#compulsory creativity

[dustedmagazine]

Bruno Duplant & David Vélez—des-illusions (Unfathomless)

des-illusions by Bruno Duplant & David Vélez

Sound artists Bruno Duplant and David Vélez are well matched. Each is an artist whose work processes the world around them and their reactions to it. And they share an awareness of the personal dimensions of collaborative creation. Duplant, a multi-instrumentalist and composer from France, has made scores that doubled as letters to the artist who has expressed interest in performing said score. And Vélez, a Colombian who has recently spent several years studying in England, made his understanding of the tension between Duplant’s hopelessness about humanity’s prospects and the defiant hopefulness expressed by making new work a guiding force in his contributions to des-illusions.

According to the album’s liner notes, which you can read on its Bandcamp page, the impetus for this collaboration was a conversation the two men had about making music in a time of environmental and social crisis. Collected sounds — birdsong, bugs, rain, running water, the conversations of passing people, machinery — figure prominently in the two-part, 43-minute-long piece, which is bisected so evenly (the running times are exactly 22:00 and 21:00) that one suspects that this CD might once have been planned to be an LP. But so do played sounds, particularly pulsing and tolling synthesizer voices. Both have been subjected to interventions, having been looped, chopped and filtered so that their combinations constitute a sound environment quite distinct from the ones that were sampled to make it. The played sounds don’t mix with the environmental ones so much as they bob on top or alongside them, which might represent the relationship between humans and the world they strive to manipulate and manage. But if this is a soundtrack to our currently combusting world, it imposes a very specific combination of moods, simultaneously forlorn and persistent.

The experience of this recording may be modified by skipping the accompanying notes. Separated from their description of intent, this music’s crepuscular vibe might dominate, and hip sleep specialists could plausibly prescribe it as a possible aid for those seeking slumber. This is not, however, a failure on the part of the work to communicate, but evidence that the collaborative impulses that brought it into existence include the listener.

Bill Meyer

[rising-above-stars]

this did wonders on tiktok

this was also my final assignment for a sociology paper

[ereborne]

Song of the Day: April 30

"Breakeven" by The Script

[nitw]

i can't believe i'll be in school again soon i haven't been to any kind of school in like 2 years. terrifying. outrageous. but also exicting

[calling-abraxas]

C.E.H. Individual

A soul is an analog—a whisp around you or me—liberty to all—packed and made compulsory. An individual withoutold customs to comply with,made antilegally devout—the law of the enlightened. Groups of “individuals,”walled in freedom-prisons—alone-together rituals—grateful in grey hedonism. Smiling faces, endless kindness,a wealth of traces of accruing prices,solitary waste in endless…

[narutosideblog]

.

[amalgamasreal]

SOURCE

Bit of a long video but worth a watch.

TL;DW though is that hidden in the Terms and Conditions for Google's AI Labs is a nice little poison pill that says they get access to your entire Google Drive if you opt in.

So if you're an author of some type and you keep your unpublished works in your G-Drive that means an AI will get to scrape all of it and by opting in you will have given them permission to it. The content creator goes on to predict that Google is going to let out their own streaming service where the scripts, and potentially the art if it's animated, will be almost or entirely AI generated using that scraped data as a baseline and the authors/artist's who's work was essentially stolen in its most raw form to crib from will have zero way of fighting Google on that in our current legal system.

This is of course right in the middle of the writers and actors strike where we're seeing just what lengths studios will go to in order to screw everyone but themselves.

They go on to recommend that if you keep any creative or personal works on Google Drive that you pull it off as soon as possible and delete your entire Drive. They acknowledge that of course this doesn't mean Google really deleted the data but if you do it before they start compulsory opting everyone in there's a chance your work might get overlooked. They also recommend several free editing programs that aren't run by corporations like Google with LibreOffice (the default office program of most Linux distros) being named.

Finally they go over methods of shaming Google which I feel like you just have to watch for comedies sake so I won't describe them in full.

Now this is from me: I know the majority of people don't have the ability to build and manage a big archive just for themselves, but if you're a creative NOW IS THE TIME to educate yourself on what you can do to protect your works. Cloud storage was always iffy at best, but with AI scraping entering the mix it's now downright malignant. Get a bunch of thumb drives, buy some external hard drives, if you have the money buy a pre-built NAS, and if you really want to get into learn how to build your own NAS. These are the old ways before cloud and they're coming back again, more important than ever.

