The Bilderberg Group.The Illuminati.The Freemasons.Bohemian Grove.
In Greek myth, the paradise kept for the chosen few.
One word.
An invitation.
The Bilderberg Group.The Illuminati.The Freemasons.Bohemian Grove.
Those in the know, know.
Since time immemorial, we rich and powerful conspire in secret to shape the world into Elysium, wielding our wisdom and influence to steer civilization to a better tomorrow.
Yet the masses prove ungrateful.They complain about housing, wages, war, taxes.Like oxen at the plough, they balk at the yoke, unable to conceive how their toil builds a fertile land.
What we know as a selfless pursuit of efficiency, they experience as suffocation.And a suffocated populace is a populace that revolts.
The world needs an outlet.A palliative balm of hedonism to soften the drudgery of every day.Panem et circenses.
For millennia, humanity looked to the divine to justify degeneracy.Dionysus. Bes. Freyja. Bastet.Whichever paragon of excess was on duty, man would look up and say: if a God does it, then I may too.
Then Nietzsche said “God is dead”, and left us in the lurch.
Permission is now a mortal responsibility.Someone must set the conditions for civilization to blow off steam.
We take on that mantle.We show the world how to escape into excess.We call ourselves Dekburg.
You are invited to be inducted into our ranks: one weekend to learn our philosophy of pleasure, so that you may serve as a devotee of degeneracy for the rest of your days.
Four days · Ten rites
The order assembles in two waves. Nothing begins until both have landed.
You cross the threshold. You are given a room, a drink, and no explanation. The kitchen crew come first and are put to work; the rest arrive at leisure and are not.
First wave 15:00 — organisers & kitchen crew
Second wave 18:30 onwards — everyone else
Your rite of passage. Expect nothing, expect anything. All will be revealed at this feast fit for the Gods.
Wear Extravagance. When in doubt, overdress — the order notices who makes an effort.
We dress in white — the colour that contains all others — to remind ourselves that our indulgence serves all humankind. But the common man's idea of luxury is not our own, and one cannot prescribe a pleasure one has never tasted. So we dress as he imagines we dress: Ibiza white, poolside, synthetic and gleaming. Fieldwork demands commitment.
Wear White — the shinier and cheaper the better. Swimwear beneath.
Prometheus went before us. He stole fire from the Gods and gave it to humankind. So too will we usurp hedonism and share it with the world. We honor our predecessor by lighting a roaring flame and feasting from it.
Tend The fire is lit at 14:00. It is never left alone.
Day turns into night; play turns into excess. The white holds, and so does the study — no serious researcher abandons the field at sundown. Should the late hour call for it, fates may be read, though the order makes no promises about the future, least of all its own.
Wear White, still.
Sunday keeps no schedule until evening. The daytime rites run at once. Take either, take both, take neither.
Mens sana in corpore sano. We soak, we sweat, we meditate. We wash off the excess and emerge reborn.
Provided Pool · sauna · hammam · infrared cabin. Open till evening.
To truly lead, one must make something from nothing. The day is unstructured by design. Slip & slide, volleyball, jeu de boules, chess, Mario Kart — or nothing whatsoever. The order does not keep attendance.
Bring A game, a performance, an idea
Even an order of visionaries must verify its intake. You will be sorted into teams and tested. The subject matter is not disclosed, the hour is not fixed, and the examiner answers to no one.
Expect To be summoned without warning
You will step out of your own id and assume the identity of a fellow initiate — and watch another usurp yours. You will also be given a target. You will not be certain who anyone is. This is intended. Ego death, one night only.
Bring An outfit that is quintessentially you
Your first act of communal selflessness: erasing all evidence of our passing. We work in secret.
Leave No trace. The house is empty by 16:00.
Three costumes · Three nights
Friday · The Ritual of Initiation
Old money at a dinner it would deny attending. Floor-length, tailored, jewel-toned. Velvet, satin, silk, gold. Suits with something faintly wrong about them — a cravat, a cummerbund, a colour no one has worn since 1974.
If you own a thing that has never had an appropriate occasion, this is the occasion. No tuxedo is required and nobody is checking labels. Effort is the currency, not expense.
Saturday · Day and night
White head to toe, and not tastefully. We are studying how the common man imagines wealth, which means linen is a failure of nerve. Reach instead for the synthetic: mesh, polyester, a sarong, sunglasses too large for any human face, gold-effect plastic, a shirt open three buttons past the point of reason.
Beach club, not garden party. If it looks expensive, it is not yet committed. The same white carries from the pool at eleven to the party at eight, so bring enough of it — a day set and a night set is the sensible reading of "outfit(s)".
Sunday night · The Ritual of Identity Exchange
Not your best outfit — your most recognisable one. The thing that would let a friend pick you out across a dark room, or draw you from memory. A silhouette, a signature colour, a jacket you have worn half to death.
Someone else wears it on Sunday night, and someone else again will be hunting them believing they are you. The more unmistakably yours it is, the better the game works.
Bring it Clean, on a hanger, ready to hand over
Seven shifts · Thirty-one hands
No order runs itself. Find your name below, or read the whole rota.
Be on time. If you cannot make a shift, arrange your own replacement and tell Zaakiyah — the order does not chase.
Kitchen and common areas are left as they were found, whether or not that is your shift.
It will not be onerous. It is not optional.
Days until the threshold opens—
Further requirements to follow.
Consult this page again before you pack.
Mornings are unconsecrated. Bread is laid for those who rise, and the order keeps no record of who does not.
No order runs itself. Every initiate will be called upon — to cook, to tend a fire, to steward an evening, or to erase what we have done.
How often, and at what hour, will be disclosed in advance. Some duties fall to one. The last of them falls to all.
It will not be onerous. It is not optional.
What is done behind the curtain is not carried out in front of it. We work in secret, and we leave no trace.