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skzophreniic · 1 month ago

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⍣ ೋ cw: explicit sexual content., semi-public sex, dom!changbin, spanking, gagging (panties), rough sex, degradation, manhandling, dirty talk, creampie, overstimulation, valet kink (??)

⍣ ೋ notes: shoutout to that one ask i got asking when i was gonna write for han and changbin and they ended up being the next two

🧾 FORMAL INVESTIGATION REPORT

Filed by: Concierge Aeryn Subject: Mustang Inspection Staff Member Under Review: Changbin Seo Guest Involved: Room 101

You weren’t expecting to be summoned like a misbehaving schoolgirl.

The envelope was slipped under your suite door sometime mid-afternoon—gold-trimmed, obnoxiously elegant, as if a wax seal would’ve been too gauche. The message inside was short:

To our valued guest, Concierge Aeryn requests a private audience regarding your submitted complaint. Please meet in the Executive Lounge on Level 3 at your earliest convenience.

Right. Because when you file a totally reasonable complaint about a gremlin in a sleeveless shirt launching himself across your Mustang like he’s in The Fast and the Furious: Valet Drift, you clearly need to be summoned.

You’re already bracing for nonsense by the time you step into the lounge.

But even you didn’t expect this level of bullshit.

Because there he is—Changbin, the human embodiment of “I bet I could fix it with a wrench and three flexes”—sprawled in a leather armchair like he owns the place. One leg thrown over the other, glass of whiskey in hand, smug little smirk already in place like it was professionally installed.

“Of course you’re here,” you mutter.

He raises his glass in a lazy salute. “Wouldn’t miss it. I love a formal meeting. Really brings out my diplomatic side.”

Before you can strangle him with the decorative throw pillow, Concierge Aeryn stands.

She’s terrifyingly elegant—adorable pink blazer and skirt but sharp dark eyes, clipboard in hand, expression politely unreadable.

“Thank you for joining us,” she says smoothly. “This is a voluntary resolution session in response to your recent concern about one of our valet attendants. For transparency, the staff member has been informed and is present for discussion.”

You blink. “Discussion? I didn’t ask for a conversation. I asked for a reprimand. Or a refund. Or a ceremonial beheading. I’m flexible.”

Changbin coughs into his drink.

Aeryn doesn’t flinch. “We believe some conflicts are best resolved through direct communication.”

“Through… conversation,” you echo flatly. “About how this man violated my Mustang’s personal space and then revved the engine like he was about to take it to prom.”

Changbin shrugs, all fake innocence. “You left the keys in it. I assumed she was into me.”

“Oh, I bet you say that to all the girls with 5.0L V8s and ceramic coatings.”

His eyes glitter. “Only the ones with leather interiors.”

You cross your arms, leaning back in your chair just enough to seem unimpressed. “I don’t even know why you’re here. Is this what the hotel does? Hosts dramatic little interventions instead of just, I don’t know, issuing formal warnings like a normal HR department?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Changbin drawls, “you’re looking at HR.”

You blink.

He grins wider and gestures vaguely at his upper lip, where the faint remnants of adhesive still cling.

“You were the guy in the fake mustache earlier?” you say, absolutely not meaning to sound that incredulous or amused.

“Technically still am.” He pulls a tiny plastic mustache from his back pocket like it’s evidence in a murder trial. “I moonlight as ‘Brian from Human Resources.’ He’s got three kids, a mortgage, and a deep passion for employee accountability.”

You stare at him. He gives you a solemn nod, like this is completely normal. Like he’s not sitting here with the fakest mustache known to mankind and a whiskey glass he definitely wasn’t authorized to have.

Aeryn makes a note on her clipboard. Possibly “burn everything.”

“I want Brian to be fired,” you announce, deadpan.

“Brian’s unionized,” Changbin says gravely. “You’ll have to go through corporate.”

“They’ll definitely hear about this,” you shoot back.

“Shit,” he says, and sips his drink like this is suddenly a high-stakes legal drama and not the most unprofessional mediation session in hotel history.

Aeryn looks up with the calm of a woman mentally browsing job listings. “If we’re finished with theatrics, perhaps we can proceed to the next steps. Our records show the Mustang was returned in excellent condition. However, as a courtesy to you, we’re offering a full inspection—car wash included—free of charge.”

You blink. “Wait. That’s it?”

“That, and a voucher for one complimentary spa treatment,” Aeryn adds. “Redeemable at any time during your stay. Though I suggest sooner rather than later. For stress relief.”

Changbin perks up. “We could do a couples massage.”

You don’t even dignify that with a response. You just turn to Aeryn.

“Is he going to be the one inspecting the car?”

“Only if you consent,” she says, already expecting the answer.

“I don’t.”

Changbin leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, voice dropping just a notch. “I’m very… thorough. When I inspect things. Very… hands-on.”

Your stomach does something wildly inconvenient. You chalk it up to caffeine withdrawal and the fact that he’s objectively hot in that smug bastard who probably has his own protein line kind of way.

“Tell me,” you say slowly, “do you flirt with every guest whose car you manhandle, or was I just lucky?”

“You were lucky,” he says without missing a beat. “That car was sexy, but you—”

“Stop.”

“—you made her look tame.”

You blink slowly. “Are you actively trying to get fired?”

“Depends. If it gets me alone with you in a parking garage… maybe.”