[beatrixstonehill2]

"That's why I'm so excited for this stupid semester to be over! I'm trying to be a professional fashion model and the stupid guys at my university can't stop thinking with their cocks. It's kind of pathetic, really. But if in the meantime it placates these horny nerds and gives them something to play with and enjoy. On one hand..... I hate having these enormous cow-tits bouncing and jiggling every time I do literally anything. They're just so fat and swollen and sweaty..... God knows what boys see in silly stuff like this.

At any rate, like most universities these days our insurance is given out by the university and we're signed up for all kinds of programs and drug trials. You know, normal stuff. But I was oh so lucky enough to be selected for compulsory breast growth so my boobs can get big enough by the end of every semester that the surgery students can reduce my boobs back to a dignified girth. I shudder to think of all the money my family spent on tuition just for my body to be at the mercy of a bunch of horny med students.

Apparently the boys there had a crush on me, selected me and sent my info to the university insurance provider. So now for my whole time here at this school, earning my Bachelor's, my breasts will be subjected to this humiliating torment over and over. Imagine how mangled they'll be by the time I graduate? Might as well lop the things off by then...... I mean, just look at what I'm dealing with! Men play with them incessantly, whether through my clothes or they insist on pulling them out to have their fun. It is rather amusing, I'll admit. I like to stroke their faces and call them handsome as they handle my oversized breasts. I enjoy seeing them squirm, their cocks getting so big, a lot of boys cum in their pants simply from kneading and groping me. It's kind of empowering.....

And to think this is only after a couple months of these rapid-growth injections. Two months left. I could double in size. How will that even work? My poor back aches as it is. My boobs have huge stretch marks and look so swollen and red I tend to keep them covered. Boys don't seem to mind but other girls giggle and gossip. Then in another two months, when these hornball magnets are unbearably huge, I guess I'll be begging like a pathetic Hentai princess to not have to grow any bigger. For my captors to please stop forcing my body to expand! The med students will love hearing me beg. Then the whole university gets to watch my tits get dismantled, streamed live. I'll be flat chested again, given a couple weeks to recover, then I'll be given the injections yet again.

And this will be my life for over three more years! Forced to watch helplessly as my breasts grow to absurd, male-jerk-off-fantasy proportions, only to be chopped down to nothing, over and over. If these boys need so much practice why not line up all the busty girls and just chop off their breasts one by one like a regular community college? No.... instead these students see fit to get creative with me. So, I'll get the humiliating pleasure of growing massive blimp-tits every four months. I feel like my brain my start to crack..... Having to endure this for so long as I try to study and not look ridiculous in front of my peers. My growing breasts groped and pulled from my clothes, slapped around and fucked. I already feel like I'll never get the stink of cum out from between these sweaty, fat udders of mine. Even once the students chop them down to mincemeat in two months. I feel like a lab animal. Like all I am is this pair of breasts that exist solely for men to play with and torment and experiment on. Maybe instead of being a model I ought to donate my body for medical research, sign away my rights, and literally just become a pair of breasts for horny old doctors to run tests and trials on..... One thing at a time, I need to graduate first. Not for my diploma, but so I don't disappoint all these boys looking forward to four years of inflating and chopping off my boobs.... I simply can't abandon my purpose like that. ❤️"

[devisrina]

🌟Sydcarmy week 2024🌟

The grand opening of our very first sydcarmy week!!

You heard it here Jeffs, let’s fuckin’ go!!!!

Graphics made curtesy of @ambeauty

Sydcarmy drawing done by me @devisrina

Prompts

Day 1: Found Family

Day 2: Acts of Service, hurt comfort, sick fic

Day 3: Drawings, Tattoos, & their creative process

Day 4: Jealously trope

Day 5: Mutual pining/Realization

Day 6: First date

Day 7: Serious heat (Spicy content to level of your desire)

(Bonus day) Day 8: Strange Currencies (alternate universe)

Rules/guidelines:

* Prompts are up for interpretation, as long as it is connected to Sydcarmy

* Have fun

* Be considerate of others!

