#Radical leftism

[boymanmaletheshequel]

Dear ares, dear tyche, dear all of you who read this who are as consumed, as controlled, and as empowered by your rage, your vindiction, your desire for just violence and resentment, and who are as determined to destroy evil as I am. to annihilate oppression, and to smite, to slay, and to murder those responsible for it, a message to people who have always felt hate just as, if not even more strongly than they’ve felt love: I wish we didn’t have to feel this way, that we could believe that hope could prevail on its own volition, that justice was a natural thing and an inevitable promise of humanity. But it’s not. Justice is a spoil that must be fought for with violence, with ruthlessness, and with deliverance just as powerful as it is fought against by our enemy. Hope is a prospect that is as fragile as glass, and as vulnerable as a lamb in a forest of wolves. It must be protected, it must be preserved, by any means necessary, because if it isn’t, it might never come back once it’s been stolen. And do not be so optimistic to believe that the people that fight to destroy it won’t always fight dirty, and with more determination and force that most good people ever will. Which means we must fight against then twice as hard. No more conceding on the grounds of fairness, no more trying to find a middle ground that is stained in our blood, no more tolerance for fascism, no more trying to reason or appeal. We don’t want to fight, and that’s why we have to fight. Take up a sword, a gun, or a bow, wield the gavel of justice and use to beat the enemy dead. They will fight to their last breath to destroy us, we would be fools to not do the same. Peace is a thing of beauty, but it’s a reward that must first be secured by violence. Stand with your gay brothers, your lesbian sisters, your trans daughters. Fight by the side of your black neighbors, your Muslim friends, and your Jewish teachers. War is hell, but a war won by evil is worse. Do not let it win. Do not back down, do not give in. Fight until the last breath, even if that means sacrificing yourself, because that’s how our people, how good people, will live on after us. Violence is an evil, that much is true. But evil is not black and white, sometimes fire must be used to fight fire. In a perfect world, such a thing should never have to be said, or even considered. But it’s not a perfect world, it never has been, nor will it ever be. but depending on who wins this war, this millennia, this century, this next four years. we can decide who gets to mold fate in their fingers. I love you, more than I hate them, but believe me so, I HATE them. And I will destroy them for you, for hope, for justice. Do not hesitate to do the same. Stay strong, be there for those who are trodden, fight for them when they cannot fight for themselves, and don’t set down the sword of justice, of absolution, until it is stained with the red blood of evil. Only than, only afterwards, can it be cleaned by the silk cloth of hope.

[your-average-teenage-mess]

If you think that the statement "hard decisions are an inherent part of every aspect of politics" is ever, in and of itself (aka not in the context of it being used to justify a specific hard decision, but simply as a fundamental truth), illegitimate, you shouldn't be involved in politics. If you think intellectualism and rationality are, in and of themselves (as in, not referring to the deceptive appeal to them), condescending or pretentious, you shouldn't be involved in politics. If you think anything ever "demands" the flattening of nuance in discussion (and if you think I'm trying to say it's legitimate when someone is using the concept of nuance to try and claim harmful actions shouldn't be condemned in and of themselves, you are doing a bad faith interpretation of what I'm saying, c'mon now), you shouldn't be involved in politics. And if you think that the side of you that is now sounding its "liberal enlightened centrism" alert about any of what I just said is a good side of you that you should nurture and listen to, you might not necessarily be ill-equipped to doing politics, but I would HIGHLY recommend you reevaluate it.

[everythingcoolandgood]

do them!!!!!!!!

[lilithism1848]

[girlfishes]

One of the ways in which modern liberalism goes wrong in ethics is its singular focus on consent. Don’t get me wrong, consent is always necessary is any type of relation or exchange between individuals, but it isn’t sufficient.

This is why modern liberals will see nothing wrong with bdsm, pornography, surrogacy, or cosmetic surgery. “If both parties consent, then what’s the problem?” they’ll say.

There needs to be ethical standards for how we treat other people, regardless of if individuals think they are worthy of being treated by those standards. This concept is already recognized in most legal systems. If I sign a form saying that you can kill me whenever you feel like it, you would still be culpable for murder if you followed through.

Women are the ones who lose out when this concept is not applied. We have been conditioned to believe that we are not worthy of being treated right, so we allow others to take advantage of us. Consent being by the only moral consideration people care about takes advantage of this fact.

