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#the dictatorship of the rich
girls-food-gear · 3 months
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am I surprised that the Hispanic version, with south american actors and based on a book written by an uruguayan writer (who literally lived the tragedy, in its full historical context), is better than “Alive”? Am i surprised that an American director decided to exploit a national tragedy, with such an unrealistic movie, not even being able to respect the names of those who died? No.
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menalez · 10 months
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to the anon who sent me a long ask name dropping someone and assuming random things based on nothing… u have issues
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whitechocolate · 2 years
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What do u mean in ur DNI about tankies ?
ppl born and raised in the global north that invalidate/deny the experiences and voices of ppl that were born in/raised in dictorships that claim to be communist! i’m a communist but i hate it when ppl invalidate my experience as a cuban person born in cuba and deny the human rights violations perpetuated by the current regime :O i have also seen a lot of leftists call ppl i care about ‘gusanos’ bc they spoke out against the c*stro regime. the situation is very complex and nuanced but basically i have no respect for ppl that are boot lickers for dictators/politicians/governments when they have no experience living or having families from those places. i can’t speak for ppl from other “”””””communist”””””” dictatorships i can only speak for myself as a cuban <3 :-)
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ncityzen · 2 years
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I love reading Catalan women novelists of the 20th century because they talk about life in my language and about streets, cities, smells, foods and customs that I share with them, but then they're all tragically bourgeois and like I stop relating
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anarchywoofwoof · 3 months
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the funny thing is that i don't think younger people - and i mean those under the age of 40 - really have a grasp on how many of today's issues can be tied back to a disastrous reagan policy:
war on drugs: reagan's aggressive escalation of the war on drugs was a catastrophic policy, primarily targeting minority communities and fueling mass incarceration. the crusade against drugs was more about controlling the Black, Latino and Native communities than addressing the actual problems of drug abuse, leading to a legacy of broken families and systemic racism within the criminal justice system.
deregulation and economic policies: reaganomics was an absolute disaster for the working class. reagan's policies of aggressive tax cuts for the rich, deregulation, and slashing social programs were nothing less than class warfare, deepening income inequality and entrenching corporate greed. these types of policies were a clear message that reagan's america was only for the wealthy elite and a loud "fuck you" to working americans.
environmental policies: despite his reputation being whitewashed thanks to the recovery of the ozone layer, reagan's environmental record was an unmitigated disaster. his administration gutted critical environmental protections and institutions like the EPA, turning a blind eye to pollution and corporate exploitation of natural resources. this blatant disregard for the planet was a clear sign of prioritizing short-term corporate profits over the future of the environment.
AIDS crisis: reagan's gross neglect of the aids crisis was nothing short of criminal and this doesn't even begin to touch on his wife's involvement. his administration's indifference to the plight of the lgbtq+ community during this devastating epidemic revealed a deep-seated bigotry and a complete failure of moral leadership.
mental health: reagan's dismantling of mental health institutions under the guise of 'reform' led directly to a surge in homelessness and a lack of support for those with mental health issues. his policies were cruel and inhumane and showed a personality-defining callous disregard for the most vulnerable in society.
labor and unions: reagan's attack on labor unions, exemplified by his handling of the patco strike, was a blatant assault on workers' rights. his actions emboldened corporations to suppress union activities, leading to a significant erosion of workers' power and rights in the workplace. he was colloquially known as "Ronnie the Union Buster Reagan"
foreign policy and military interventions: reagan's foreign policy, particularly in latin america, was imperialist and ruthless. his administration's support for dictatorships and right-wing death squads under the guise of fighting "communism" showed a complete disregard for human rights and self-determination of other nations.
public health: yes, reagan's agricultural policies actually facilitated the rise of high fructose corn syrup, once again prioritizing corporate profits over public health. this shift in the food industry has had lasting negative impacts on health, contributing to the obesity epidemic and other health issues.
privatization: reagan's push for privatization was a systematic dismantling of public services, transferring wealth and power to private corporations and further eroding the public's access to essential services.
education policies: his approach to education was more of an attack on public education than anything else, gutting funding and promoting policies that undermined equal access to quality education. this was, again, part of a broader agenda to maintain a status quo where the privileged remain in power.
this is just what i could come up with in a relatively short time and i did not even live under this man's presidency. the level at which ronald reagan has broken the united states truly can't be overstated.
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shadow-schemer · 8 months
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everyone: I Hate Rich People
me: I Don't! I can draw and write visual novels for you forever! Just give me the topic, my basic pay and a deadline
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kon-konk · 2 years
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Everyone forgets about my anarchy tattoo until I say now would be an ideal time for everything the British monarchy has touched to free itself.
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palestinalibre · 2 years
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the-library-alcove · 3 months
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One of the more disturbing symptoms of what I and other Jews refer to (with a dark and bitter humor) as "Israel Derangement Syndrome" is how quickly such individuals not only become hypocrites, but self-harming hypocrites.
There are no shortage of examples of hypocrites since October 7: feminists who deny the mass rapes on Oct 7. Landback advocates who deny Jewish history. Anti-torture advocates who support Hamas. Human rights advocates who support Hamas and the Houthis. And so forth.
But the self-harming hypocrites are a whole level beyond those examples, because their anti-Israel stance has the possibility of doing themselves real harm.
Let me give an example:
Leeja Miller. YouTuber, lawyer, and civil rights advocate. She has an entire series on "How [subsection of the US Right] Has Ruined Everything", and did several videos on the danger of a second term for Donald Trump, including one dedicated to Project 2025. That is the openly published plan to remake the US into a dictatorship under the next Republican president, giving details on how they will target minorities to have their rights stripped away, our legal protections against abuse by the rich and powerful weakened or removed, and generally make the US into a real life version of the Handmaid's Tale. So she knows what is at stake, directly and personally from her research. She knows how many people will be harmed or die under a Republican presidency, and how much it will harm the world at large if Trump gets back into the White House. It's not just the US population that will be harmed, it will be places like Ukraine, Taiwan... and Palestine. Because Trump and Netanyahu are fellow wannabe dictators.
And her Israel Derangement Syndrome is so severe that she just uploaded a video saying that, due to Biden supporting Israel alone, she can no longer advocate that her viewers vote for him.
Leeja knows what is at stake both in the US and in the Levant, and knows how Trump will give Netanyahu a full green light to do whatever Netanyahu wants. And yet, she is so fixated on "punishing Biden" for doing diplomacy and trying to rein in Netanyahu that she is willing to accept the risk of Trump regaining power.
And that's not only hypocrisy, that's hypocrisy that can have massive consequences for her and other people like her. And just to be clear here. She's not alone in this. She's just the best example due to her position as a lawyer and educator on the law and politics, and still is so fixated on this that she, and others like her, will advocate for positions that have the potential to harm hundreds of millions of people, because of the conflict in Gaza.