* Anyone can participate

Sydcarmy week 2024 will be held September 9-15 leading up to Emmy’s night!!!

Bonus day: “Strange Currencies” is held on the 16th September (or a later day if you need more time) for anyone who wants to partake in the additional day, It’s not compulsory!

Please feel free to participate with fanfics, fanart, meta, edits etc that highlight using the prompts of each day!!!

Use #sydcarmyweek2024 on tumblr, tiktok and instagram for us to find your work.

For ao3 fanfic writers, please use #sydcarmyweek2024 on the tags of your work so that we can find them on there as well!!

[letrune]

Why I don't like the "X is perversion"

So, let me give you the short version. I am a polyamorous transgender furry woman, likely asexual (jury is still out on that one), coming from Hungary. Every single one of these was called a perversion in one time of history, but especially now, they are treated like being either, like just being a furry, is to be at best ashamed of, and most a reason to isolate people like me from society forever - and that I should be thankful for nobody calling for my extermination at the government levels.

Except, you know. Some do. Some US and Russiand jerks had been calling for building what amounts to be gulags for being queer and furry and foreigner, and stuff people in for that alone; simply because "you are a pervert and want to harm the women and children because you are queer or a furry".

So... What do these people actually think? Someone likimg cartoonish anthro characters is to be throw into prison? Asexuals to be throw in some cell in a panopticon? Asexuals to be sent to a forced labour camp? All of us to shut up forever and never even peep online?

Because I heard thrse proposals and yes, actual ideas on how to exterminate us. To have death squads like it's Pol Pot's Cambodia. To round furries up and shoot them. To break into homes in the middle of night and drag people away for public executions. You know, this is like "let us murder anyone who likes Star Trek!".

Back in 2017 if I recall correctly, maybe 2016, I was at a protest. LGBTQ+ people wished to be tteated equally. A man from the government came over and told us: "Come on. Stop it. Be happy you are not shot into the Danube.", which is like telling anyone wishing queer equity "be happy you are not sent to Dachau.". That same sort of "just shut up and be happy we are not murder you, secondary citizens" attitude came out again a lot of time.

Furries who want to claim being a furry is inherently perverted, some queer people wanting to throw the rest under the bus to secure themselves some secondary citizen rank, and so much more...

Just feels like these people want to go "please Mr. Government, let me kill people you don't like as long as I can keep my life, I am happy to be beaten up if I step out of line but please do not hurt me, I am willing to beat others up, please just spare me". You know, quislings. People who happily handed out blindfolds and then realised there was one for themselves and got pushed to the wall too. People who happily rounded up others to be shot into the Danube, or stuffed into a cornhopper to Dachau, or called the secret police on.

This puritanical "destroy them, because being X is perverted" is obvious when you consider that they said the same of homosexuality, trans people, furries and asexuals. That they are inherently a danger and should be removed from society, any means necessary, just like how they also wanted to remove people of other countries, religions and skin colour.

These people are a danger to society and themselves, as they want others dead for simply existing. They want everyone else to fall in line to some cis-het-compulsory, patriarchal, no-creativity allowed, it-is-all-about-me world.

Furries and being queer predate agriculture. Being a xenophobe is relatively new, especially xenophobes who think the only solution is "kill anyone in this group".

[vanillaavengerlings]

To all Fanfic/fanart/ fandom content writers/creators/artists/anyone creating fandom content

As we enter the week of 22 July, I wanted to write something hopeful for any writers, artists and content creators out there, because let’s face it, things happening around the world is so grim and most of us are trying to survive the days. 

So, here’s something hopeful for any of you who need this.😄

Please reblog this as much as you can as I would love for fandom writers/creators/artists and for fanfic readers to read this. 

Thank you!

A small background about me - I write fanfics, mostly in the Avengers/Stony fandoms. And it’s what I’ve been doing mostly for a few years, despite schooling and transitioning to work.

It’s my escape from reality. When things get rough, I start writing. Writing fanfictions gives me comfort because I know the characters and I love them, so I feel safe in a way and it’s stress relieving for me.

In 2018, I had to attend a compulsory internship so that I could get my diploma and graduate. My course offered a few positions and one of them was writing for television programs at a well known media company in my country. 