Aeryn closes her folder with a snap. “This concludes the resolution session. Miss, if you’d like to supervise the vehicle inspection, please meet Mr. Seo in the parking garage in thirty minutes. If not, he’ll be supervised by a senior valet.”

You nod stiffly and rise. “Fine.”

Changbin’s already on his feet, stretching in that obnoxious, broad-shouldered way like he’s warming up for something more intense than a paint check. He winks at you as you turn to go.

“Don’t worry,” he calls after you. “I’ll be gentle with her this time.”

You don’t turn around, but your voice drifts back cool and clipped: “Can’t say the same for me.”

And just like that, you leave them both stunned—Aeryn in amused disbelief and Changbin with his jaw halfway to the marble floor, clearly unprepared for a guest who plays the game better than he does.

_____________________________________________________________

The parking garage is dim and humming—low lights buzzing overhead, the distant sound of tires squealing somewhere in the bowels of the building. It smells like concrete, polish, and testosterone. Probably imported.

You’re not sure what you expected when you agreed to this little charade of an “inspection,” but it wasn’t a fully detailed, sparkling version of your Mustang parked dead center in the valet bay like it’s on display at a car show.

And definitely not Changbin leaning against the hood like he’s auditioning for a gritty magazine spread titled Torque and Temptation.

He’s swapped the sleeveless shirt for a black fitted polo that’s somehow worse. Tighter. Smugger. The sleeves cling to his biceps in a way that should be illegal in most countries.

“I figured she deserved a little TLC,” he says, pushing off the hood with that maddeningly lazy swagger. “Did the wash myself. Waxed her, too.”

Your gaze darts to the faint water trails drying along the edge of the fender. You narrow your eyes.

“She doesn’t need waxing,” you deadpan.

He smirks. “Thought she liked it smooth.”

You don’t blink. “You’re impossible.”

“Not impossible,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “Just inconveniently available.”

You square your shoulders. “You’re here to inspect for damage, not flirt like a used car salesman.”

He grins like he is the six-pack. “Multitasking is a skill, sweetheart.”

God, he’s infuriating.

But then he crouches beside the front wheel, fingers gliding along the curve of the rim with surprising delicacy. The shift from cocky to focused is disorienting.

He looks up at you from beneath his lashes, voice lower now. “You see this?” He taps lightly against the edge. “No scratches. No dents. And trust me, I’d notice. I’ve got… very sensitive hands.”

You fold your arms, because the way he’s crouched—thick thighs straining, lips just parted, that teasing glint never quite gone—is more than a little distracting.

“I’m sure you do,” you say tightly.

He stands again, slow and deliberate, brushing his palms off on the seat of his pants. “Want to see how good they are?”

You blink. “What, are you offering a back massage now?”

He grins wickedly. “Only if you’re parked face-down.”

You choke on your own inhale.

He steps closer, close enough that you have to tilt your chin to meet his gaze. “You don’t scare easy, do you?”

“I drive a Mustang,” you say coolly. “I scare other people.”

He whistles low. “So that’s what this is. You’re trying to out-alpha the valet.”

“No,” you say, stepping into his space. “I’m trying to keep the valet from jizzing on my engine block.”

That actually stuns him for a second. His jaw drops. Then—laughter, full-bodied and infuriatingly attractive.

“Goddamn,” he mutters.

And then he’s moving—no more teasing, no more playful quips—just pure, deliberate intention. He crowds you against the car with all the subtlety of a freight train, body heat pouring off him like a goddamn furnace. One hand plants beside your head on the roof, the other slides around your waist, dragging you flush to him.

“You think I won’t?” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “Think I won’t bend you over this car right now and fuck you like I’m marking territory?”

Your breath stutters. You don’t answer. Can’t.

That’s when he glances up, eyes flicking to the discreet little security camera nestled in the corner of the ceiling. Red light blinking. Recording.

You expect him to flinch. Maybe ease off. Instead, he smirks. Reaches into his back pocket. Pulls out a microfiber towel—the same one he probably used to lovingly polish your hood—and with one casual flick, he tosses it over the camera lens.

No words. No hesitation. Just the silent, arrogant kind of dominance that says: watch time is over. Now it’s for me.

Your heart lurches. Your thighs clench.

And then he moves.

No smirk, no warning. Just heat and mass and intent, crowding you back against your own car like he’s staking a claim. One thick thigh forces between yours. His palm finds your waist and drags you into his chest, hard enough to make your breath hitch. His hand slams beside your head on the roof, and suddenly you’re caged—nothing but steel and heat and him.

“You think I won’t?” His breath ghosts over your ear, deep and dangerous. “Think I won’t bend you over this fucking Mustang and ruin you?”

And you should say something. Should push back, throw that cocky tone right back at him like you always do. But your brain short-circuits the second his thigh flexes between yours, pressing up just right, like he already knows how to cut you off at the source.

“You’re full of shit,” you mutter, breathless, but it’s weak. A pathetic swing when you’re already spiraling.

Changbin huffs a laugh against your skin, and it’s so smug. You feel it in your bones. “Yeah? Keep running your mouth, baby. See how fast I shut it.”

Then he’s spinning you—just grabbing you and turning you like it’s nothing. Your chest hits the hood of your car with a dull thunk, the cool metal shocking against your flushed skin. You’re spread out like a meal, and he doesn’t even pause to admire. Just acts.

His hand plants between your shoulder blades, pinning you. His other hand shoves your skirt up without ceremony. You hear him groan behind you—raw and low—when your lace panties are revealed, the dark patch of wetness front and center.