[whereserpentswalk]

Hi, I saw one of your latest posts talking about the gender "segregation" where you state that women's only spaces shouldn't exist. So, if that was actually real, do you think me, a cis lesbian woman, should I be using a changing room or a bathroom used also by people with penises?

I would feel very uncomfortable being naked near someone who is biologically a male and I have the right to say no, no matter how they react, cis women's feelings matter too and nobody can tell me when I should be uncomfortable, same thing goes for sports, cis women could get physically hurt if a biological male played against them and this had already happened in a school in the US.

This more confirms how you far left activists don't care about us

I do not care about people's disgust when it comes to means of segregation. Do you think that during the 1960s there was no white person who felt uncomfortable sharing a bathroom with someone with dark skin when desegregation hit bathrooms and locker rooms? Do you think there's no white person who feels that way now (hell, a big reason American suberbs are a thing is that it allows white people to live in white only places post civil rights laws)?

How is your desire to feel comfortable through segregation any diffrent? There is a group you feel uncomfortable with in a space so you want it segregated, I suggest you either not use that space or find a way to be more comfortable. Society may have a responsibility for you to be safe, but there is no responsibility for you to feel safe.

And do you think nobody wants to be segregated away from you? You're literally a queer person, there are people who do not want you in public because of the exact same uncomfortablity with you. You probably have way more in common with trans people than most cis people do. If many people were allowed to remove what makes them uncomfortable from society, you would be forced into the closet. This isn't a hypothetical, the same people pushing for removal of trans people from society have same sex relationships as their next target.

Uncomfortablity is not something society can or should protect you from.

[anarcho-catboyism]

If it wasn't for humans writing on the walls we wouldn't know our stories. Fuck this dull world, vandalize the buildings that keep us caged. Graffiti is the purest communication with the future.

[dialecticaltranssexual]

an introduction of sorts

so i'm setting up this blog as a side place for me to document my journey into marxism and becoming a marxist - especially as someone who is transsexual and has my roots in social justice firmly from my own lived experience. I have worked in activist spaces since I was around 16 - ranging from identity to environment - but only recently have I delved into marxism. and i've kind of thrown everything i've got into it. its my new hyperfixation, new special interest even.

i had considered staying on at university to do a masters but i didnt have a direction. i now know i want to study marx's theory of alienation and apply it with the right clinical psychological analysis that it deserves. our current society is suffering from a pandemic level crisis of mental health. it is as broad as day - but yet class consciousness is consistently being thwarted every single day due to the alienating nature of capitalism as it exists within the class system we are being forced to live under. the masters im considering taking is political psychology.

as part of my marxist journey, i have been a part of a reading group. we have covered

marxism vs idpol (day session)

the communist manifesto

state and revolution

dialectical materialism (article)

we are scheduled to read value, price and profit. whether i can read this by sunday remains to be seen. uni is kicking my neurodivergent arse.

i'll do a proper introductory post soon describing more about me. but this is suffice for now. im gonna try and keep this blog very casual and low maintenance - but i strive to update it with notes from certain readings and articles to inspire me to document and learn more.

[kmartmolotov]

[scum-man-of-pesto]

This is SO REAL like first of all, the matriarchy they initially had was still this hyper-feminine mess where all the barbies still had to look perfect and attractive and have their hair and makeup done etc wereas the Kens simply, did not. Not to mention Alan even. And then still the only pressing harm of the Barbie-run society was that Barbie didn't give Ken much of her time in the way that he wanted her to, and as a result he subjugated every woman in the world?? He made all the Barbies ramp up the performance of the male gaze, spoke down to them, stole their literal houses and hard work, and enslaved them, and then the message was still like "uwu Barbie should've given more time to Ken so he didn't react this way" like no FUCK OFF are you kidding? The Barbies should've just systematically eliminated the Kens because at best they're useless and at worst they're clamoring to cause actual material harm. I WISH the movie lived up to "deeply bizarre and anti-man". It's actually really telling where we are in society that so many see this as an actually radical perspective filled with man-hate when it was literally so coddling to men. Don't get me wrong either, I did enjoy it for what it was like I know it wasn't going to go into an actual deep leftist analysis or anything but this reaction to it as though it had is making me nuts

[izzystizzys]

When the 212th collaborates with the 501st, chaos is sure to follow in their footsteps. This has been largely true of every engagement since the start of the war, in Cody’s experience. Had he even an ounce more of a rebellious streak, he might question why and whether the success rate is worth the feral instinct for mayhem his battalion and Rex’ awaken in each other - as it is, he simply fills out the after action reports and then screams into his pillow, which is hard as durasteel and doesn’t warrant the name.