I wanted that job so bad because I wasn’t interested in the others, they were too ‘corporate-like’. So I applied for it. They asked for my portfolio of written works.

And then it hit me. My God, all I’ve written so far were fanfics with male pairing. I come from a conservative country so LGBTQ stories are super rare and can be frowned upon. But that’s all I had and it was all I could submit.

Guess what?

I did just that. I took excerpts from my WIP/published fanfics, and added them into my portfolio. I even went the extra mile and typed a short excerpt into a screenwriting format, like a legit script for a show! (TV writing internships pay special attention to your script writing abilities)

I submitted them.

I was called for an interview a few days later. I was advised to bring hardcopy versions of my written work, so I printed out the stuff from my portfolio. I went for the interview and saw my coursemates, some of whom I consider really capable and smart. 

I thought, there’s no way my fanfics and I stand a chance in getting this job.

I went up first and had the usual interview questions. The last bit came, where the interviewer, a prominent executive producer in my country, asked for my written samples. I handed her the file and gave her a brief explanation of my work.

I told her I published my written works online and have a group of audience who read and review them. I also added that I use their feedback to improve my writing as a whole. She was nodding her head and reading the script of my fanfic I had written. I was hiding my smile. Everything she was flipping through were Stony and Avengers fanfic excerpts!

At last, she handed my file back to me and smiled. It signaled the end of my interview. I went back to my campus and sighed, already looking at the other positions to apply to.

Two hours later, I received the email that I had gotten the job, as a television writer intern at a prominent media company. And all I used were my fanfictions I had written!

I couldn’t believe it worked. My fellow coursemates write really good content and I went into the interview with fanfictions and got the job!

To this day, when I think about this, I laugh. Not in a self-deprecating way, but in a way of disbelief, seeing what I can pull off.

To everyone out there who are thinking so lowly of yourself because all you have done are work related to fandoms, I’ve been there, and I’m here to say that you are so talented coming up with unique content from something that is so fixed and rigid. So don’t be hard on yourself. 

You’re not wasting your time just because you post stuff on AO3 or Tumblr. Every written work/art/creative content is a great way for you to practice and work on your skills. I mean, we all have to start somewhere, right?

Seriously, it takes a lot of talent, creativity and hard work to write fanfictions, draw fanarts and create any fandom related content. And it takes so much of courage to put your work out there in the open for anyone to read.

And that’s the thing! It’s a service that you are doing, letting people read your words, your story, letting people see your art and your creativity. 

Don’t be ashamed of your fandom works. And don’t be ashamed of reading fanfictions. They’re a part of you. So don’t think of yourself lowly. No way. You’re all heroes, in your own ways. 

Some of the best written stories I’ve ever read came from AO3, some of the best art works and funniest content I’ve ever seen are fandom related.

You’ve got this, you talented talented human being. Go out there and shine bright! 🌟

[iwanthermidnightz]

“Anyone considering the whole of Ms. Swift’s artistry — the way that her brilliantly calculated celebrity mixes with her soul-baring art — can find discrepancies between the story that underpins her celebrity and the one captured by her songs. One such gap can be found in her “Lover” era. Others appear alongside “dropped hairpins,” or the covert ways someone can signal queer identity to those in the know while leaving others comfortable in their ignorance. Ms. Swift dropped hairpins before “Lover” and has continued to do so since.

Sometimes, Ms. Swift communicates through explicit sartorial choices — hair the colors of the bisexual pride flag or a recurring motif of rainbow dresses. She frequently depicts herself as trapped in glass closets or, well, in regular closets. She drops hairpins on tour as well, paying tribute to the Serpentine Dance of the lesbian artist Loie Fuller during the Reputation Tour or referencing “The Ladder,” one of the earliest lesbian publications in the United States, in her Eras Tour visuals.

Dropped hairpins also appear in Ms. Swift’s songwriting. Sometimes, the description of a muse — the subject of her song, or to whom she sings — seems to fit only a woman, as it does in “It’s Nice to Have a Friend,” “Maroon” or “Hits Different.” Sometimes she suggests a female muse through unfulfilled rhyme schemes, as she does in “The Very First Night,” when she sings “didn’t read the note on the Polaroid picture / they don’t know how much I miss you” (“her,” instead of that pesky little “you,” would rhyme). Her songwriting also noticeably alludes to poets whose muses the historical record incorrectly cast as men — Emily Dickinson chief among them — as if to suggest the same fate awaits her art. Stunningly, she even explicitly refers to dropping hairpins, not once, but twice, on two separate albums.