“Oh, fuck me,” he mutters, hand sliding down to cup between your thighs. His fingers press right into the soaked fabric, rubbing a slow, dirty circle over your clit. “This from just me talking, baby?”

You bite back a moan, but your hips roll into his touch, helpless and aching.

He tsks. “You’re filthy. Fucking soaking. You want me to wreck you out here, huh?”

“Like you’d know what to do with it,” you snap, still clinging to whatever dignity you’ve got left.

The air shifts.

You feel the tension coil in him before he moves, and then he grabs your panties—fistful at your hip—and rips them down in one rough pull. They get caught at your knees, tangled in your thighs, and before you can protest, he snatches them up and shoves them into your mouth.

“You don’t get to talk anymore,” he growls, voice like gravel as he looms over you. “You get to take it.”

And you whimper. Because god, yes. That mouth of his, the size of him behind you, the weight of his cock already pressing to your soaked folds—it’s too much.

His cock drags over your entrance, heavy and hot, and so thick you twitch just from the feel of it against your slit. He’s not even in yet, just teasing, sliding the head through your slick—smearing it, soaking himself in the mess between your thighs like he’s painting you in it.

And fuck, he loves how wet you are. You can hear it in the way he grunts—like the sound alone punches the air from his lungs.

“Shit,” he breathes, almost reverent. “You’re dripping for it. Didn’t even get my cock inside and you’re already desperate.”

He grips your hips tighter, thumbs digging into your skin, spreading you open with no finesse—just a filthy kind of urgency like he needs to see you split for him. Like he’s starved for it.

“You ready for this, baby?” he mutters, voice rough as gravel. “Gonna fuck you so stupid, you forget your own name.”

And then he pushes in.

The stretch is immediate. Relentless. You cry out into the panties stuffed in your mouth, back arching as your cunt fights to take the girth of him. He’s thick—not overly long, but the kind of cock that makes you feel full right from the start. That kind of stretch that burns and thrills and tears your breath from your lungs all at once.

“Fuck—fuck,” he hisses through clenched teeth, hips trembling as he sinks in slow. “You’re tight. Holy shit, baby, you’re gonna make me cum before I even start.”

You clench, and he whines.

It’s broken and breathy—boyish and wrecked. The sound of someone already spiraling, trying to hold back and failing miserably.

His fingers dig harder into your hips like he’s anchoring himself to reality, like if he doesn't hold on right now, he’s going to lose it completely. He’s inside—barely—but it already feels like too much. Too hot. Too tight. Too fucking good.

“You’re squeezing me like a fist,” he gasps, forehead dropping to your shoulder for a second, sweat slicking his skin. “You want me to blow already, huh? Want me to cum like a fuckin’ virgin just from putting it in?”

He groans as he pulls back, just a few inches, then slams back in.

You choke on the scream behind your gag, tears pricking the corners of your eyes from the force of it. Your body jerks forward from the impact, tits dragging over the hood of your car, and the friction only makes it worse—better. You don’t even know the difference anymore.

“Yeah,” he pants, breath stuttering against your neck, “that’s it. Take it. Take all of it, fuck—look at this little cunt stretching so fuckin’ wide for me.”

He sets a rhythm that’s brutal and hungry—driving into you like he’s got something to prove. Like he needs to make you feel every last inch of him. The slap of skin on skin echoes around the garage, mixing with his ragged breathing, the squelch of your soaked pussy, and your muffled moans.

“Fuckin’ made for me,” he groans. “Like this pussy was built to take my cock. You feel that, baby? Feel how good you’re takin’ it?”

You nod helplessly, drool starting to leak around the edges of the panties stuffed in your mouth. It’s messy, degrading, and you don’t care—don’t want to care. Not when he’s fucking you like this.

“You’d let me do anything, wouldn’t you?” he growls, thrusts getting harder, deeper. “Say the word and I’ll flip you over and fuck you through the windshield. Make you sit on my cock while I drive you home, legs spread, dripping all over my seat.”

You whine, hips jerking back into his, and he laughs—low, breathless, filthy.

“God, you’re such a fuckin’ mess. Look at you. Cryin’, droolin’, gagged on your own panties, and still grinding back on me like you want more.”

He grabs a fistful of your hair, yanks your head back, makes your back arch like a bow.

“Still got attitude left in you, huh?” he taunts, voice right in your ear. “Still think I don’t know what to do with it?”

Then he pulls all the way out—slow, deliberate, dragging the full thickness of him against your raw walls—and slaps the head of his cock against your clit. Once. Twice. You jolt with each hit, body twitching like it’s trying to run from the pleasure and the pain and the fucking overstimulation.

But there’s nowhere to go.

Because he won’t let you.

One hand fists in your hair, the other pins your hips down, and he’s not gentle. He doesn’t want you squirming. He wants you still, wants your legs open and your cunt dripping and your body exactly where he put it—used and needy and begging for more.

“Look at you,” he grits out. “So fuckin’ pretty like this. All wrecked and spread out for me.”

Then he does it again—slaps your clit with the flushed head of his cock, and this time your whole body jerks, a strangled moan escaping around the gag. You’re already trembling, nerve endings fried, and he’s not even back inside you yet.

He hums like he’s delighted by it, like he’s admiring the effect. “That sensitive already? Poor baby.”