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txttletale · 9 days
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It is so fucking embarrassing watching you promote liberal ideas against censorship. I thought you were better than that. It's bad when the UK punishes you for criticizing J. K. Rowling because they're serving capital, not because anyone should be allowed to say anything. Ideally they would have much harsher libel laws, and they would enforce them against capital rather than in its favor.
ideally the UK would be made of pudding. it's a dictatorship of the bourgeoisie, dummy, all its laws are enforced in favour of capital and as a result it would be better if they didn't exist. libel laws and restrictions on speech in capitalist countries are in fact always bad for this reason and the UK's uniquely repressive ones are uniquely bad.
anyway freedom of speech is great, the reason the liberal conception of it is ridiculous is because it is fundamentally freedom of the rich to speak, like all bourgeois rights--read pat sloan's soviet democracy: all sorts of institutions in the early soviet union, from workplaces to schools, had their own worker-controlled newspapers in which the conduct of managers and administrators could freely be criticised and issues brought to their attention. this is a clear and obvious social good and what a real genuine freedom of speech looks like.
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iznsfw · 3 months
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Manic Robotic Dream Girl
IZ Days of Christmas 2023: Day 4 - Choi Yena
IZ*ONE's Choi Yena x Male Reader Smut
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Neon lights dance like flames around you. There’s no need to touch them when you’re already burning. Burning with something that’s not a fever but a kind of pain that never goes away. 
Sweat pricks the sides of your face and you’re aware of the blots of perspiration running down your jawline. Nights at the Rogue are often hot, but then they surprise you with a sudden burst of windiness, so you never bother to take your coat off. Whatever and wherever, you’ll always be here yet you’ve not once been able to predict the temperature.
That’s what happened when WAKE12 took over. 
Apparently, they decide if people are under the weather by controlling it by them-fucking-selves. Kwon feeling shitty? Looks like rain then. Maybe she’s feeling happy? Alright, let the clouds find balance. Angry? Take a fucking hailstorm. What a privilege, one bigger than the lives of the rich men in the North. But everyone forgets about that fact after she sends out minimal alms—canned goods, a Bible, something. Then it’s back to President Kwon is the best! President Kwon can never fail us! President—
“Vodka.”
“Same as yesterday?” asks Yuri, smiling a little bit. 
“Same as yesterday.” For a hologram, Yuri can be quite the social butterfly. 
Online wallets are all the rage nowadays. The AI voice in your head offers you said option to pay, and you can hear your balance privately spoken. Somehow your brow prevents from creasing as you hear it. You lack funds but somehow have a few extra bucks to drink. 
Choose that. You want to save your Wizes for other things. Lock eyes with Yuri and your balance goes down. You’ve paid. 
Online and digital wallets modified with embedded signals and readers were in use before you were even born. Of course, there were already such payment options in the twenty-first century, but how WAKE12 changed everything, not just ordering options with telepathic payment, can easily be read in a sixth grade history textbook. 
In October of the year 2918, Kwon Eunbi rose in the ranks as a scientist and soldier for Kang Hyewon, former president, and ended up working her way into dictatorship. The textbooks and classrooms teach that she proposed a law to the court and got herself a position for her wit and intelligence. But early first accounts challenge that, saying that she caught the eye of Kang and had a sexual relationship with her. WAKE12 branded this as propaganda that sullies the name of not only the dictator but the one of the late president, who died mysteriously before Kwon rose to power.
Massive backstory for cashless payment, but you know there’s more to it than the government would like to let on. What happened to Kang? What made Kwon so evil the moment she sat in her presidential throne?
“Thank you, sir.” Holograms all have different voices; Yuri’s sounds like she’s singing. At least the bartender slash boss hired her instead of those with monotone, emotionless ones. It’s cheaper to have hologram workers than humans anyway. Less money, less emotional labor, less of feeling like a normal person.
A beggar curled up below the counter holds his hand out. Not an uncommon sight in the Auster, but it’s a pity to see. The world has advanced with its telepathic wallets and 3D holograms yet there will always be individuals who haven’t caught up with time. While the North Rogue leads worldly lifetimes, the Auster is a home for the rejects. The poorest of the poor. The somewhere-in-the-middles. It can never be truly a perfect world if advancement doesn’t include everyone.
Give him a Wize. Back then, that would have been worth a hundred or so dollars, a currency long gone. Not that you’d know of it; WAKE12 claimed leadership way before you were born so the cheap value of the coin studded with the bust of Kwon Eunbi is all you’re accustomed to. 
Take your drink and thank Yuri. 
The cobblestone is rough beneath your feet. You take your seat at your usual table. Float your fingers around your shotglass. Pour the contents down your chapped mouth almost all in one go. Anything to feel something. Anything to feel anything. 
You’re not an alcoholic by any means, though that’s certainly up for debate. But there’s a need for the liquid that rages more than the need for oxygen (the fucking shortage of it) or food (the fucking expense of it). How else could you be less numb? You’re welcome to every feeling at this stage, just not this empty neutrality that slumbers your senses.
Pain? Your throat seizes up when you drink and brings tears to your eyes, so there's that. 
Happiness? Hm, none. You’re barely smiling. You’ve no family, little friends, and no partner for the last few years. There’s nothing to be happy about.
Anger? The displays of people fined harshly for their crimes on the big as life advertising screens stir some defiance in you. WAKE12 doesn’t take kindly to hacktivists and young coders dabbling in creating their own AIs. You have your own anti-government opinions, but what’s a human mind against an artificial one? Plus, and probably a less serious reason (tell that to the thousands who flock to the hospitals because of asthma), the air is almost always polluted here in the Rogue. It’s dirtied by car smoke and factory remains. You’d think that robots taking over the labs would improve it. Perhaps they weren’t programmed that way. 
Loneliness?
You look around. See the glitching phantoms of new world technology make the drinks breezily. Watch the light-studded train filled with commuters from the Auster. Kwon Eunbi managed to build an underside track for additional trains to run and still the commuters—young students, old grandparents, not young but not old workers whose jobs belong to WAKE12—wear the same tired look you saw yesterday. All you could hear are buzzes and uncanny valley voices from holograms.
The second chair paired with your table is empty. You’re suddenly lucid to the fact that it’ll always be like this. These nights of drinking and walking in the Auster Rogue will be endless, and just the same, you’ll be endlessly alone.
Sometimes mortality could be so depressing.
So depressing that it makes it all so meaningless.
A man stumbles over to the outside bar, breaking your thoughtless reverie. His clothes are as black as the night you spend but you can see blood on the fabric. The skyscrapers provide enough light for you to see his red face from anxious internal and worrying external blood. The pleading look grips his expression like a malfunctioning robot’s limb. 
He’s looking back as if afraid of what might be there. The rain-soaked road is tread on roughly by his shaking knees as he crawls his way to the bar. “Please, help me!”
“Warning,” comes the voice in your head, and you know the other visitors hear it, too, “a criminal of the state is in your proximity. Proceed with caution.”
WAKE12 always keeps an eye on those who threaten them. They have goons everywhere. The kindly grandfather down the street could be a veteran waiting for the chance of a medal. They have ears everywhere as well. Undercover cops stay in both crowded and clear spaces to identify possible threats. When it all comes down to it, you’re not safe in your own head at all. The implants can detect when you dream up something terrible. That’s how millions lose their reputation. Their jobs. Their families.
Their lives.
He staggers to the counter, crashing glass that shards his palms, and lets out this wail you’d hear from an abused pup. “Please,” he croaks. “Don’t listen to them. I just need somewhere to hide. I did nothing wrong, nothing!”