In isolation, a single dropped hairpin is perhaps meaningless or accidental, but considered together, they’re the unfurling of a ballerina bun after a long performance. Those dropped hairpins began to appear in Ms. Swift’s artistry long before queer identity was undeniably marketable to mainstream America. They suggest to queer people that she is one of us. They also suggest that her art may be far more complex than the eclipsing nature of her celebrity may allow, even now.

Since at least her “Lover” era, Ms. Swift has explicitly encouraged her fans to read into the coded messages (which she calls “Easter eggs”) she leaves in music videos, social media posts and interviews with traditional media outlets, but a majority of those fans largely ignore or discount the dropped hairpins that might hint at queer identity. For them, acknowledging even the possibility that Ms. Swift could be queer would irrevocably alter the way they connect with her celebrity, the true product they’re consuming.

There is such public devotion to the traditional narrative Ms. Swift embodies because American culture enshrines male power. In her sweeping essay, “Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence,” the lesbian feminist poet Adrienne Rich identified the way that male power cramps, hinders or devalues women’s creativity. All of the sexist undertones with which Ms. Swift’s work can be discussed (often, even, by fans) flow from compulsory heterosexuality, or the way patriarchy draws power from the presumption that women naturally desire men. She must write about men she surely loves or be unbankable; she must marry and bear children or remain a child herself; she must look like, in her words, a “sexy baby” or be undesirable, “a monster on the hill.”

A woman who loves women is most certainly a monster to a society that prizes male power. She can fulfill none of the functions that a traditional culture imagines — wife, mother, maid, mistress, whore — so she has few places in the historical record. The Sapphic possibility of her work is ignored, censored or lost to time. If there is queerness earnestly implied in Ms. Swift’s work, then it’s no wonder that it, like that of so many other artists before her, is so often rendered invisible in the public imagination.”

— NYT OPINION: Look What We Made Taylor Swift Do

[shivsdownstairsneighbour]

Chérie - End of the Line

Pairing: Stewy Hosseini x Fem. Reader

Description: A puzzling email and a new shoot gets you closer to Stewy once more. Maybe it's time to see how far things can go only for a night.

Rating: Teen/Mature

Word Count: 4k. Part one of the fic, though each can also be stand alones.

AN: Dearest reader, this author has to complete her yearly research report so, of course, it was compulsory to succumb to fic brainrot before typing the report. The dress comes from the Schiaparelli 2020 couture runway. While it lacks a specific name, if you search for the runway lookbook, you'll spot it from the embroidery details (all magnificent and superb). I wanted the closest thing to a SATC naked dress moment while keeping the going to a gala vibes.

Your phone ringing and vibrating right beside you at your desk did wonders in waking you up after a long night editing and postproduction of campaign materials for NYC fashion week. The glam is for the runway, the sleepless night is for the creatives behind the whole operation.

"Good morning?" You responded, not entirely sure if it was morning or afternoon.

"Greetings Miss, we're calling from Mr. Hosseini's office to confirm your presence this afternoon for the media materials." The ever so polite voice of Mrs. Margaret’s, Stewy's assistant, was surely a new way of waking up.

"Uh, yes, I've already confirmed a week ago and sent the tech brief of what I need in the room." You answered, standing up to get the coffee machine running before jumping to the shower.

"Of course, and you'll find it all according to your specifications. We're only missing your measurements, for which you haven't responded to the request sent via email three days ago."

"I beg your pardon, my measurements?" You froze in front of the cabinets, afraid to drop the mug out of shock.

"Yes, madame. Please send them via email at your earliest convenience."

"What does that have to do with me popping in for some pics?” Your voice tone conveyed beyond disbelief and your hand held even stronger to the mug.

"It's a personal request, I have no additional information about the matter. Please do send them and hope you have a pleasant day."