Or, on some days, he steps into the training rooms to work off some nervous jitters only for his foot to catch on someone’s armoured shoulder and faceplant straight into what looks like the entirety of both battalions piled together in a massive cuddle pile.

“What”, he manages between gritted teeth, heaving himself up with one hand supported on Crys’ arm and the other planted in places that make Boil jackknife up with a strangled yelp, “the kriff is this?!”

“We’re watching the Corrie Reality Special, sir”, his own voice calls from somewhere across the room. “The 91st is passing by, so we have satellite access to the Coruscant Broadcast network for a few hours, and we couldn’t settle on a specific show -“

“- so we decided to watch them all”, Rex finishes, sheepishly, where he’s fought his way through wiggling piles, hoots and badly imitated monkey lizard noises. The thought that he shares DNA with these degenerates is enough to drive Cody to the brink of a nervous breakdown some days. “Spopcorn?”

Ah. The Corrie Reality Circuit. When Cody first heard of it, he’d thought it was a prank. Then, they were deployed to the middle of bumkriff nowhere on the edges of Midrim space edging on Outer Rim, with a connection so spotty even classified military intel only got through about half the time, and the whole idea got shelved in favour of clankers and keeping his General’s lightsaber in his General’s hand where it belonged.

Now, a gaudy, glittery monstrosity of a logo announcing a Coruscant Rotational special appears on a rigged up screen, which means one of two things: either Fox is pulling the Galaxy’s greatest long con on all of them, or he’s been murdered and replaced with an evil clone (ha!), because there are no circumstances in which he would agree to star on Coruscant Reality TV.

Cody tilts his head consideringly. Rex smiles at him sheepishly. Tilts the spopcorn bowl at him, invitingly.

“Oh, dank farrik, sit your shebs down!”, someone (Fives, probably) yells out, fed-up…ly.

Cody sits his shebs down.

“Good morning and welcome all of Coruscant to the Great Coruscant Rotational Special: Our Boys in Red Edition!”, a bright red Twi’leki man announces on the screen amidst cheerful jizz music and loud hooting from the training room. “My name is Braham Horton, and I will be your exalted host for this fine, fine late night cycle!”

“And now, gentlebeings of the metropolis, I present to you the images that have driven us all to laughter, joy, and even tears at times over these past few weeks - whodathunkit, that the CSF media project would enthrall a whole Galaxy of viewers and cause the largest recorded peaceful civil protest of all time?!”

“The sorry what now”, says Cody, suddenly thinking back to the urgent meeting General Kenobi was currently in with Generals Windu and Yoda - passing by on the Venator in orbit. “Uhm”, says Rex. Braham Horton, unfazed by the commotion he’s causing lightyears away, chatters on.

“- many hours, so we’ve compiled an introductory little best-of for you, exalted viewers! And what better best of to start off on than the hottest entry of the most explosive bombshell into the villa - please give it up for Commander Thorn and how he stole all of our hearts on Love Island!”

A garish, club-tech jingle Cody has so far only heard buzz through the walls of establishments that generally didn’t allow clones thrums through the training room, followed by what can only be described as the sort of noises spiced up banthas might make. Thorn appears on screen, more oiled up and half-naked than Cody remembers, though just as bleach-blond, hair slightly longer than regulation and smile blindingly perfect.

“I’m Commander Thorn, baseline twenty-four years humanoid - during daytime I might be the scourge of Coruscant’s criminal underworld, but at night I don’t mind playing good cop for you!” He punctuates it woth a sleazy wink and fingerblasters that have Rex honest-to-god gagging, and Cody seeing his life flash before his eyes. If Alpha-17 finds out about this…

Suddenly, Thorn’s smile drops in favour of what might almost be called a scowl on even his handsome face, and the music cuts out. “There, got your soundbyte. Can I go back now? I’m supposed to be on shift.” Indistinct, off-screen chatter and a captioned oopsie… appear in a shower of glitter. Thorn’s face does something complicated. “For HOW MANY MONTHS?!”