The implanted voice in your brain says otherwise. Everyone was given one when the Cyber Age came. That’s what makes a tiny difference in seeing who’s human and who’s not: the tiny, diamond scar below their hairline from the operation. Close inspection can’t always be done, however. Nowadays, too many of these robots and holograms pass the Turing test. You can never truly trust someone.
“Offenses include: playing the role of an accomplice in theft of government data, distribution of terrorist propaganda—”
“Get the fuck out!” says the bartender, having burst out from the back. As a longtime visitor, you haven’t seen him this angry, but you know it stems from fear. No one wants to associate with a criminal. No one wants the association to lead to arrest and the arrest lead to god knows what. Hundreds of people go missing after they’re taken under custody. What Kwon does to them, you don’t know. “Leave or I’ll call the cops!”
Like you said, they lurk everywhere. You’re surprised they haven’t caught up to him.
The bloodied man shakes his head, like please, please, someone believe me. “No, I’m not a criminal! Listen to me, please, I don’t have enough time! They just wanna—cut down” 
Rapid footsteps. Sigh and put your glass down. There they are.
The man reaches for him, but the bartender shoves the whole table into his face. He falls back on the ground and cries out for help that never comes. Men and women wearing tight black uniforms and vests pull him up. Their lit helmets that opposingly disallow a view of their faces make them look emotionless. Like robots.
Huh.
While resting your head against the metal chair, you listen to the struggling shuffles of the police and criminal, and see the glitching robots walking down the road. No real emotion, no real living.
He scratches and screams and sobs, but that doesn’t matter to them. They pull him along the rocky cement and recite his nonexistent rights to him. There’s the right to remain silent (he’s screaming), the right to an attorney (nobody in the Auster can afford a good lawyer much less an honest one), and the right to live freely if found innocent of the crime (someone getting convicted happens more often than being released).
Besides, it can’t be called living when it’s in a place so completely devoid of any humanity.
“In more ways than one,” you say. Fuck it, you’ll drink to that.
-
Like always, you take more than you should. You believe by now you’ve built some kind of immunity. That’s what they all think, you remind yourself, before an inevitable death that buries them in the ground one bricked shot at a time. You swear you’re not dizzy at all or feeling the acid build to your throat, so the sight gathering just a little away from you is real. 
Stare at your glass. Space out if not for what you see: behind it, a shapely form of a woman in purple. The blue and violet lights make it difficult for you to distinguish it from her clothes so she actually looks naked. That shocks you more than the arrest. You’re sure she’s got a little modesty in her because why else is she making her way to a table?
Your table?
It’s like she teleported when she’s suddenly seated before you, filling the chair that’s been empty for the last more or so years. You don’t even get the chance to look up at the right time, but the moment you do, you think keeping your eyes on your glass would’ve been better for the sake of your heart.
YENA.
Her name appears in your mind and she hasn’t even introduced herself. But it’s right there, emblazoned in lights in all capitalized four letters: YENA. This girl is Yena. And this girl—this fucking guilty pleasure of a girl—is gorgeous.
The ends of her hair are tinged with blonde, and it’s hard not to give attention to that with how her locks are gathered into twin tails. She smoothes them before looking at you quite seriously, like she’s about to propose a challenge you’d lose.
Blue shining eyes. There’s something odd about the way they twinkle below her bangs—almost like something not human. 
Yena dances her fingers around her jawline, elbow resting on the table, and tilts her pretty face. Lets her fingers play with her lips that are made for things the Auster’s known for providing (she can’t be from here though; those crocheted coordinates look costly). That’s how you notice that fine feature. Naturally thick and casually jutted out in a distinctive pout, your eyes are glued to them. Can’t take your prolonged stare away if someone helped you. 
“Are you waiting for me to start talking?” Yena asks. She’s not angry, just amused—her voice is smooth and clear, with a tiny pitch that makes her all the more cute. 
You shake your head. “Was just trying to figure something out.” 
“And that is?”
“A lot of things,” you state. Things you’d keep a secret forever, lest you spill them out to a girl all for the payment of being beautiful. “But I’m not sure pretty girls like you would want to know.”
You try to keep your curious peering at her normal, but it’s difficult when she just attracts attention. She’s a glowing lightbulb in a flutter of moths. Yena doesn’t flicker weakly; she shines, and it’s honestly why everyone else is “subtly” looking at her, this gorgeous stranger who came in and somehow chose the alcoholic who came from places more rock bottom than the Auster.
She laughs. It’s sobering—you think you’ll get drunk on her rather than the cheap alcohol. “Is that what you think of me? Too beautiful to think too much?” 
Look her up and down. Yeah, you want to say, that’s about it. It’s not out of offense but rather the instinct in you that wants to tell her you don’t want to put her in a worried state. She’s too… ah, she doesn’t know what you’d do for a girl like her—someone too unreal to be human but too genuine to be the “living” dolls lonely men purchase. Someone who can keep a conversation going without fearing a low blow. Someone who’s out of your league in the Rogue’s mixed pool but chooses you anyway.
“I’m just saying you might not want to hear a stranger boring you with his hard problems.”
“Oh please,” she says, waving it off with a flick of a pointed wrist. “You know my name. I know yours. We’re not strangers anymore.”
How did you—how did she—
Her eyes twinkle again. They’re… violet? You could have bet they were blue. But then you see the suspiciously smooth and clear skin, with the perfect lines of her eyelids, which curve as if manufactured in. She’s definitely not human. 
“Besides,” adds Yena sweetly, “you’re really underestimating how good I can take certain hard things.”
Swallow. You opened the door, now you’re locked in. 
Yena catches the bob of your Adam’s apple and smirks. Traces her fingers over yours. She can’t be human for sure yet you feel the softness of her hand, the only thing giving you doubt being how chilled her touch is. It's humid here, so where did that come from? Goosebumps pop up in masses across your skin—note how nothing shows up on hers.
Maybe she’s just a confident woman.
“Come on, I dare you.” 
“Only if you go first.” 
“Yes, sir,” she says. A cutesy saluted hand positions itself before her temple. Her hands are tiny, could be dainty, while her cheeks lift to support an adorable smile. 
Your knees tremble. You don’t know where that came from either. Yena just knows what to say to get to a guy. Almost like she was made for it. There’s that question again, resurfacing in your altered brain: is she human or not?
You lean back. Cross your arms. Here you go, on your way to find out. “What’s your story?” 
Yena shrugs, her shoulders bare and smooth. And you’re thinking of how you’d like to see the rest of them, the rest of her body naked by pulling down the crocheted strap of the purple coordinates. How you’d like to touch those puffed up cheeks and not care if they’re real or not when you pull her close to kiss her. How those lips—
“Don’t have one.”
“Sorry?”
She laughs. Even the way she giggles is attractive.  “No, seriously,” she replies, licking her lips. “There’s nothing interesting about me. I’m the most normal girl there is.”
There is nothing normal about her. Everything she says is too prepared. The largeness of her eyes gives everything away. Her hair is combed too finely that you’re not unconvinced that it isn't human hair at all, though you can see them connect at the roots. It’s like someone drew a cute animated girl on a notepad one lonely night, sent the idea to a rich bastard, and brought her to life.
So no, you’re not buying it.
“So you’re saying you’re just a blank canvas.”
“If you put it like that, I guess.” Yena rolls her eyes. You’re a bit obsessed. “Guys want that, right? A blank piece of a girl they could shoot more than a shot at? Maybe paint her white?”