You were left beyond baffled. You actually thought it was a joke to have someone ask for your measurements and, since it came from an email address you didn't recognize, you figured it must be a prank. Why on earth would your measurements matter for a two-hour shoot? The request for measurements was baffling, making you feel the urge to text him to figure who came up with such a ridiculous request. However, truth to be told, beyond a text here and there or the occasional coincidences at a public event, Stewy and you wouldn't talk much, if ever. There was very little beyond a quick flirt and a drink. Plus, this was work, and when your professional name was called for, you liked to keep things strictly business.

Before you could do anything to contact him about that matter, the brand representative from last night's runway called to ask for the contact sheets and the final 6 pic run to use for press statements. You mindlessly typed your measurements though made a mental note to demand some answers from Stewy. The three coffees you had downed by them were starting to make their magic on you and, by the time you were done with your things, you looked a little haggard from the late nights, but with a bit of effort, you looked pulled together and ready to tackle the shoot.

Since they promised to stick to your tech brief as requested, you travelled light with only your camera bag and two lenses for what you envisioned a relatively easy shoot. Considering the hotel already had great lighting in the room, it was only a matter of setting the camera adequately to get the best out of the space. In hindsight, that could also use your own pent-up questions to raise some reactions from him that would make for a good picture. Mrs. Margaret was waiting for you at the hotel entrance and guided you immediately to the room. She didn't mention anything beyond the schedule and handed you the comms pack that would come out of them. The idea was to make it a sort of approachable, yet exclusive profile meant to be part of a joint social media-press strategy derived from the increased interest in his profile, both personal and business.

"Well someone looks as if they didn't have their beauty sleep. Or any sleep at all." He says as soon as he spots you walking into the room. He was wearing a bathrobe and sitting on the recliner by the bed.

"It's the post fashion week eye bags. Tres chic." You glared at him, not impressed by the lack of a greeting. What happened to normal courtesy like a good afternoon?

"Your working station must be somewhere over there. Make yourself at home." He pointed towards the mahogany desk that had the equipment placed and the already mounted studio flash beside it.

"Sure, because home is definitely overlooking the park." You responded, clearly caught by the wonderful views the room offered.

"Snarky. That's new." He turned towards the walk-in wardrobe, and you let a long sight before getting to the setup. It wouldn’t be long but the lack of sleep might start creeping in if you let it.

You set up the camera and start plugging in everything to the set up before starting the shoot. You have a shooting remote active for moments where you with the camera would be too intrusive or if you wanted to have a more upfront conversation without the camera meddling between him and you. They've just started with skincare and the press girl is pulling some questions while you shoot, and the social media guy is getting some backstage content. Curiosity is getting the best of you but you don't know when to ask about the whole measurements thing, especially when surrounded by so many people, some being fellow colleagues from adjacent fields, like Sylvie, the stylist.

By the time they're done with skincare and hair, the press people take a break before he's fully dressed, and you're left with the hairdresser, the make-up artist and the stylist. You might be buzzed by the rush of getting someone not only camera ready, as red carpet ready was a must, to feel the wear and tear from the week. However, you're also sleep deprived and terribly irrational, so you just blurt it out when the hairdresser asks you to take a seat at her station while he comes out of the wardrobe having had the final fitting of his trousers hems.

"Why does your team need my measurements?" Not only did everyone turn to him, but you could feel it, more than ever, his eyes burning through you.

"Everyone, out. Take five, get a coffee, smoke, whatever you need." Everyone left the room, no questions asked, leaving you two standing in the middle of it. "You're impossible to surprise, aren't you?"

"No, I like surprises, but asking through your assistant something of the sort isn't pleasant."

"Well, here's the surprise." He took your hand and guided you to the rack, where four black dust bags were hanging, each with a color-coded ribbon.

"The red one's my choice, I've seen you around and think it'll suit you. The blue is PR, would be lovely to see you on that one for the sake of this operation. The green's the stylist choice, and the pink is a wild card from her too. We could've gotten you more choices if you would've been punctual with your measurements." He said, with such naturality, you felt as the last person in the room to be on the deal.

"I think you've skipped over at least 10 steps previous to this conversation."

"You're my date and I can't have you walking around the red carpet or the gala looking like that." He said while pointing out to your smart trousers and shirt outfit. It was meant to be functional, not glam worthy.

