It’s hard to take some big stance against Valentine’s Day, or some “romantic industrial complex” I pay no attention to anyway, when my brain is just full of pre-Christian rites with BDSM overtones.
But if you’re still adamant this is all a ruse to foist smug, douchey couple-dom on people, here’s Brion Gysin’s 1964 account of a Lupercalia rite as it survived in Morocco, syncretized somewhat with Islam and somewhat with other local customs. Joujouka recognizes Pan as “Bou Jeloud”:
Bou Jeloud leaps high in the air on the music, races after the women again and again, lashing at them fiercely with his flails-’Forget not in your speed, Antonius, to touch Calpurnia’-He is wild. He is mad. Sowing panic. Lashing at anyone; striking real terror into the crowd. Women scatter like white marabout birds all aflutter and settle on one little hillock for safety, all huddled in one quivering lump. They throw back their heads to the moon and scream with throats open to the gullet, lolling their tongues around in their heads like the clapper in a bell. Every mouth is wide open, frozen into an O. Head back and hot narrow eyes brimming with dangerous baby.
Bou Jeloud is after you. Running. Over-run. Laughter and someone is crying. Wild dogs at your heels. Swirling around in one ring-a-rosy, around and around and around. Go! Forever! Stop! Never! More and No More and No! More! Pipes crack in your head. Ears popped away at barrier sound and you deaf. Or dead! Swirling around in cold moonlight, surrounded by wildmen or ghosts. Bou Jeloud is on you, butting you, beating you, taking you, leaving you. Gone! The great wind drops out of your head and you hear the heavenly music again.
The "Mad Rat Girl", as one orderly christened her, fixates on an endlessly chaotic tumble of creation and destruction, which she seems to find...amusing.