You’re thankful you didn’t continue drinking. Otherwise, your surprise would be visible and audible with the lodge of your throat as you wineboard yourself.
The side of her mouth raises. A soft dimple exceeding cuteness—it’s deeper, brighter, shinier. You imagine her as a college student, charming boys into submission just with a wink and a smile that can melt hearts and bring guilt to lust-addled minds. 
That’s what she’s doing: Yena is melting you because of how adorable she is, but then you take a look at her body, note the fine curves it boasts, and feel the need to go to a confessional pastor. You’re not supposed to repeats in your mind, but you’re you—if you aren’t supposed to do it, then of course you’ll do it anyway.
“Woah,” you say with a nervous laugh. “Woah.”
“Look.” She rests her forearm on the table and talks so casually one would think she weren’t just talking about getting cumshots. “I‘m not taking that back, so do with that what you will.”
Under the table, behind the scenes, her leg is curled around one of yours. Her ankle glides along your skin teasingly. Not a speck of hair on all of those flawless legs, but you’re shivering anyway from the contact. Hence, make a show of closing your coat around yourself. You can’t fool her when it’s not even chilly.
Recover, piecing together the brokenness of your confidence she tore apart.
“My story is, uh, weird.”
“Tell me.”
“This might be too personal but—” You lift your shoulders awkwardly. “I used to date a girl who looks exactly like you.”
Kim Chaewon—short auburn hair, soft cheeks, and a tiny figure. She’s a memory you didn’t think of returning to today, but then Yena came here, and now you’re back to your youth.
“She was a cop. Cutest officer I’ve ever seen, but a real bitch, for the lack of a better word. Then she left me.”
“You broke her heart, didn’t you?” 
Sputter. “No!” you immediately deny, shaking your head. “I—I didn’t hurt her, she was—”
A filthy lie. You became nonchalant, undeserving of a sweet woman who’d do anything for you, even give up her well-paying job. Again and again, Chaewon expressed her concerns: why were you talking to Minju? Where have you been? Why are you so mean? You disregarded them all the same. She deserved the ignorance; she was too fucking controlling, too fucking jealous.
Yena knows you’re lying. It’s like you’re a wound she can peel back to see all the ugliness, all the damage underneath. Her smile tells you everything.
“Oh, come on. I don’t care. Except for this.” Yena intertwines her fingers. Rests her chin on top of the formed platform. “Was she a good fuck?”
Your laugh is forced, trying to make a good deal out of this situation. A girl is flirting with you right after you saw someone disappear. Now you’re wondering if she’s a robot. Now, through some way, she knows you’re lying about your ex. Coincidences meet yet you refuse to connect them—parallel lines they shall stay, forever. 
“Yena, what exactly is up with you?” you ask. “You just met me. And come on now, why me?”
It’s begun to be hotter in this space. Loosen your coat. Perspiration isn’t because of the atmosphere, so you find out (and what a surprise). It’s because of the woman across you, a midnight sun. If the painful sun was actually a symbol of good in the Rogue, Yena would play its role perfectly. She’d scorch through you and you’ll enjoy every second. Yeah, you’d get all sorts of tans and burns and cancers if you bask in her without protection, but my god, are you willing to take the risk.
“I just don’t like seeing pretty boys have problems,” she replies easily. “If they want, (and I know they do), I’ll take them all away. Soon, all you'll think of is me. Like I’m the sun peeking in your room and you just can’t get enough sleep because of it.”
You tense up. Millions of questions, a void empty of answers. Once again, how was she so spot on? You’re not breathing quite well, and your clothes are tighter tonight. “Yena, look, I-I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
Don’t be, not because you aren't, but because she said so.
She pouts. “You’re not gonna buy me a drink?”
“You sound disappointed.”
“Nope. Remember what I said? I’m a blank canvas. So do whatever you want with me. Buy me a drink. Or not. Tell me to fuck off. Or not. Force me on my knees.”
Yena kneels.
There’s no mantle on the table to cover up what she’s about to do. You gasp, then try to mask it as a poor cough, but you’re distracted by how she pulls your pants down effortlessly. The button sealing your coat is busted open and gone.
So is your dignity.
Yena’s tongue sticks out at the side of her mouth as she looks up at you with excitement and mischief in her eyes. 
“Or let me do the job. I’m a big girl after all.”
She seals her teeth around your zipper and tugs down. It’s embarrassing how hard you are for her. But Yena doesn’t care. Adoration is clear on her face as she stares at your shaft, the worshipful energy in her eyes so overwhelming that she has to do something about it.
“Yena—” What a way to go out: screaming a stranger’s name.
You knew those lips were up to no good the moment you saw them. She’s provided evidence, too. Her soft lips embrace your boner and suckle fervently while dragging themselves upwards. It’s a caress that tenses you up rather than comforts you. It works you up, tying you down with the little weight Yena has. You could kick her away right now and tell her to go away. File a case against her. 
You don’t.
The joined duo of careful teeth and wild tongue gets you whimpering. Shivering. Begging. How is she so good at this?
Her mouth is perfectly wet. It’s not copiously soaked to have you cringing but the perfect balance of wet and ready, coating your rod again and again. She gives you too much and just right. It would be a cruel violation if you were asked to choose one and only one.
“Baby, what the fuck—” you stammer. 
Her throat’s an expert in taking you because one push of her lips to your base welcomes you in its tight hole. Your knees shake; Yena places her hands on it, not to stop their trembles but for leverage during the dip of her head. 
Close your eyes, look up, and stare at skies that provide no reprieving stars. Think of how she’s infinitely bett—
“Better than any pussy, huh?” Yena asks. The third time is no coincidence, so you’ve heard. “And it’s just my throat.”
At this stage, you don’t care if she’s a robot or not, because either way, that mouth is a fucking treasure.
You lift your hips and start slowly working yourself in Yena’s face. Her lips pucker and pout to allow you inside with pleasurable friction. Those eyes—there aren’t any planets in the sky because of the pollution but you think you can see their sparkle in them. 
The amazing part is that Yena doesn’t choke. She endlessly takes you in, receiving every inch like a blessed gift, but you don’t hear her wheeze. No sounds of complaints escape her. You have a feeling it’s not because of your cock sliding in and out of it. She only gags on occasion, and those already sound fake. It’s like she’s doing it just so you can get worked up hearing her moans.
While others might be impressed, you’re dumbfounded. She tightens and loosens and pushes and pulls just for your pleasure. 
“Yena, I– you’re doing so good,” you compliment her in gasped breaths.
Her cheeks hollow. The suction strengthens and it now feels like your soul’s being swallowed down her neck. She knows how to tease you with light pandering from her teeth, generous licking, and strengthened swallowing. Her mouth is warm but you are more so. She’s making you feel hot in all these layers, an additional one played by her perfect lips.
Perfect hair, too, you note.
Hungry impulses take over your body and now you’re pumping your core into the girl’s face with the help of her pigtails. Yena’s hair is thick and silky, and it’s another enjoyable factor: feeling how it slips between your fingers and how each pull directs her lips to press firmly to your crotch.
She doesn’t gag with that either. She must have had a lot of experience; she did say she can take hard things fine. That is, if she were human. If not, whoever built her had dirty ideas: the lack of gag reflex surely brings in the five star ratings.