He slides back in with one smooth, slow thrust, and the way your body clenches around him—wet, twitchy, desperate—pulls a broken fuck from deep in his chest.

He doesn’t move right away. Just stays there, buried to the hilt, grinding his hips slow and filthy, like he’s making you feel every single inch, like he’s daring you to fall apart on him again.

“I could do this all night,” he breathes, nose dragging up your spine. “Just stay right here, keep you full, keep you dumb. Ruin you over and over until you can’t think of anything but my cock.”

Your body throbs around him, a pulse of heat so intense it makes you whimper, makes your knees buckle under the weight of it. His arm snakes around your waist, hauling you up just enough to keep you upright, to keep fucking you through it.

“You gonna cum again for me?” he murmurs, mouth at your jaw, breath hot and mean. “Gonna soak my cock like a good little toy?”

And you do—can’t not. Your whole body seizes, spasming around him in a sudden, violent wave of pleasure that makes you scream around your gag, makes you claw at the hood of the car, makes your vision go white.

He groans—low, choked, nearly broken—and the sound of you falling apart seems to shatter whatever restraint he had left.

“That’s it. That’s fucking it.”

He slams into you again, faster now, harder, a man possessed. His thrusts are erratic, savage, and he’s panting curses against your neck.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he growls. “Gonna fill this little cunt so full, it leaks all the way down your thighs. Gonna mark you—ruin you—until everyone who looks at you knows who you belong to.”

He thrusts in deep—so deep it knocks the air from your lungs—and stays there, hips twitching as he cums with a guttural moan, body trembling against yours. You feel it—hot and thick—spilling inside you in pulsing waves, flooding you, claiming you.

Neither of you move for a long moment.

Just the sounds of panting, sweat-dripping silence. Your thighs shaking. His breath against your back. The weight of him still buried inside.

Then—finally—he pulls out with a filthy, slick drag, and you whimper, overstimulated and ruined. Cum leaks out of you immediately, sliding down your thighs in warm rivulets.

He leans in, lips brushing your ear, voice smug and low.

“Still think I don’t know what to do with it?”

______________________________________________________________

[TRANSCRIPT – INTERNAL SECURITY SYSTEM, 21:03]

Jisung is in the control room. It’s quiet. Late. He’s alone, legs kicked up on the console, one hand in a snack bag, the other toggling through camera feeds with minimal enthusiasm.

Han (deadpan): “Another thrilling night at the SKZotel. Let’s see which part of the building needs Jesus today.”

Camera 19 loads: P3 Valet Bay. Changbin is visible, leaning against a black Mustang. He’s not in uniform. Technically not even supposed to be down there.

Han (frowning): “…Why is he always shirtless-adjacent? Who approved that fit?”

He watches. Changbin steps closer to a guest. Close-close. Hand on the roof. Whispering something. The guest presses back against the car.

Han (snorting): “He’s about to fuck that guest or buff the car again, and honestly, I don’t know which one he’s thirstier for.”

21:08 — Guest is visibly flustered. Changbin crouches. Jisung zooms in, bumps the desk with his knee, curses, and knocks over chips.

Han (frantic whisper): “No no no—get back in frame—oh god he’s crouching—oh god he’s got thighs. This is a hate crime.”

21:09 — Changbin looks directly into the camera. Smirks.

Han (gasping): “He knows. He knows. That smug bastard—”

21:09:06 — Changbin reaches into his back pocket, flicks a microfiber towel over the camera lens with the flair of a man who’s definitely committing at least three HR violations.

Han (screaming): “NOOOOOOOOOO—

cut to static

[ADDITIONAL NOTES:]

Officer Han has submitted a formal request to install thermal imaging in the garage.

Request has been immediately denied.

Counseling has been suggested. Han has declined.

series taglist: @nightmarenyxx @miyaluvvsyou @jisuperboard @fackeraccount @silly250 @lov3rachan @lze325 @angel-writes-here @jesuisstay @lov3rachan @lze325 @scribblesnsketches05 @jesuisstay @slut4junho @wickedbutlovely @woozarts @pixie-felix

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doubleca5t · 9 months ago

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"As much as I love any group that fights and wins a war against the US" is a really shrunken-brained take even for you mildred. Aren't you like... what? 37? Haven't you grown past "America Bad" politics? Don't you have a mortgage?

1) I'm 29

2) I live in Los Angeles and I lack generational wealth so no I do not have a mortgage

3) To clarify my point, US foreign policy as it currently stands revolves around maintaining neocolonial resource extraction and exploitation of poorer countries and therefore I am opposed to any attempt to expand US influence abroad HOWEVER the unfortunate reality is that a lot of the most prominent enemies of US foreign policy have nefarious motives of their own and oppose American dominance only because it gets in the way of their own colonial/autocratic ambitions (e.g. The Taliban, Russia, China). Thus why under no circumstances do you have to hand it to the Taliban

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justacynicalromantic · 20 days ago

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A striking account on the Russian Army from Saïd Ismagilov, Ukraine’s supreme mufti who has been fighting for Ukraine for the last three years.

“This society is a swarm of locusts. Their purpose is to push forward no matter what, seizing new territories. Every day in Vovchansk, they advance in small groups of 3-5, climbing over the corpses of those who, hours earlier, stormed the same position. No sense, no reason, no success — just piling bodies against us.

