yellow and called teocuitlaquemitl (“golden clothes”). Other victims were fastened to a frame and put to death with arrows; their blood dripping down was believed to symbolize the fertile spring rains.” [Link]

“A prisoner was taken in battle. Traditionally he was paraded around town by his captors and greeted and congratulated by the citizens, who gave him gifts of food and drink and fine clothing. After a period of celebration, the prisoner—this essential cog, after all, in the ordering of the universe that thus the crop might thrive—was taken to the temple, dosed with drugs, and skinned alive.”

“Semi-conscious from the drugs, bathed in incense, the victim was first scorched, presumably to separate the skin from the bone. Cuts were made around the neck, the arms, and the legs, and down the back so the skin could be ripped away from the body. The carcass, bloody Xipe Totec-red, was thrown over a ceremonial stone and the heart was cut out by the Youallauan, the high priest, who offered it to the gods. The skin, dyed yellow and called teocuitlaquemitl or “golden clothes”, was thereupon donned by the warrior who had originally taken the victim prisoner who then proceeded to dance feverishly, crying to heaven for new life and new strength. He wore a mask made from the victim’s face.”

“After a few days, the dead skin would dry up, crack and fall to pieces. It had of course begun to decompose, and the smell was considered disgusting but absolutely necessary, as the breaking of old skins must come to every seed of maize that had planted by the reverent tribe.” [Link]

Xipe Totec was worshipped for over 2,000 years. You gotta figure…that’s a lot of skin. Awesome.

So today may be Valentine’s Day, the world’s lamest holiday to throw money away on, but you may or may not know that this stupid-ass card and candy exchanging day was originally a replacement for a Roman holiday called Lupercalia.

To quote Wikipedia:

The religious ceremonies were directed by the Luperci, the “brothers of the wolf”, priests of Faunus, dressed only in a goatskin. During Lupercalia, a dog and two male goats were sacrificed. Two patrician youths were anointed with the blood, which was wiped off with wool soaked in milk, after which they were expected to smile and laugh. The Luperci afterwards dressed themselves in the skins of the sacrificed goats, in imitation of Lupercus, and ran round the Palatine Hill with straps, cut from the skins, in their hands. These were called Februa. Girls would line up on their route to receive lashes from these whips. This was supposed to ensure fertility.

Let’s see… You got goat killing, dog sacrificing and pouring blood over rich young men. There’s some dairy in the mix, nothing wrong with that… Next you’re dressing the bloody dudes in goat costumes, forcing them to laugh and smile while they whip young women with animal skin. Hmmm.

Now that sounds like a fucking holiday.

Why on earth are people still sending cards, buying flowers and [gags on vomit] going to church on this day, when you could be covered in blood, whipping some chick? Where the fuck have our values and priorities gone?

Toni from New Jersey asks:

Q:

Where can I go to get my cat exorcised?

My cat is really freaky sometimes. For instance, everywhere I went in my apartment this morning, she was right there in front of me but I never saw her get up and move from one place to the other. I went to turn off the TV and she was on the window perch, then went to the kitchen and she was on top of the fridge, then to my room, there she was.. bathroom, right there on the counter. Plus her eyes are perfect circles and she can just stare at you for an hour with out flinching. Also, I’m pretty sure she can turn her head 360 degrees no problem.

A: Toni, I think you better be sitting down before you read much further, because I’ve got some news for you.

All cats are the slaves of Satan.

I have to say I’m a bit surprised that you’ve failed to pick up on this yet. I mean, dealing with your Satanic feline is soooo 2005. Welcome to the real world, Toni. You are the proud owner of furry and fanged beast, born in unholiness and owing all allegiance to an omnipotent worm, located in the metaphysical underworld, who is bent on eating your soul. Makes you want to just hug the fuzzy little fuckers silly, huh?

I vividly recall the first day I learned my cats were in fact dark servants of Lucifer. I awoke in the middle of the night one evening bothered by strange dreams. I arose and headed for the kitchen to get a glass of water. As I neared the living room, I noticed a low and guttural chanting noise that sounded strangely similar to Latin, but I dismissed it as someone’s car stereo coming from the street.

You can probably imagine my surprise when upon entering the living room, I found it lit by what seemed like hundreds of tiny candles. Standing in a chalk circle and surrounded by strange and esoteric symbols written on the floor, were my two cats, robed and hooded in black silk.

On what looked like a tiny version off a church altar that was positioned between them, there was a dead mouse, it’s blood seemingly drained and it’s entrails removed and arranged about the area in some dark and twisted pattern whose meaning was beyond my ability to comprehend.

Since that evening, my life has completely changed. I now know that I am not the proud owner of two cats, but rather the host to a demonic duo of parasitic doom-worshippers, who spend their days sleeping and their nights drinking mouse blood, chanting to Satan and perching on my chest, sucking out bits of my soul as I lie asleep in bed.

I live in sheer terror, naturally.

As to what advice I could give you, all I can say is—Run. Run fast. Run hard. Don’t look behind you and don’t stop running till your legs give out beneath you and when that happens, drag yourself further by your hands. Your immortal soul is in grave danger! No priest can help you. No exorcism can combat such insidious and maddening evil. There is no hope. All you can do is try to escape. It’s too late for me. Save yourself.

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