Bright star-like eyes, cute ruinable face, mouth that can take the largest.
Yep, perfect.
“Good—fucking—girl.”
Your cock weeps white. Yena feels the first drop and immediately pulls away. She pumps your shaft with a strong, urgent fist. As she hinted, you blast all over her face. Your orgasm grips you and shakes you like never before, and of course, the little brat enjoys it. She’s nearly laughing.
“There,” says Yena after she drains you. Her duck-like lips are sticky with cum. “Canvas painted.”
What a pretty painting you’ve made. Here, shown to the public, is the manic pixie dream girl, semen on her chin to symbolize how each word she utters has you climaxing; hair disheveled to show your subtle but messy rule over her, because you own her although you weren’t there when her mechanical limbs were assembled and her face drawn; and a smile on her face to show that despite all this: she likes it.
You laugh, short blunt breaths wisping in the air. “There really is something wrong with you, Yena,” you say.
She’s a girl who’s extremely pretty, good at blowjobs, and likes public sex and oral. She can also read minds. Oh, and she might not be real. 
“You could say that again.” She wipes her mouth. “Though I do think I could use a little fixing from you.”
-
You take her home. Your mother would have been disappointed in you if she knew you violated the first law you were ever taught: don’t talk to strangers. Most of all, don’t ever let them in. But Yena is no stranger—like she said, she knows your name and for some reason, you know her own. You’re not strangers. And your mother isn’t around to command you not to kneel for a pretty girl.
This home of yours isn’t fancy, but if people from 2024 saw it, they’d be mesmerized. You’re not rich enough to afford the penthouses the North offers; this one is alright for you. The stories of the building aren’t aligned with each other, separating a few yards with floating floors that defy gravity. That’s right; WAKE12 somehow found a way to disobey the rules of physics. The ends are lit up with bright lights that blind you from miles away. Wide windows encircle the areas along with al frescos and convenient malls. Back then, this would have been classified as the house of the wealthy—you can’t say you agree with the sentiment when you’re not at all rich.
“Hi,” says Yena brightly at the front desk. She’s so smiley, always grinning like she’s just told a really clever joke. “Where’s the elevator?”
“I, uh…” 
The manager looks at her oddly. Your ears redden; she still hasn’t cleaned her face up. Evidence of your deed lies there on her nose and chin and cheeks, even in her perfect hair. 
“Well?”
The manager lifts the phone immediately. Before he could dial a number, Yena sighs loudly. 
“Look.” She silences the telephone with a slam of the device down on the keypad. The man’s hand cringes. “I’m about to fuck this guy’s brains out and I promise your little backup bosses can’t do anything about it.”
He stares at her. 
“I’m gonna use his dick until it’s limp as a balloon, then ride him in bed, then bend over on the kitchen table so he could breed me like a common whore.”
You lift an index finger to apologize, but put it back down. Did she just say you can breed her?
His jaw tenses. The teeth behind those unsmiling thin lips grit, not in annoyance but in fear. Yena’s bouncy and sweet, but apparently she’s excluding people who cockblock from her cute attitude.
“So,” finishes Yena, lowering her gaze, “where is the fucking elevator?”
The elevator has no pulley or doors. It sits at the side of the uneven floors and rises with nothing but a sizable pod. You’ve had to watch your weight to be able to enjoy the freedom from staircases. 
Yena steps on it with no worry. As you look at her, you realize how positively tiny she is. That’s why she isn’t doubtful about fitting in the claustrophobic space. Her violet clothes can slip off at any time at her pull of a waist and slim thighs. All the fullness goes to her cheeks, painted with fake tattooed stars and minimal doodles. 
She’s the kind of girl you could just pick up and do whatever to. You’re the kind of guy who really, really likes the idea.
Holding your hand is a thing of the past. Yena clutches your cock over your jeans as the elevator lifts the two of you up. 
The first thing she does the moment you enter your home is not kiss you, or slam you to the door, or whisper dirty nothings in the hollow of your ear. Yena looks around and says, simply, “Doable.”
You chuckle. You’re not offended. It’s a tidy, minimal apartment with glass that spans a viewing pleasure of the artificial forest and the hills. Glass lost its value but skyrocketed in purchases when Jo Yuri, first activist recorded in the history of WAKE12’s domination, was imprisoned. People compared her name to glass (yuri was 유리 and 유리 meant glass) and since then, it has been used everywhere. High demand, low price. Her symbol and namesake is used the way the public wants her to be used: cheap thing convenient only to the eye. They always said she was too pretty to talk too much.
“Here, doable is the best compliment,” you reply. You go to your bedroom to clean the place. If you want to fuck a rich girl, make sure the bedroom is at least up to her standards. “You have personal maids there in the North?”
Yena continues looking around. She’s mildly fascinated by everything, especially in the big window placed on the ceiling that lets stars peer down at you. For some reason, all the ejaculation on her face is gone. You don’t remember her bringing a washcloth.
“I’m not from the North, you know.”
“You’re not?”
“Nope. I don’t come from anywhere.”
You come out, having cleared your bed from clothes and the floors of trash. You fed the trash to the connected chute that all apartments have, which leads down to the Southern Auster. The word may be Latin and is already defined as south, but there’s places poorer than the part you live in. You’re lucky to be here. The Southern Auster’s where it’s much more dangerous. The people there scavenge for food and money, and their cries go unheard in the night. It’s the biggest criminal capital of the Rogue.
You come out and Yena’s sitting on the kitchen table with a knife.
Stop in your tracks. 
See the blood running down her arm. 
“Oh, don’t worry,” she says dismissively. “It doesn’t hurt.”
You still don’t know what to say. The wound on her skin’s dissolved to a scar that looks more like a scratch on metal. Why would she do that? Why would that do that?
“In fact, I think it’s kind of cool.” Yena slides the blade on the strap of her top. It falls apart, right down to her braless chest. A pink, perky nipple is clear in the moonlight shining from above. “When people see me, they usually want to hurt me, so I might as well do it myself, right? They want to slap me, pull my hair, choke me. They say that and figure I’m totally flattered.”
You want to say that you couldn’t blame them. Yena’s got this innocent but naughty aura about her that you want to completely ruin. There’s her hair, all dolled up and her quirky makeup that brings attention that eventually switches down to the body she doesn’t bother hiding. 
But it looks like she’s doing the ruining. Aren’t those the best stories? Boy corrupts girl when it’s the other way around in reality? 
To use the word “reality” when you’re with Yena is laughable. She can read your mind like a Rogue Times newspaper. You get that things you thought were impossible have a chance of happening in these days, but you don’t remember wounds healing that fast. The knife slices right through the fabric, revealing swoon-worthy curves of her waist and hips, making her bleed only not for too long. Who would want a scar-ridden skinny girl anyway?
“Well,” you say after a dutiful swallow, “are you?”
Yena examines the knife. Her crimson blood dripping from its edge is a worthwhile watch while she considers this. 
She finally puts down the knife, much to your relief. “I don’t know. What about you, handsome? Do you want to hurt me or fuck me?”
“I… I’m not like them. I don’t wanna hit you or make you cry or anything. I want to fuck you, that’s completely different.”
First confession of the night that didn’t need saying when it’s clear. You let her blow you in public. You took her home. The intention is staring you in the face: you want to have sex with a girl you just met. 
