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The Cyrenaian Hedonic church

A heretical body. A hierophilic playground. A dark reflection.

  • October 26, 2025

    Sermon-Poem: The Still Flame (Season of Rupture Series)

    Even in rupture, There must be rest.

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  • October 14, 2025

    You Get To Have This (A Mid-Week Sermon-Poem)

    Fuck deserving. Fuck earning. Fuck appeasing.

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  • October 12, 2025

    Sermon-Poem: The Sin of Silence (Season of Rupture Series)

    Be loud. Be guttural. Be the thunder that announces you are alive.

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  • October 9, 2025

    Mid-Week Sermon-Poem: Sexual Health is Sexy as Fuck

    Show up for yourself Show up for your partners Show up for life

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  • October 5, 2025

    Sermon-Poem: The Flesh as Chalice (Season of Rupture Series)

    Kneel. Open. Accept what is offered.

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  • September 28, 2025

    Sermon Poem: On Pride (Season of Rapture Series)

    In this Season of Rupture I call you, children of shadow and skin.Step forward with your unhidden hunger, your unrepentant shine. Pride. It came before the Fall, we are told.Pride was the first sin named, the first link in the chain they forged to bind us.But before it was sin it was spark.Before it was…

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  • September 20, 2025

    Sermon-Poem: The Lust of Confession (Season of Rupture Series)

    Whisper your sins as wounds you wish touched, secrets trembling to be undone.

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  • September 7, 2025

    A Devotional Welcoming the Rupture of Autumn

    Blessed are the unruly and the unfit,for their excesses show us the edge of society. Blessed are the unrestrained,for for their ecstasies break the chains of complacencyand teach us our limit(ation)s. Blessed are the volatile,for their storms teach us that silence is not safety. Blessed are the lovers who claw and moan and tremble,for their…

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  • August 1, 2025

    for my soul, who would kneel and rend the veil

    Private Journal Entry — Father RidireDate: 1, Aug, 2025Location: Private Chambers I come not to pray,but to desecrate the quietwith questions sharp as cathedral spires. The air smells of centuries,incense and mildew,forgotten gods bound in gold leaf. I press my palm to cold marble,feel the hum of secretssealed in the grain of the saints’ bones.…

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