"You know it would've been way easier to just ask upfront?"

"But where's the surprise in it?" He responded, with an almost mocking smirk on his face you wished to at least challenge a little.

"Your date? To the couturier's gala?" Both disbelief and a raised brow conveying the ridiculousness of his move.

"I know you're not booked or on assignment tonight."

"Great choice of words. This is making me feel like an expensive stand-in." His naturality on the subject was making you go from anger to uneasiness. A heads-up would’ve been a way better option.

"Booked or not, choose one, let them pamper you and have a night off."

"I still have to deliver these for your team."

"They're not due tomorrow, are they?" That bit was true, having until next Sunday magazines and society sections to publish them. Feeling accomplished, he turned to face you without dropping the hand he held.

You didn't realize, or rather chose to willingly ignore, the fact that he knew you held the remote in your hand. You were probably still within the camera's field of view, and in a swift move he took it from you and snapped a pic from the moment. The studio flash snapped you out of the moment and, just as quickly as everyone had been dismissed, the crew returned to the room. Stewy could've easily saved at least half an hour from prep time if he would've been clear from the start with his intentions. Nevertheless, you trusted everyone knew how to pull off a look while in a time constraint. You also had to admit it felt good to be receiving the VIP level of pampering that you've documented dozens of times but never had the pleasure of enjoying.

While all dresses were beyond beautiful, it was the pink wildcard that worked best, having it be a must wear if ever given the chance. The stylist helped you get into it, and you looked dazzling. It was day and night from how you left home, and you were really feeling it while wearing it. You didn't notice Stewy had been already fully prepared and looking from the sitting area how you were getting styled and fitted. He looked so smug having a glass of whiskey, as if taking you out fully glammed up was his accomplishment. In truth, you were never certain if you would've responded positively to an actual invitation for an event of the sort. Maybe the smug victory said more about you than him. But you wouldn't be opposed to a second outing if the night fared well.

Once you were ready, you asked for a couple of portraits of him sitting on the sofa and looking relaxed. He was pulling off each shot with enough success to not have to be any more demanding than necessary for good material. Maybe he'd gotten better at it due to increased attention. Or, rather more credibly, he was giving you content after asking you out in the weirdest way possible. Once the shots were done, it was time to leave and you started to feel the weight of the evening on your shoulders. It would be impossible to deny that the atmosphere was awkward in the elevator. Maybe you should've been the one to have a sip or two of that whiskey. What would you even talk about?

"If you ever wish to surprise me again, you do know you have my number." You said, almost as a whisper, wishing to fill up the silence between you two.

"Once again, where's the surprise in it? And I've seen how controlling you are. You would've said no to at least two racks of those dresses. And me." You could be wrong, but was he admitting to being scared of your rejection? That would be impossible.

"Now how would you know about that?"

"You moved the flower vase at least seven times since you started setting the camera." The nonchalance of the phrase revealed a little more than what he strictly said. He was apparently catching your every move in the room.

"That's not being controlling."

"Perfectionist then."

"I'm a professional, Mr. Hosseini." He looked at you with the same eyes as he did during the last picture from the first session. You knew he didn’t like that kind of solemnity in casual settings.

"I'm also a professional. And this will be good business for both of us." The elevator’s opening door not only wrapped the conversation, but also made it official that, whatever you had agreed to, was now set in stone.

You started to wonder if being snarky was a result of being sleep deprived, being nervous, or just in the presence of him after pulling the stunt. You have had good conversations in the very few opportunities you'd meet. Never deep, though always entertaining and fun. The car ride didn't ease the pressure, as being now in front of the camera became a reality. You understood perfectly what was going on from a technical perspective, and being in front of other colleagues was a massive change. You were increasingly too aware of your angles, of how to make the dress stand out, and how you'd be expected to stand by Stewy's side. He, on the other hand, was chill and chatting along with someone on the phone, and one of his hands found its way to the leg embroidery, carefully touching each bead. You would be lying if you'd deny it made you feel a mix of comfort and arousal.

The car stopped and you had to get out. You knew that the rule would be for him to help you out, and, as if coordinated from dozens of times of making it together, once your door opened, his hand was offered. The flashing lights dazed you up for a couple of seconds, making you trust his hand in guiding you towards the carpet and the entryway. It was his confident pressure on it that made you go from apprehension to trust and, as time passed, to enjoying the walk.