This differs from Soviet Marshal Zhukov’s meat grinder assaults only in that they now attack in smaller groups, not to capture kilometers, but to take a single position of a few square meters. Day after day, methodically—wave after wave, if lose ground, they fall back, if anyone’s left to fall back.

But with some insane persistence. The individual dissolves, becoming part of the swarm, where the death of a few doesn’t even register. I can’t explain why they keep coming, even knowing we’ll kill them.

My philosophical education stops me from seeing this routine through a mathematician’s eyes, simply noting: minus one, minus five, minus forty. My philosophical and theological training pushes my mind to make sense of why this conditional Homo erectus (“upright man,” because I can’t organically call them Homo sapiens, seeing no rationality in their actions) climbs over the corpses of their swarm to certain death, amid ruins resembling a Martian landscape. For what? What’s the motivation? What do they hope to gain?

When I spoke to 🇷🇺 PoWs, they all said they wanted money from Putin’s regime to improve their financial situation. Not one mentioned ideological motives, belief in higher values, or a lofty goal. Just loans, debts, mortgages, poverty, the need to raise kids.

You came to kill our children to raise yours? Silence. Eyes down. But that’s the reality. They’d calmly kill us and our children, take our homes, sleep in our beds, even wear our clothes. They don’t see it as repulsive or wrong. Their authorities gave them permission, so it’s fine. Without hesitation, they’d wear your dress and eat from your plate because their czar and church blessed it.

They come to take and devour our resources, to populate our land with themselves. While the swarm’s leaders try to explain why they attack & kill us, the lower ranks just want to enrich themselves by murdering & looting.

The Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him!) gave an interesting take on human stupidity and greed: “The Day of Judgment won’t come until the Euphrates parts, revealing a mountain of gold. People will fight over it, and out of every hundred, ninety-nine will die. Yet each will think: Maybe I’ll be the one to survive!”

Watching them, I wonder if each one charges into the assault thinking they’ll be the one to survive and get rich. But then our guys hit them, and the stats report: another five down, dead.”

#ukraine #russia is a terrorist state #russian invasion of ukraine #україна #укртумбочка #укртумба #укртамблер #war crimes #russia #russian culture #genocide #war crime

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spaceoracle · 10 months ago

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My name is Austin. My family is homeless and has been since 2-2-22. My disabled, bed bound, immunocompromised father who is on oxygen 24/7, mom with a very painful disabled leg, cute as can be dog, wonderful and beautiful cat, and myself are in urgent need of support to keep us off the streets and in a motel room. We were evicted from our home after the passing of my aunt. She had a reverse mortgage and the bank took possession. We've been busting our butts to find a place ever since, with no luck finding housing whatsoever. Our daily motel fees eat up all of the money we manage to raise or save up, but crowded shelters are simply not an option because of my dad’s medical conditions. Catching COVID in a congregate shelter with his weak lungs and immunocompromised system would possibly kill him. We have been waiting for another Emergency Housing voucher as we were unable to find a place in the few days we were given to find one when approved previously. We are on countless low income housing waiting lists who have also told us to just wait. We have paid to apply for apartments and are rejected because of our low or non existent credit and low income. We are working with some new resources at the moment and hoping something comes of it. Basically, our issue is this: If we don’t have enough money for motel fees, we will have to sleep in our car which is super difficult for my parents and our pets, not even mentioning myself. There's honestly not enough room in our car for all of us to sit, let alone sleep comfortably. My dad’s oxygen machine needs electricity to run, and spare tanks only last a few hours each. The days are scorching and the nights get cold in California, especially this time of year, and we’re trying our best to stay together as a family and stay sheltered, healthy, and safe, and out of the triple digit summer heat. We would appreciate any donations you could spare to keep our motel room while we attempt to get on our feet during this awful experience. Thanks for your consideration, it means the world to us all. -Austin

The USA Today story featuring my family was published today. Apparently they have a policy that they can't link our fundraiser directly. So please help me spread it here.

#News #usa today #homelessness #homeless families #Fundraising #Fundraiser #Please reblog

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posttexasstressdisorder · 1 year ago

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They killed our Jesus: A Lament for Generation Jones

Two things happened in 1980 that would ensure the iron grip of the fascist state would (first slowly, then quickly), tighten on the entirety of the nation's populace from that moment forward: Ronald fucking Reagan was installed as president, and a CIA-psyop'd Christian Nationalist shot and killed John Lennon.

Those two things are connected.

First let's look at exactly who "Generation Jones" encompasses, and specific moments in the generational timeline that defined our future. The wiki page is actually quite good. Here's an excerpt that really hits it on the head:

"The name "Generation Jones" has several connotations, including a large anonymous generation, a "keeping up with the Joneses" competitiveness and the slang word "jones" or "jonesing", meaning a yearning or craving.[17][18][19] Pontell suggests that Jonesers inherited an optimistic outlook as children in the 1960s, but were then confronted with a different reality as they entered the workforce during Reaganomics and the shift from a manufacturing to a service economy, which ushered in a long period of mass unemployment. Mortgage interest rates increased to above 12 percent in the mid-eighties,[20] making it virtually impossible to buy a house on a single income. De-industrialization arrived in full force in the mid-late 1970s and 1980s; wages would be stagnant for decades, and 401Ks replaced pensions, leaving them with a certain abiding "jonesing" quality for the more prosperous days of the past.