Cut to a montage of what Cody can only describe as beaches, oil and abs galore, Braham Horton narrates and extremely close-up shot of what Cody tries very hard not to identify as Thorn’s crotch. His own crotch, in a way. Oh no, that’s weird, stop that train of thought immediately-

“Although our favourite bombshell’s entry into the villa wasn’t without its hitches and hurdles-“, emphasized by a zoom-in on Thorn’s form in a speedo huddled away from a partying crowd of softcore-kriffing contestants on a yacht, “- as well as all know, he would soon find his place in the villa - or places, rather!”

Two crying humanoid women appear on screen, with eyeliner smudges down to their knees. A hoot goes through the room. Cody watches with a sense of impeding doom. “You slept with her after I chose to match up with you instead of Chad?! How could you!”

Thorn, still oiled up with both blasters out for the world to see, winces. “I didn’t me-“

A hysterical gasp, a camera swerve. Three more people stand by the doorway, all clutching their chests with wide eyes. A broad, green Twi’leki man raises a finger to point accusingly. “You were sleeping with them too?! I thought I was the only one!”

“Dear Force”, Cody murmurs, unable to look away from the building speeder wreck on screen. Braham Horton laughs good-naturedly at his misery. “Ah, good times! And who could forget the all-out brawl of the following matching night, where a record number of every single other contestant attempted to physically fight the others for the right to match up with Commander Thorn! Including a somehow returned Chad, who nearly won thanks to the element of surprise. I wish we could show the footage, but then we’d have to slap several warnings on it and probably still get taken off the air.”

“I didn’t know Corries kriffed like that!”, someone (Fives, let’s be honest, it was definitely Fives) calls out into the room, receiving snickers and a well-aimed pillow to the throat for his trouble. He goes down with a choking scream.

“Someone who was less impressed by the hot’n bothered beach weather was Commander Thire, who found himself Less than Impressed by his co-contestants inability to keep it in their pants on Too Hot To Handle!”

Thire’s face, identical to Thorn’s in every way except the ones that matter, appears on screen. His black hair is cut in a cropped mohawk, arms folded over a button-up he’s carefully pieced together with… safety pins? Where are the buttons on it?

“These people are pathological and pathetic and I will spend not a second longer on this farce of an attempt at ‘entertainment show’”, says Thire, air-quotes so sharp they could cut stone. His scowl might be permanently etched into his face, Cody can’t tell. “Unlike literally everyone else, I have an actual job to do. Now move.”

A brief pause, in which cheerful jizz music plays over what is obviously a producer begging off-camera, followed by an eyeroll so hard it hurts Cody’s brain to watch. Thire throws his hands into the air in defeat, marching off into the sea behind him still fully clothed.

“When they didn’t find him until the last episode, I’ll admit, I thought he’d died too!”, Braham Horton cuts in cheerfully. “But would you look at his little lonely island lair - now that’s a fulfilled man, and too many coconuts for my taste! We’ve had to blur his hands out as he discovered the cameras just moments before these holos were taken, unfortunately. And, dear viewer, who could forget this exit-interview for the ages!”

A considerably more clothed Thire appears on screen, eyeing a microphone like he’s about to use it to stab out his own eyes. The reporter clears their throat in audible anxiety. “C-commander, how would you describe your reality experience in one word?”

“Demeaning”, says Thire, blandly.

Silence.

“Um, o-okay”, squeaks the reporter.

“Would you like some more words?”, asks a dead-eyed Thire.

“No, um, I think - I think we’re alright.”

“Because I have many words. Mostly for whoever the *bleep* thought this was a *bleep* good idea, and *bleeeeeeee-*”

“We’ve had to censor most of the Commander’s on-screen appearance, dear viewer, for your sensibilities”, says Braham Horton, eternally and painfully cheerful. “And speaking of sensibilities, who could forget Commander Stone honouring his name in several challenges on ‘I’m A Holostar - Get Me Out Of Here!’”

Soulful violin music fills the gym, overlaid with images of a bald vod Cody surmises must be Stone. Stone stares stonily into the void, glass of bright green something raised to his lips and already half-empty.

“Memorably, he downed a pint of acklay urine within seconds-“

Horrified screams are followed by an image of Stone chewing, yet another thousand-klick stare.

“- or when he ate Tauntaun anus -“

Rex doubles over gagging, and Cody slowly puts his handful of Spopcorn back down.

