#archaique

[raisongardee]

"Les recherches les plus récentes, et les plus scrupuleuses, d’anthropologie économique démontrent que l’économie des Sauvages, ou mode de production domestique, permet en réalité une satisfaction totale des besoins matériels de la société, au prix d’un temps limité d’activité de production et d’une faible intensité de cette activité. En d’autres termes, loin de s’épuiser sans cesse à tenter de survivre, la société primitive, sélective dans la détermination de ses besoins, dispose d’une "machine" de production apte à les satisfaire, fonctionne en fait selon le principe : à chacun ses besoins."

Pierre Clastres, Archéologie de la violence. La guerre dans les sociétés primitives, 1977.

[raisongardee]

"Les hommes exceptionnels d’une époque m’apparaissent surtout comme les soudains rejetons d’anciennes cultures, de forces du passé : je vois en eux en quelque sorte l’atavisme d’un peuple et de ses mœurs ; ce n’est qu’ainsi qu’il y a vraiment quelque chose à comprendre à leur cas ! Dans leur temps ils semblent étrangers, rares, extraordinaires : celui qui sent en soi les force dont je parle est obligé de les cultiver et de les défendre contre un monde ennemi, de les vénérer et de veiller à leur croissance contre l’opinion : il devient par là ou un grand homme, ou un original, un fou, à moins qu’il ne périsse à temps. Autrefois ces qualités rares étaient courantes ; elles passaient donc pour vulgaires : elles ne conféraient pas de noblesse."

Friedrich Nietzsche, Le gai savoir, trad. Alexandre Vialatte, 1882.

[raisongardee]

"Une part considérable de la production se trouvait par conséquent entrainée dans une ample circulation des générosités nécessaires. Nombre de redevances et de prestations que les paysans ne pouvaient différer de porter à la maison de leurs maîtres furent très longtemps désignées dans le langage courant comme des cadeaux, eulogiae. Vraisemblablement, elles étaient considérées comme tels par les uns et par les autres […] Toutes ces offrandes cependant devaient être compensées par les largesses de ceux qui les recevaient. Nul riche ne pouvait fermer sa porte aux solliciteurs, renvoyer les affamés qui quêtaient une aumône devant ses greniers, refuser aux malheureux qui leur offraient leurs services de les nourrir et les vêtir, de les prendre dans son patronage."

Georges Duby, Guerriers et paysans. VII-XIIe siècle. Premier essor de l’économie européenne, 1973.

[raisongardee]

"Marx lui-même n’hésitait plus à présenter la société socialiste à venir comme "une renaissance, dans une forme supérieure, d’un type social archaïque" (il faisait évidemment allusion à ce type spécifique d’entraide communautaire sur lequel reposent la plupart des sociétés paysannes traditionnelles). Tout en prenant d’ailleurs soin d’ajouter aussitôt (Marcel Mauss reprendra la même idée, et quasiment les mêmes mots, dans son Essai sur le don de 1924) qu’il "ne faut pas trop se laisser effrayer par le mot "archaïque"". On imagine sans peine ce que penserait aujourd’hui d’un tel texte un(e) jeune stagiaire de Libération ou du Monde si, par le plus grand des hasards, il (ou elle) avait lu trois lignes de Marx (ou même en connaissait le nom)."

Jean-Claude Michéa, Extensions du domaine du capital, 2023.

[almosthxman-blog]

"would you look at that"

Benjamin was in the middle of doing his habitual daily cleaning around the estate. Guinevere never asked him to do this sort work around the house, but he did so every day without fail anyway. He felt it was the least he could do in service of the one who had brought him to life; or as he thought of her, his Master On this day, he had been particularly thorough in making things pristine in preparation for the holidays. He had hung up and placed all sorts of decorations around the house to help invoke the festive spirit. He had just finished hanging a small bundle of mistletoe inside of the finely carved ornate oak door frame, when Guinevere approached him, apparently glancing at his handy work. “Do you like it?” He asked with a smile. He was  about to suggest that she come to see the decorations he had placed in the sitting area, when he found himself being kissed. When they broke apart, he looked into Guinevere’s face with an expression of bewilderment. “Well I thought it was nice, but I didn’t think it was that nice” He remarked in a tone laced with uncertainty at what had just transpired.

[reginaviridis-blog]

“You are my sunshine”

Send me “You’re my sunshine” for your muse to die in mine’s arms. | NOT ACCEPTING (pls really don't send these anymore it's so sad)

Mother’s pulling small children aside by their collars and dress back’s, pushing them into the arms of older children, whispering them to open the kitchen cupboards and share the dry pastries with the children to keep them inside the house. Sad words leave lips of different people as she turns away from them, with tears brewing in her eyes. She locks the door behind her as she steps inside the wooden greenhouse, kicking down the pole that holds open the wall length open window for the flowers. The only lights left are the small windows high up near the ceiling and the faint glow of some magical flowers. 

She knelt next to Guinevere’s body, the girl lying on the dirt floor in the middle of the flowers, with broken poppy stems spread around her limp, gasping body. ❝ My love, my dear thygatéra, why have you abandoned me like this. Have you no idea the pain you cause me with giving in to yours.. You know I could return you to me, but I know you don’t want me to.❞ Her trembling hands reached to pull her into her arms, pressing her face to the girls hair. Her children had always been taught the dangers of flowers, and smaller children weren’t allowed inside the green house without an escort, and she knew that Guinevere had not done her deed on accident. 

❝ I hope that where you leave my home to, there you’ll be free of chains of your title, there you’ll find love like no other, that there you’ll be truly happy like you’ve never been before. ❞ Words leave her lips shattering in the air, as tears drip down her cheeks and from the tip of her chin blend into her dirt covered beautiful hair. With Guinevere still firmly in her arms she reached her other hand to release the hairclip she had still in, letting her beautiful waves fall lazily around mother’s arm, reaching the dirt with their tips. 

With trembling lips she places kisses on the child’s forehead, feeling the fleeing warmth of her skin under her own, her shaking arms holding her lifeless body so tight against her chest. ❝ You were always my daughter,❞ she whispers with a broken voice against Guinevere’s cooling, pale skin. She rocks her body gently, like putting a child to sleep as she waits for the poison take her completely, finally her teary eyes following the glow of her soul as it escapes from her body. ❝ Thank you for blessing me with a child like you, I love you so much. ❞ 

When Guinevere’s body grew cold under her touch, she picked her up, oh how weightless she was in her strong arms, her beautiful child, alive no more. With tears streaming still down her trembling cheeks she walked out of the green room with her body on her arms. The wind swirled around them, howling in her ears, as mother cried, all of her being cried for her lost child. She walked with the cold body on her arms, poppy petals that she hadn’t gotten to eat, falling from her clenched fists along the trail they travelled. 

Under her own quarter’s window she places her body in a plant box, amongst of the most beautiful hydrangeas and carnations she’d ever grown, the ones she loved the most. With the child she loved so, all together in one. She laid the final kiss on her forehead before she picked the planting box up without touching it, the wind assisting her, a blowing wind holding her in place in the air as mother guided her child to the back garden river. When she laid the box in the water, she swallowed and took one last look of her beautiful child, before sparking the wood in flames. ❝ Goodbye, beautiful soul. ❞