Generation Jones is noted for coming of age after a huge swath of their older brothers and sisters in the earlier portion of the Baby Boomer population had; thus, many note that there was a paucity of resources and privileges available to them that were seemingly abundant to older Boomers. Therefore, there is a certain level of bitterness and "jonesing" for the level of doting and affluence granted to older Boomers but denied to them.[21]"

That sets the stage, for the most part. I was four when JFK was shot on TV. I was a wide-eyed, open-eared five year old when The Beatles were on Ed Sullivan and The Supremes were on the radio. I was ten when we landed on the moon, and I wanted to be a hippie at Woodstock at eleven. "Basketball Jones" came out when I was 12...I jonesed for a telescope because SPACE and got one from that great maker of fine telescopes, KMart.

Generationally, we jonesed to be ten years older, so we could have had all the cool shit THEY had. They had The Beatles, and we had the solo Beatles, they had Hendrix, Cream, Jefferson Airplane, and we had the fucking BeeGees and disco. It's like we, as a generation, were fated to live The K-Mart Knockoff of Life, instead of the bright, shiny Brand Name One all our older brothers and sisters got.

MUSIC and SCIENCE were EVERYTHING to us as kids/teens...the Eshittification Of Music truly began in 1973, and proceeded through SynthPop Hell in the '80s. Rock and Roll heroes became hairdos with guitars. The rock heroes of the '60s were getting married and having kids and baking bread. AM Radio ceased to be something you listened to for music...it began to replace music with strident, screaming hate voices that would eventually engulf all of AM Radio 24/7/365.

We were continually thwarted most of the way from our young adulthood on, blatantly from the moments in 1980 that the vile Ronald Reagan and the core operatives of evil for the next 50 years took over, and then the moment of what I call "Our Generational Wounding", the murder of John Lennon.

Back in '66, John had inflamed all the grandpas of todays magats by saying (truthfully) that with teens, The Beatles were more popular than Jesus. Beatle hate became a Very Big Thing in Bumfuck South Texas. Record burnings, merchandise burnings, book burnings, all were commonplace. A very palpable, and very specifically "Anti-Beatle" hate got instilled in a lot of kids/teens at that point, so anything to do with the Beatles was taboo for "good people" (read Southern Baptists) to like.

That, of course, made me love them that much more, and to follow their paths from their breakup forward with 'bated breath, buying every 45 they put out, trying to save pennies up to buy their albums.

John was the radical hippie, the one who wanted peace, the one with the weirdo wife, the one who held a "Bed-In" for peace. In a very fundamental-to-our-generation way, John Lennon was OUR "Jesus".

Richard Nixon (president from '68 to '74) HATED him.

In 1971, there was a true mass consciousness that incorporated us along with our older siblings, a musical mass consciousness. I became aware of many things in 1969, specifically fall of '69, so I was experiencing all this in real-time, as it happened. When the news that The Beatles officially broke up came across the AM radiowaves in May of '70, it was A. Very. Big. Deal. Everyone watched everything they did from that point on with GREAT interest.

George put out "My Sweet Lord" and "What Is Life" (first record I ever bought), John put out "Instant Karma", "Mother", then "Power To The People", then "Imagine". Ringo put out "It Don't Come Easy", and Paul & Linda had "Uncle Albert/Admiral Halsey". EVERYBODY was a "post-breakup Beatle critic", panning Paul's very first solo 45 "Another Day", "Uncle Albert" was the followup. This band called Badfinger that sounded suspiciously like The Beatles appeared on American radio, and would make 1972 one of the final "Golden Years" of AM Rock Radio.

In 1970 we heard about this Elton John guy, by the end of '72, I was playing as many of his songs on the piano as I could figure out. My favorite album was (still is) "Madman Across The Water". When "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road" came out in '73, a very noticeable shift was occuring.

Pop became much less political. It softened. It mellowed. It grew its hair long and lived in the country, learned how to grow potatoes and play the mandolin, making Country Rock the one lasting "legacy" of our sad sub-generation. By the time I graduated HS in May of '77, it was all there was on the radio, besides....disco. Oof.

One of my first TV memories was JFK getting shot. That was the Generational Wounding of our older brothers and sisters. When Mark Chapman (a Christian nationalist who changed the words of "Imagine" to "Imagine there's no John Lennon") shot John in December of 1980, it was the 2 in the 1-2 PUNCH done to our OUR generation. The first, of course, being the installing of Reagan and the evil Evangelical influence beginning in earnest.

It also began the buildup of the "Holy War" radical right, and an utter denial and clampdown of "hippie", of "counterculture" in general began, ensuring that John's vision of world peace would never come true, at least not on their watch. They had, effectively, killed OUR Jesus, along with our chances of the kind of security our older sibs got in spades. It also marked the unholy marriage of the evangelicals and the republican apparatus.

When Reagan got elected by virtue of the vile Newt Gingrich's 'Southern Strategy', a clampdown in earnest on the very SPIRITUAL EXISTENCE of our generation's incredible want and need, our collective JONESING for world peace began. Richard Nixon had planted the seeds. Nixon hated John Lennon with a passion. After Reagan was elected, I firmly believe Chapman was "activated" and they killed John as a Christmas present to Nixon.

It was after that, when the dream of a scientific future began to die, as well. When we were in high school, SCIENCE WAS EVERYTHING, so we wanted to be some kind of scientist "when we grew up".

