@brothbutch - Tumblr Blog

• hearth system

• main blog, some headmates have their own/side blogs

• body 25 +

• hard left anarcho communist

• works in conservation + forestry, passionate about eco-brutalism, mycology, and rewilding

• our tags work primarily for us; ask if you need something. asks are open in good faith

blog is for Hellenism, references, art, and nature. side blog follows from other accounts will come from here.

#pinned post #pref don't reblog #hellenism #hindsight #the hand that feeds #perfume and woodsmoke #eternal companion

thegodwhocums

Bull-god, drunk god, god of women and transvestites, giver of ecstasy, master of dance, lord of the emotions—such were the various masks worn by the daimon whose lineage went back to ancient Minoan civilization. In his myths and rituals, Dionysos embodied both a feeling for the living continuities of nature and a concept of the human personality as an organism deeply rooted in the nonrational forces of the cosmos. Serving as the focus for the spiritual needs of Greece's underclasses, he became the god that the patriarchal establishment could neither accept nor eliminate. And so Dionysos represented the return of the repressed in several senses: return of the religious needs of the lower classes, return of the demands of the nonrational part of the self, and return of the Minoan feeling for the living unity of nature. And so in turn he threatened several repressors: the aristocracy of well-to-do male citizens, the domination of intellect over emotion, the alienated ethos of the city-state.

Arthur Evans, “The God of Ecstasy: Sex Roles and the Madness of Dionysos,” 1988

#dionysus

stoneswave

french marigold. digital. oil pastels. 09/25

working on some flower studies in a new medium 🏵️

#faun.sys #our art #persephone #pan

toadalled

My dad and I came across the coolest sight on our camping trip: An owl haloed by the full moon rising.

you see, you must bite your gods. don't get yourself a god you can't bite. maybe some that you shouldn't, yes, but otherwise you ought to have gods you can bite. and bite.

and then you must know what you're biting them for and what you expect.

some gods you bite and they'll bite you back, which is good. some gods you bite and it'll sharpen your teeth, and that is good as well. some gods you bite and you'll devour them instead and that is good, as well, again.

some gods you bite and it's a reward, and some you'll bite as penance, some as communion, some as sex, some as simple curiosity. some you bite and they break your teeth or tame you, and you must ask yourself whether this is what you desire.

but you must bite your gods.

#we are what we consume

homey-worshiper

for lady hestia

#hestia #art #undescribed

constanzarte

The Death of Icarus, by Alexandre Cabanel

floralprintsharks

[ID: an oil painting of a naked Icarus lying on a sandy beach. His wings are broken, his eyes are closed and his crotch is tastefully covered by feathers. Behind him soft waves wash up on the beach. End ID]

#art #icarus

two-bees-poetry

twenty years across the sea

kiragecko

[Image shows a poem with a space down the middle. The poem can be read in full, or either side can be read separately. The left side is titled, "penelope", and the right side is titled, "odysseus".

The penelope side reads,

dearest, time rolls on and our son grows taller, and i realize that we were just children when we married. i'm a woman, now- i want to know, what do you look like with gray in your hair? i imagine you still smell like fresh earth. i imagine you're still out there.

The odysseus side reads,

i remember you and your voice is in the sea, and this has been twenty years; playing with love, with fire, going off to war still holding your flowers. a man, a promise. you must be so beautiful; do you have laugh lines? now i hope you still pick flowers- hyacinths, bluebells. you're still waiting. i'm still waiting.

Together they read,

dearest, i remember you and time rolls on and your voice is in the sea, and our son grows taller, and this has been twenty years; i realize that we were playing with love, with fire, just children going off to war when we married. i'm still holding your flowers. a woman, a man, a promise. now- you must be so beautiful; i want to know, do you have laugh lines? what do you look like now with gray in your hair? i hope you still pick flowers- i imagine you still smell like hyacinths, bluebells. fresh earth. i imagine you're still waiting. you're still out there. i'm still waiting.

It's signed two.bees.poetry

End ID.]

#poetry #odysseus #perfume and woodsmoke

yohjimuse

Morris and Co

kallistoi

[image description: a stained glass window decorated with a flowering vine that spreads across a background of grass and flowers. end description.]

#persephone #pan #art

Dear Supporter,

I hope this message finds you and your family in good health. My name is Eman Zaqout from Gaza. I am reaching you out to seek your urgent help in spreading the word about our fundraiser. I lost both my home and my job due to the ongoing genocide in Gaza and we are facing catastrophic living conditions. 💔

I kindly ask you to visit my campaign. Your support, whether through donating or sharing, will help us reach more people who can make a difference. Thank you for your continued support for the Palestinian cause. Your dedication brings us closer to freedom. 🙏🕊

Note: Verified by several people as 90-ghost and aces-and-angels. ☑

<3

#palestine

dionysianivy

The messenger of the gods - Lord Hermes

──────⊹⊱☤⊰⊹──────

𝐆𝐨𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐲, 𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬,

𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲

Narcisse

[ID: picture of a book page featuring a poem by Mary Oliver (uncredited in the image) titled "How I Go to the Woods". The poem reads:

Ordinarily, I go to the woods alone, with not a single friend, for they are all smilers and talkers and therefore unsuitable.

I don’t really want to be witnessed talking to the catbirds or hugging the old black oak tree. I have my way of praying, as you no doubt have yours.

Besides, when I am alone I can become invisible. I can sit on the top of a dune as motionless as an uprise of weeds, until the foxes run by unconcerned. I can hear the almost unhearable sound of the roses singing.

If you have ever gone to the woods with me, I must love you very much.

End ID.]

#pan #poetry