Yena smiles. “You’d be surprised how blurred the lines are.”
Yena‘s hands fall on your shoulders and make you  fall to the kitchen chair and make your pants fall on the floor. Falling, falling, falling for her—it’s all you’re able to do provided that she’s stunning. She’s tiny with her thin arms and legs but her breasts are surprisingly supple. The cleavage her top subtly shows off hinted to that and you’re still shocked.
She’s a hot desert, and the only source you can drink of is her core. Her pussy is slick, making her thighs glue together only for them to part as she sits on your lap. 
The first grind has you both breathless. The second renders a duet of moans. She’s so wet that it’s excessive enough for her to drip down your cock and completely cover it with her. Yena’s pussy lips splay and clasp your shaft with slippery friction.
She curses. “You’re so hard. Big, t-too.” She aims your cockhead at her clit and sighs at the toe-curling pleasure. “You think you can fit in me?”
“I guess we’ll have to see.”
Yena smirks. She continues soaking you with her wetness. Her juices pour from your head to your balls. Then, without warning, she sheathes your rod inside her. 
You gasp. It’s so easy to slip yourself in and all too difficult to cope with how tight she is. Her walls, perfectly textured and sloppy, trap you and let you out, giving you false hope of escaping, only to imprison you again. It’s the best punishment you ever had. 
Her throat was already better than the other cunts you’ve spent yourself in, so what does that make her pussy?
The best. Her overflowing waterfall lets her ride you easily. It seems like there’s a million spots inside her you can target for she quivers and cries with each bounce. Her hair flows photogenically while her chest does the same erotic motion. 
“So fucking good, fuck,” Yena groans. Her round butt lands on your lap and you think you’d like it to stay there forever. Curl your hands around her cheeks. Draw a healthy moan from the throat you used.
Yena’s pussy curves and opens in every best way. She makes it so easy to mold her into the shape of your cock, to rearrange her insides. Was she made for dick? She’s so wet that you’d think she’s a nymphomaniac who won’t let you go, the same way her vagina won’t let you go as its grip curls around you and threatens to milk you to your wits’ end.
You wouldn’t mind that.
Her riding accelerates to an unbearable point the moment you start to spank her. She’s right about hurting and having sex being almost the same—you want to leave red handprints all over her jiggling ass. You want to pull her hair until she screams. You want to fuck this perfect cunt of hers right up to when she’s creaming all over you, flooding your sexes with her naturla nectar.
And the crazy thing is: she’ll actually let you.
“Fucking brat,” you say, hitting her butt again. She yelps coquettishly. “Are you really this thirsty for cock?”
“God, yes…” Her head throws back. Yena’s eyes shut and although her vision is blocked she sees stars. “Wanted to know how your dick would split me open. Fuck, keep doing that!”
Her core tightens with each blow you expel on her bouncing ass. Her hole’s already so enclosed so when she squeezes more, it’s close to having your cock tortured. You’re suffocating inside her.  You’re waterboarded again and again with her waterfall of wetness. 
You guide Yena’s motions with your hands on her behind. She’s so light that you’re practically using her as a doll, fucking her on your erection and letting yourself enjoy how her tits recoil. Her moans turn on a part of your brain that you don’t know, but it transmits to you these thoughts: fuck her senseless.
You raise her as high as you can, her weight nothing even to your long-untrained muscles, then slam her down. She sinks deeper into your lap and takes longer inches. Yena’s screams bounce off the soundproof walls that ensure only you can hear them. Those walls were fucking expensive, so of course you gotta let them have purpose. Slap Yena’s thighs down on yours and let her pussy envelop you right up to the point of bruises appearing on your skin.
How does she not sweat? Your hands wander all over her tight body and still you don’t find a drop of sweat. Her pigtails are still secured. You guess she was just made to be eternally pretty. 
She is pretty, under any circumstance—her smooth skin possesses zero blemishes and her winged eyes remain lamp-bright. She’s pretty, even when she lets out the pitchiest sounds, even when Yena’s lips rise into a devilish smile before sealing on your neck. She nibbles on your skin and rakes up your sensitivity. 
“Holy shit, Yena…”
“Yeah, that’s right.” She licks behind your ear and you nearly lose it. Maybe you already did. “Say my name. Because I’m all yours. This pussy is yours to use and abuse, so do it.”
Rub her tiny pulsing clit. Yena’s cries deafen you. If that’s not enough, she drowns you with her cum. There’s no raft to save you. You’re all alone. You’ll drown here and never see the light of day again.
Electricity runs through her body as the pleasure ramps up. Her fingers weaken on your shoulders. Her gasps are split off by larger, more surprised evolutions. Yena’s close.
“Fuck, no, I can’t!” Yena’s riding is furious and borderline abusive. The noises between your two crotches are louder than before. 
“You can,” you insist. You throb inside her while her pussy becomes smaller despite the many thrusts you perform. “Take it like a good girl, Yena.”
“Fuck me, use me, I’m just your cute little helpless girl, fuck me!”
She couldn’t be more correct. She’s just a useless doll, thin and adorable and tight—so why not use her like one?
You’re surprised your limbs have any power in them, but they impress as you lift Yena up. During your walk to the counter, you don’t stop thrusting in her. She’s wet and ready, just waiting and begging for it to happen. Her pretty face is smudged with tears. There’s sick satisfaction in you from seeing how the confident girl at the bar is now just a fuckhole to use. 
“Oh, oh, ah!” Cute little whines come out from those lips. Her mouth used its power to pick you up, make you cum, make you scared. In this second, all that is gone: she’ll only ever use it to wail in pleasure.
Knock her against the kitchen counter. Her thighs press to the curve. You spread them open and continue spending yourself to death in her. Her sides that slant to make the physique you love are perfect handles to thrust. 
You’re completely soaked, but she’s completely defiled. The dream girl is not just any dream but a wet dream. She’s the fantasy you never had but will constantly think of now. And you don’t care if WAKE12 knows you’re fucking her. They can read all the thoughts you have about Yena as much as they like, and you wouldn’t care.
Instead of giving a fuck, you twist her around, her smooth back in front of you, and fuck her harder while you’re at it. Admire the way your hips slap her ass and give her the spanking she deserves. One spank, that’s for being so tempting. Another for the price of her promiscuity. Three one-after-the-other’s because she’s too wild, too free for a girl with that face.
“God, please, harder!” Yena cries. “Make me your little cocksleeve cumslut!”
She does not take pain to heart, physically and mentally. In spite of your rapid pumps and the slap of your stomach to her bent and ready ass, no bruises or scratches appear on her skin. You say all these degrading words and rather than mope about it, she gets more turned on. She forces you to give all your might in railing her in this apartment where the open windows give you away rather than the sounds. And you’re nodding along, saying:
“Of course.”
Of course you’ll grab her tits and pinch their nipples as hard as you can. Yena’s skin might not be humanly warm but these boobs are real. They’re soft in your palms and plentiful. Is she a masochist? You tweak and slap and squeeze; in response, she’s… smiling?
Of course you’ll slip your touch all over her body. Appreciate every perfect curve, every fine fullness. After fondling her tits, you slide your hands over her smooth pits, then to her arms that struggle to remain stable. She’s sensitive all over; it’s evident in the way she babbles each time you caress her. 