I dealt with four years of college, majored in Biology, and in early 1981 realized my dream of being a Forest Ranger in Yosemite or some other national park somewhere, living in a cabin, giving talks to visitors about the biology aspects of the park....all that went POOF, almost instantaneously. My degree would get me nowhere, so I left before the end of that year and started working in record stores.

I was effectively the Cusack character in the movie about record stores, but it led to a dead end. Record stores weren't all that glamorous, and yes, the pay was dogshit. I tried working in record stores for the love of the music, while trying to BE a musician in a town FILLED OVER FLOWING with musicians, but that was quickly shat on by the beginning shrieks of late-stage capitalism.

It was like working in the record stores was my trying to keep holding onto the dream, our generation's dream...John's dream of world peace (along with my dream of being a working musician) died a pitiful death by the end of 1986.

What followed was nothing but a series of Jobs I Hated, and the beginnings of the true Jonesing for the life we'd been promised, because we didn't get the raises, the pensions, the house, the car, boat and camper, none of that shit for us. A life of being a low-paid, no-insurance drub, destined to be a life-long renter, unless a financial miracle happens.

So when people ask why we (as a generation) hate Ronald Reagan so much, let's just say I'm with Bugs on this one.

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dorothylarouge · 4 months ago

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so, Disney's plan for the foreseeable future is just burning out their decades of good will without giving anything in return, huh?

Right now their plan is to rely on the idea of the Disney Vacation being such an important childhood rite of passage that people will be willing to mortgage their house in order to afford one for their kids, plus steady cash from loyal Disney Adults. This will lead them to hit a brick wall eventually because there are only so many middle class families in America with the resources and willingness to spend so much on such a vacation, and Americans in general are downwardly mobile so there's less and less every year.

#asks

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dailyanarchistposts · 6 months ago

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Dig For Victory!

Most people have a garden or could take on an allotment fairly near to where they live. Organising garden sharing schemes where people with gardens they can’t use team up with people who want to garden but don’t have gardens is a worthwhile step. We need to investigate ways of producing and distributing organic food in our localities in ways that maintain biodiversity and as far as possible outside the money economy. Think organic, low-impact farming won’t work? A recent study of sustainable agriculture using low-tech methods introduced on farms supporting 4m people in majority world countries revealed that food production increased 73%, crops like cassava and potato showed a 150% increase and even large ‘modern’ farms could increase production 46%. The future occupation and use of land will depend on the extent to which all who wish to do so have discussed and consented to such use, that those occupying or using the land continue to work in solidarity with the whole of society within broad principles of co-operation, sharing freely both the means of production and what is produced. No individual or group of individuals will have any ‘right’ to say “the land must be used in the way we decide” nor can what is on or under the land or produced upon it be their property, whether plant or animal. The number of people involved in agriculture (in its widest sense) will probably expand greatly, with vast estates and agri-corp holdings broken up and shared out but also urban farms created in and near towns. The aim of agriculture (and associated activities like food processing) will be self-sufficiency for the localities and specialization or growing for ‘export’ only where there is surplus land or productive forces. It is likely that neighbours, co-workers, communities and communes will collectively agree that land will be used in particular ways according to a plan or program of beneficial change. This will not always be in the direction of development or ‘efficiency’ (which will have different definitions and parameters anyway); if people need more gardens or wilderness, small-holdings instead of sheep stations, they will create them.

To many people this will sound utopian. However we believe that if this approach was developed widely – and applied to our other vital needs — it could subtly undermine the credibility and power of the global economy (as well as having obvious personal benefits in terms of health etc). It is an important part of building social solidarity and a community of resistance in majority world communities. It would be a way of showing our solidarity with these majority world movements based around issues of land use, access to resources and so on: communities of small farmers are organising seed banks to preserve crop diversity as well as launching more militant attacks on the multinationals such as trashing fields of GM cotton and destroying a Cargill seed factory. In the longer term as (hopefully) numbers and confidence increase, large long-term squats will become a possibility on land threatened by capitalist development either for roads, supermarkets, airports etc or for industrialised food production being taken back for subsistence food production and as havens of biodiversity. We should take inspiration from the Movimento Sem Terra in Brazil where in the face of severe state repression and violence hundreds of thousands of landless peasants/rural proletarians have occupied large tracts of unused land.

Although it is clear that food prices are so low that they are not a major factor in tying people into the capitalist system (rents, mortgages and bills do so far more effectively) it seems to us that a population capable of and actively involved in producing much of its own food outside of the money economy will be in a stronger position in the event of large scale struggles against capitalism involving strikes, lockouts, occupations and campaigns of non-payment etc. Many thousands of people are being forced by the government to take low-paid, shitty jobs or mickey mouse workfare schemes and threatened with loss of benefit if they refuse. We could support that refusal by offering surplus food from allotments and gardens to those suffering the state’s oppression. There is also the possibility of people developing similar independence from the money economy in other spheres as well — housing, energy production, waste management, health care etc which would also be highly beneficial but which is beyond the scope of this text. So to summarise our practical response should consist of: 1) a massive campaign of direct action; 2) a consumer boycott and propaganda campaign against corporate injustice, focussing on issues of sustainability and social justice; and 3) attempts at collective withdrawal from the industrialised food production system.

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argumate · 2 months ago

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you've mentioned china's trade surplus effectively ripping of Chinese citizens (they are generating product but not getting access to it, I think?) and I was wondering... why? what benefit does this give to the people of China? I assume they operate that way for a reason but I don't know what the reason could be

I think it was a sensible strategy for at least 25 years or so, from when open policy began under Deng Xiaoping in 1979 up to the Beijing Olympics and Global Financial Crisis in 2008, then it became increasingly unhelpful but it was difficult to stop.