“- of course the ten minute worm-bath challenge cannot go unmentioned -“

“FORCE PLEASE NO!”, screams someone (Echo) tearfully. Commander Stone, buried to the chin in wiggling orange worms, looks less impressed.

“ - and who could forget his encounter with a horde of ginntho spiders and nests of vexis snakes!”

A remote goes sailing past the screen, missing by a mile, as images of Stone with his whole arm stuck in various boxes fly past. Someone is retching. It might be Cody.

“We would show the infamous butchery challenge wherein the Commander found himself drenched in nexu guts and sandworm brains, but once again, this is family friendly programming and we are not allowed. Nevertheless, a win well-deserved. And now, please welcome the one, the only, the awe-inspiring, the unbelievable: Marshall Commander Fox!”

Another Force-awful jingle, big, blocky letters, and Cody chokes on his own spit when Fox’s scowling face appears on screen. He’s thinner, greyer and angrier than the last time they saw eachother in person. Only the last one is really a surprise.

“I am neither naked nor afraid”, says Fox, arms crossed firmly, foot tapping impatiently on the ground. “I am, however, quickly losing my patience. Explain to me again the point of spending my valuable time undressing in the middle of bum-*bleep* nowhere on the Midrim instead of doing my job as the head of planetary security in the middle of a Galaxy-wide war?”

Several beats of silence follow. Fox grows less impressed with each. Cody knows that look well. Usually, it precedes handcuffs and a cold sonic blast to the face.

“Um… you signed a contract?”, says a producer’s voice uncertainly off-screen. Fox barks out a harsh laugh. “I’m legally classified as military property, my signature holds less weight than if I’d had one of the Guard’s massiffs shit on that contract for me.”

“Ouch!”, calls Crys.

“Gettim!”, adds Longshot.

“But… don’t you sign off military documents all the time for the Senate?”, sputters the producer.

Fox smiles with far to many teeth. It’s also a look Cody knows far too well, and even lightyears away it has a shudder going down his spine.

“Really makes you think about the technicalities of that definitely-not-slave-army, doesn’t it?”, he says, dryly.

“Although considerably less naked and afraid than all other contestants, Commander Fox left us with many memorable moments - such as when he saved the entire crew from an angry Acklay!”

Most of the next holovid is blurred out, though Cody can (unfortunately) guess at the why and how. So can most everyone else, judging by the collective groan.

“Down, boy”, says Fox, flatly, to a hissing Acklay twice his size. It rears its fanged head, and a shudder goes through the room. Fox simply crosses his arms and nails the beast with an unimpressed look. “You are making a fool of both of us. Cut it out.”

Chastised, the Acklay blinks at him, slowly lowering itself back down with a confused hiss.

“No kriffing wonder all the Corrie shinies are such hardasses”, mutters Rex, whom Cody is hard pressed to agree with. “I came from a tube and that look gave me daddy issues.”

“Yes, dear viewer, who could forget these heart-warming moments of good, quality television!”, sighs Braham Horton, dreamily. “Not Coruscant anytime soon, that’s for sure! We are now entering the twentieth rotation of the sit-in protest of a petition to allow the Commanders of the Coruscant Guard to compete on Dancing With The Planets, Coruscant Rotational’s epic dance competition!”

“Dear bum-kriffing Force”, whispers Rex, wide-eyed and awe-struck. “Does Fox know about this?!”

Cody, who’s already dialing the kriffer’s comm-code, wipes a singular tear from his eye. “Not a clue, but kriff, am I going to enjoy telling him.”

[bellasophies]

Porn and prostitution being claimed by the left is sickening. As a leftie, the narrative around porn and prostitution bans from others on the left rejecting it is so strange. Porn is sexist and racist. But these people are either in on it (watching it or making it) or stupid. The sex trade industry is misogyny on its face, it has been rebranded as “liberating” by lefties and pornographers.

[anarchistfrogposting]

The point is not moral absolution or ideological purity, it’s building a better world.

[lilithism1848]

[thediaryofarevolutionist]

-Simone de beauvoir „The second sex“

[whereserpentswalk]

Twenty four year olds are adults.

Twenty one year olds are adults.

Eighteen year olds are adults.

Petite or 'smol' young adults are adults.

Transmasc young adults are adults.

Asexual young adults are adults.

Autisitc young adults are adults.

Young adults you find cute or wholesome are adults.

These people consume media as adults.

These people make life choices as adults.

These people have sex as adults.

Reblog if you agree.