Of course you’ll take her hair and pull as hard as you can. She won’t get mad. Nothing ever gets to the cool girl.
“Oh my god!” Yena shouts. 
Those pigtails are there for a reason. Thrusts become easier to do with her hair curled in between your digits. Her ass meets your crotch easily and you find yourself excavating her cavern, hitting her in all the good places. Yena hums and screeches and sobs. 
“Bad girl.” Her hair plays the role of your reins. They’re convenient in spreading Yena apart with your shaft, tearing at her tightness. “You’re nothing but a filthy cocksucking slut.”
“M-mhm, yes, just for you, just for this perfect dick, ahh! I’m cumming!” 
Yena’s core flexes and contracts. It holds you like it never wants you to go but you let go anyway. You can do nothing besides that especially if it’s her, someone who’s so cute but so seductive, so challenging but submissive. Each part of her—those blowjob lips, her blooming face, her cockiness—makes you wish this could never end.
The first sign of the end of this pornographic one-reeler is your semen raining inside her, setting a storm in her guts. You pant, legs weak, while Yena’s seem to go on forever although she’s smaller than you.
The second sign is the mess she made. Those aforementioned desirable legs are painted by obscenity. She squirted all over your floor and herself. Your cum coats her vulva plus spills down freely.
Yena looking back at you with a tired smile is the last one, along with her asking, through shattered breaths, “Better than your whore ex?”
Because that’s the thing about girls like Yena. They’ll do everything to please you. Perhaps she’s a good dresser, but really, this is your style, not hers. This type of fashion is what you like on women: modestly revealing. Girls like Yena will give you everything, make you discover yourself, and when all this happens, she’ll remain the thoughtless, forgiving girl. She won’t complain about things that will set you off and say coy, clever things, the kind men like to hear.
All just to be better.
She is.
“Yeah.”
Yena chuckles. For a moment, she looks like the sweetest girl in the world. The happiness overtakes her face and makes her smile reach her ears. 
It disappears as fast as it arrived.
“Wrong fucking answer.”
Alarm sounds of every kind—natural disaster, fire, robbery, whistles—blare in your head. You can’t hear anything except the thin screeches of emergency. But for what?
Yena loses her brightness. Everything that made her shine shuts down. She smiles, that same one full of mischief, before she breaks, too. Her eyes turn pitch black, the ones you see in crows, the sign of bad luck. She disassembles part by part before you. The light girl is suddenly so heavy that she forces you down. Suddenly, her torso above yours feels colder than before. 
What the fuck? 
Escape is your first instinct. You push the remains of the girl away. Your feet kick the broken parts as if you’d break, too. You brush past the fringe of her bangs. Below it, no diamond scar rests on her forehead.
Stare down at her. Yena truly is not real. Your manic robotic dream girl is dead. She was never alive. 
“You have been found guilty,” says the implant. You used to hear it when WAKE12 arrested people and now it talks to arrest you. The alarms are loud but you understand every fragment. 
The implant’s emotionless voice now sounds a lot like—
“Chaewon?” 
Bad luck comes just like the consequences of the law, personified by stilettos clicking on your floor, a shadow in the moonlight, and the face of the woman you swear you never wanted to see again.
And yet here she is.
Chaewon looks so much like Yena. Yena looks so much like Chaewon. Their chins, their eyes, their bangs—who is who? Their faces mingle and mix in your vision. You think you’re going crazy.
She puts away a remote control and places her hands on her hips. Her black bodysuit is all you see as she approaches. Her smiling lips don’t utter a word. You hear her voice, all in your head.
“You have the right to remain silent. Anything and everything you do shall be punished by WAKE12 accordingly. This is the price you pay for your crime.”
There’s a gun in front of you. It’s aimed at your chest, determined to crush what keeps it beating. Raise your hands, but not in surrender. You’ll die before you try to be Chaewon’s toy again.
“What crime? Being your ex-boyfriend?” you spit. This has got to be a joke. “Chaewon, I said, what crime?”
She can’t abuse her authority. She couldn’t have done all that just to get back at you. And for what? Being a bad boyfriend when you were younger and dumber?
You hear her speak. That striking smile looks more terrifying than beautiful. It dissolves into darkness to pronounce your wrongdoing. 
“For the crime of fucking existing,” she snarls.
You hate Chaewon. You swore you never did yet now you do wholeheartedly. You tried to love her and reciprocate her efforts. She’s a busy woman so she should have understood you had other commitments.
This is the last time you ever want to hear from her. 
A bullet you don’t see coming. It soars in the wind and finds its home sweet home in your skull.
She’s the last thing you ever heard.
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yourtongzhihazel · 2 months
Note
sorry if this is a very idiotic question but how is the existence of private firms in China not antithetical to it being a socialist state. this is seriously in good faith I'm genuinely curious TT
This is a pretty common question, not just when it comes to China, but also to most socialist states, including the USSR at the time.
in short, the transformation of a country's mode of production takes a very long time. The development and maturation of capitalism took hundreds of years and had many stages: mercantilism, primitive accumulation, national competition, global expansion, and finally, imperialism (the highest stage of capitalism). Socialism will also take a long time to mature. Socialism is not a checklist of haves and have nots. Socialism isn't when collectives or cooperatives. Socialism isn't when no billionaires. Socialism most definitely is not when government does stuff or taxes on rich people.
The transition to socialism requires the development of productive forces. The goal of Reform and Opening Up (改革开放, GGKF) was to build up the productive forces which China lacked at the time. While China had a solid heavy industrial and agricultural base, it lacked in other areas. Additionally, thanks to the Sino-Soviet split, China was left largely isolated without much foreign trade. GGKF achieves this by opening the Chinese market to foreign capitalist investment. These foreign investors pour money into China to build factories, ports, infrastructure, assembly plants, etc., etc., in order to take advantage of cheap Chinese labor. The upside of this policy is the rapid accumulation of productive forces. The downside is intensifying internal contradictions (and if you ask my grandpa, the worst thing GGKF did was introducing liberals to China). Billionaires are a symptom of these intensifying internal contradictions.
China is in a nascent, primitive form of socialism: it has a dictatorship of the proletariat lead by a proletarian party. The party derives its power from the people (who make up the vast vast majority of the party). Between 2003 and 2011, the PRC executed 14 billionaires. The anti-corruption campaign also continues to rack up billionaire heads. Corrupt officials who get extremely wealthy from bribes, too, get executed. When Jack Ma tried to step out of line, his company was seized and broken up (ANT group). The state consistently puts its boots on the necks of the bourgeoisie. At the same time, Chinese worker safety, labor rights, wages, overtime, state intervention, etc. are increasing. This stands in contrast to the dictatorships of the bourgeoisie in the west, most notably america. In the usa, the billionaires control the state and thus can get away with anything they want, and not a single one will face tangible punishment, let alone get executed.
As geopolitics shift, material conditions improve, and internal contradictions are resolved, GGKF will be rolled back as China progresses on its construction of socialism. This is beginning to happen. Since the international bourgeoisie have finally realized that China never intended to liberalize and is still, in fact, a socialist state, The DOTBs that they run are working day and night to slander, sanction, and vilify the PRC. The international institutions, which China had to join in order to effect GGKF, will slowly turn against China, using any excuse to try and squeeze them. But it is largely too late. Using the fruits of GGKF, China has eliminated extreme poverty entirely, resolving one internal contradiction. Its productive forces are good enough that it can begin to carry itself without much western IP and capital. I expect the PRC to further crack down on the excesses of GGKF; indeed, several markets have been entirely eliminated via nationalization already.