China was coming out of 30 years of Maoism when Deng took over, disconnected from the global economy, lacking infrastructure, and extremely underinvested: the GDP of Japan was 5x larger than China and it was exporting 10x as much as China, despite China having 8x more people.

under open policy, China created special economic zones across the south east and encouraged companies from Hong Kong and Taiwan to setup low cost operations there, then later invited US and European corporations too but always with strict conditions to partner with local businesses and state owned enterprises to ensure technology transfer (the classic story of investing in China is to do the work of setting up a partner company then later have that partner company take over the market).

at the same time as opening up to global markets (and getting rid of rations and price controls and switching to a market economy domestically), China poured resources into infrastructure investment, building factories and highways and bridges and docks and harbours and the largest high speed train network on the planet and vast cities of apartments to accommodate the biggest urbanisation project in history and so on and so on.

this transformed China at vast scale with shocking speed into the industrial powerhouse that it is today, with GDP 4x Japan and exporting 5x as much, an incredible turnaround from the 20th century, when cyberpunk authors were predicting the Japanese economy would eat the world.

but all that infrastructure and property development required to urbanise and industrialise was a massive investment, funded by the government and paid for by the hard work of Chinese households, whose incomes were suppressed by a range of mechanisms: fixed exchange rates and tariffs making imports expensive and helping exporters, bank spreads giving low deposit rates for savers and cheaper loans for favoured industries, the hukou system taking away rights from rural residents so they could be used as cheap labour in the cities much like undocumented immigrants in the US, and of course the labour movement was carefully controlled by the government and suppressed when its demands grew too strong.

the Chinese people paid for the transformation of China, but by and large I'd say it was well worth the effort: even if the politically connected elite siphoned off the top and wealth inequality increased, the overall quality of life improved enormously from the Maoist dark ages that preceded the open era.

the transition from the rationed economy to the market economy was rough, and inflation and unemployment not always perfectly managed, but the unrest of 1989 was relatively minor in the scheme of things, compared with the chaos and dysfunction of Russia's failed attempt to cross the chasm and liberalise its economy.

so that's the Chinese success story, which I think peaks in 2008, when China is inviting the world to the Beijing Olympics while America is busy spending billions of dollars invading other countries and has just blown up the global economy thanks to poor regulation of its banks inflating a mortgage bubble into a credit crisis.

however at this moment of triumph, China faces a quandary that it has not resolved to this day: the development model that has made it the industrial envy of the world has run its course and must be changed in order to continue steady growth, but it is very difficult to change course when politically connected vested interests owe everything they have to the continuation of these policies!

but first, why were exports important to China's growth in the first place? I think there are multiple reasons for this:

foreign companies that setup operations in China were focused on the export market because the Chinese people at the time had very little money, making them great workers but poor customers, and although the domestic market would steadily grow in size over time, the size of the global market and the suppression of local wages would continue to favour exports.

the government knew that the export market was highly competitive and would keep industry honest in a way that the domestic market might not, avoiding the problems seen in the USSR where protected industries could manufacture low quality products and faced little pressure to improve: "Made in China" would start cheap and then work its way up in quality, a classic tale of market disruption, as we see today with China subsidising Tesla factories as a rabbit for its own greyhounds (BYD) to chase.

possible geopolitical advantages to taking over critical industries for the entire world, along with an ideological bias in favour of production over consumption which means industries will habitually produce more than the domestic market can consume, requiring exports to meet the demand for demand.

so the problem was that over time China began to run out of opportunities for productive investment: when every person has an apartment and every river has a dozen bridges and the country is exporting a trade surplus of a trillion dollars a year it's time to slow down investment driven growth, shift towards consumption, pay households more, and let increased demand from Chinese consumers drive future development.

however, this requires reversing the transfers currently in place that take money away from households to subsidise exporters, which would immediately hurt export competitiveness and risk businesses downsizing and spiking unemployment -- much as we're seeing with Trump's tariffs in the opposite direction, any poorly managed change causes an economic downturn immediately but the potential economic growth is delayed, leading to a painful adjustment period and possible political instability.

as a result the Chinese government has been announcing plans to raise consumption and deleverage (reduce debt-fueled investment driven growth) for fifteen years now but it has balked from actually doing it every time, so the trade surplus mounts ever higher and popular discontent grows as -- much like America -- the people see the economic growth opportunities that their parents enjoyed now receding into the distance.

in theory the US could force this adjustment unilaterally, ideally by controlling financial investment from China (which is how China balances its enormous trade surplus) or much more clumsily by the kind of tariffs that Trump is levying (although bilateral tariffs may just push trade into more circuitous paths through other countries to evade them).

if the US no longer accepts Chinese trade surpluses then the government will have no choice but to shift the economy in a different direction, and perhaps it will be easier to justify the transition when the disruption can be blamed on a foreign adversary.

so if I had to summarise I would say that extracting wealth from the people can be beneficial if it is invested productively, but ultimately what makes an investment productive is that it meets demand from the people, that is what an economy is for, and we see countries experience growth booms when demand drives investment to meet demand and stagnate when demand drops and investment becomes increasingly unproductive, pushing on a piece of string in the hope that people will spend money they don't have if you just build enough shopping malls.

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