Here's some nice trivia! mcdicks in China is 50% state owned and its workforce is entirely unionized! Cool huh? In exchange for access to China's massive market, in their never-ending pursuit for higher and higher profit, the bourgeoisie is willing to partially fund the largest currently-existing socialist state. "The capitalists will sell us the rope", as is often said.
Red Sails wrote a great article addressing this question, if you'd like to give it a read.
SN: AZ36
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intersectionalpraxis · 5 months
Note
Please look into Claudia De la Cruz! She's a 2024 USA presidential candidate with the Party for Socialism and Liberation and she is actively participating in pro-Palestine protests. If you like her, please help spread her name!
Thank you! For folks living in the United States, please look into Claudia De la Cruz!
Here is their main web page: https:// votesocialist 2024 [dot][com]/ (just in case it's not visible).
I have attached some screenshots here of their campaign and movement. I highly recommend looking into these folks, too, because there's a lot of powerful and empowering plans and promises here rooted in liberation/anti-capitalism/class consciousness, I'm so glad you shared this here!
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Their program has an extensive list of their focuses, and for those interested in reading more, the link I provided will lead you to it. Some of their program includes:
Seize the Biggest 100 Corporations, Create A New Economy for the People
Overthrow the Dictatorship of the Rich — Build a Democracy That Serves the Working Class
End the Rule of Money and Lock Up the Corrupt Elite
Cut the Military Budget by 90% — Peace, Not War with China & Russia!
End the War on Black America!
Defend Women’s Rights, Full Equality for LGBTQ People
Save the Planet from Capitalism
If folks are interested in supporting them, they have a donation section and more you can read about. I will definitely some more time to read about them a bit more, but this is exciting. A socialist movement is something I'm 100% aligned with!
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genuinelyshallow · 3 months
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The KSA and the UAE are as much to blame as US and UK
To forget to boycott and talk about Saudi Arabia and Emirates part of this genocide on Gaza and attack on Yemen
As an Arab, I know that Arabs and Muslims bare unforgettable shame right now as we're unable to help Palestinians, Sudanese, and Yemenis.
And by 'We' I mean the people. The leaders are something else that I hope will burn in hell.
Arabic countries are among some of the worst dictatorships. We can scream and shout all we want, but no one will listen, and yet, I do feel unbearable guilt every day. But the guilt should not be distributed equally
Egypt has the border with Palestine and barely opens it. But Egypt is already on the verge of economic collapse and is billions of dollars in debt. The government can not move without the approval of the US. Not to say that they're right for not opening the borders, not at all. Yemen is even poorer than Egypt, and they had more courage than the entire world to stop Israeli ships! But I am saying that while Egypt is to blame, it's already in deep shit and more economic punishment will affect its people decades before it affects its dictators.
But Saudi Arabia and Emirates are two of the richest countries in the world! With enough oil that they have the US throat in their hands, and they're giving it a soothing massage.
And what did they do? Nothing. No, worse than nothing. The rockets that attacked Yemen flew over Emirates by their permission.
And with evidence from history we know they can single handedly stop this genocide.
In 1973, in the war between Egypt and Israel, USA tried to back Israel - like today - and King Faisal, the king of Saudi Arabia, basically told the USA,"Take one step towards Egypt and you will not see a drop of oil"
And he kept his promise.
Arab members of the Organization of Petroleum Exporting Countries (Opec), led by King Faisal, announced an embargo on oil sales to America, Britain, Canada, Japan and the Netherlands in retaliation for their support of Israel.These cuts nearly quadrupled the price of oil from $2.90 a barrel before the embargo to $11.65 a barrel in January 1974.
And the US backed off. In a full-blown war. Not just one-sided genocide.
The UAE products are boycotted in Egypt under the knowledge that "Emirates are as much Zionists as The US"
And again and again, Arabs are not their leaders! Saudi and Emirati citizens are not their leaders, just like not all Americans are Biden or Trump.
But two insanely rich countries that can stop this genocide and don't? Their products should be boycotted, and their names should be dragged through the mud, just like the US and UK
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bitterkarella · 4 months
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Midnight Pals: Down, Satan
Clive Barker: submitted for the approval of the midnight society, i call this the tale of the billionaire who George Romero: boooo Barker: shut up george let me finish Romero: billionaires shouldn't be Barker: oh my god LET ME FINISH
Romero: billionaires are bad Barker: george where do you think i'm going with this story Barker: do you think the point is gonna be that billionaires are good? Romero: Romero: only a dictatorship of the proletariat can stop the excesses of capital
Barker: so there's this super rich guy Romero: only rich through the toil of the worker, i'll bet Romero: labor is entitled to the value it creates! Barker: oh my god will you stop interrupting me? Poe: not so fun when it happens to you huh
Romero: you know what happens if the workers of the world unite? Romero: they probably should, they only have one thing to lose Dean Koontz: gosh, what's that? Romero: their chains Koontz: whoaaa
Barker: anyway there's this super rich guy Barker: he's like Barker: mega rich Barker: like he's got like 20 scottish castles Barker: each one with a room dedicated to big confectionery bins of bag-it-yourself candy King: wow i didn't know you could be THAT rich
Barker: but get this Barker: this rich guy is spiritually unfulfilled Barker: you might find this surprising Koontz: gosh i guess it goes to show money can't buy happiness King: you sure said a mouthful, dean! King: [to Poe] from the mouths of babes
Barker: so this rich guy decides to build a hell on earth to assuage his own spiritual torpor King: wow clive that's wild! King: where do you get your ideas? Barker: oh you know just Barker: just lookin' around
Barker: his whole plan is that the hell on earth will attract satan Barker: so that will compel god to appear to rescue him Barker: cuz he's the most important guy Barker: you know, being rich and all King: right, right
[meanwhile] Elon Musk: eyyy mama mia Musk: i feela da spiritually unfulfilled Musk: i feela da spiritual torpor Musk: what if i builda da hell on earth? Musk: then da god, he come tella me i ama da good boy Musk: looking into this
Musk: eyyyy i maka da hell on earth Musk: with alla da besta torture implements Musk: i calla it da x Musk: now i waita for god to rescue me [5 minutes later] Musk: oops i torture alla da people! Musk: disruptiano!
Musk: i wassa scared offa da roko's basilisk Musk: but dissa whole time Musk: da basilisk, he wassa me!!! Musk: [looks in mirror, roko's basilisk reflected back] concerning!
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pesoglav · 1 day
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"Democracy must fall because it will try to tailor to everyone. The poor will want the wealth of the rich, and democracy will give it to them. Young people will want to be respected as elderly and democracy will give it to them. Women will want to be like men and democracy will give it to them. Foreigners will want the rights of the natives and democracy will give it to them. Thieves and fraudsters will want important government functions, and democracy will give it to them. And at that time, when thieves and fraudsters finally democratically take authority because criminals and evil doers want power, there will be worse dictatorship than in the time of any monarchy or oligarchy."
— Socrates (470-399 B.C.)
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