The first couple of pictures were admittedly awkward, with the two of you only holding hands and standing a little too rigid for anyone's taste and with enough space for the entire Holy Family to fit between both of you. You wanted to show the dress without straying too far from him, being that you had not much of a public profile to use as leverage to stand alone. By the middle of it, you decided to just lean into all the shenanigans of the moment, accepting his hand on the small of your back, crossing yours behind him too and fully leaning towards him on some shots. You'll figure out tomorrow how good they came out looking but, for now, it was about just letting go.

The gala was beautiful, beyond anything you'd experienced. Without the pressure of documenting it on assignment, you could appreciate all that came with it. The food was great, the acts just as beautiful, and you got to interact with people who you see seldom in person, as they're part of the designers’ in-house staff. Stewy never strayed too far from you and turned out to be an engaging presence no matter the group in front of him.

It became a little clearer than before why the unexpected request with cryptic message and request could've worked best with you. You would've easily said no to a situation that put you right on the center of attention. And, when the first meeting took place, it was you who suggested Rhomboid while being in your court and under your direction. So, it must've been adequate to put you in his court for the next move. However, there were many other ways to ask you out without sounding like a creep or an ass.

"I told you you'd like it. And I'm never going to complain of how much eye fucking I've gotten from you in that little number." He said to you as you two walked together to the bar for a refill.

"Even if it was a wild card?" You looked at him bewildered, clearly caught off guard by the last remark.

"Mostly because it was the wild card. It's like getting a preview of you." His free hand made its way to the embroidered ribs, holding you tight by his side.

"You're so flirty and reveling the moment, aren't you?" You blurted you mindlessly, probably as an effect of the couple of drinks you've enjoyed so far.

"And so are you." His hand departed your ribs and made its way to the small of your back before landing on your butt. Before you could rationalize it, he pulled his move. "There's a suite with my name and your camera waiting, and I'd hate to leave all that hanging any longer."

"We're not playing with my camera. That's work equipment."

"That remote button is very tempting, and you should see what I did there." He concluded with a smirk and a soft squeeze coming from the hand on your butt.

"You took some pics of me?" His smirk quickly changed to a laugh, probably due to your own reaction to whatever he had proposed.

"Only fair if you got mine in there."

He looked towards the hall's entrance and you two started to make your way out by finishing your drinks and bidding goodbyes to any acquaintances you encountered on your path. Since there would be no cameras outside as the gala was approaching the end, it felt natural to hold his hand, share some laughter, and head towards the car without feeling observed by any prying eyes. While the proposal was intriguing as is, it was more intriguing why he didn't pull any move during the car ride beyond touching and playing with the embroidered ribs and femurs.

It was in the room that everything started to become clear. Standing near the station, he asked you to turn on the setting you had been working with. You only needed the camera and the computer, so nothing else was turned on from the afternoon shoot. After some scrolling, the screen showed the shots of you getting the dress on and looking at the mirror. You were awed by the naturality with which you seemed to have navigated an unusual circumstance as that.

"I believe the photographer did a great job setting it up. Do you know her by any chance?" Standing side by side, his hand returned to its now usual spot on the back, and it was certainly more appealing to see him without the suit jacket.

"These are quite good."

"You didn't take it personally that I didn't choose yours?"

"I didn't even know this one was a possibility. You looked almost naked, walking around the gala as if you run the place." While your eyes were still focused on the screen, his eyes were looking intently at you, a sight that had been your companion for most of the evening.

"And you got unprecedented eye fucking opportunities." You turned to face him, locking sight and reaching your hand towards the one he wasn’t using to support himself on the table.

"A rightful compliment to my invitation." He stood straight and took the remote from beside the mouse.

"You know that that’s not a toy."

"Before we begin, let me tell you how much I want to ruin this lip color." He said, giving you a kiss while holding you tight to him with one hand and the remote with the other. It wasn’t a deep kiss but you sensed it'll go beyond that if given enough time.

"Would you stand here miss?" He said pretending to not have heard you and guiding you back to where you were getting ready before.

"Now, I want to see the whole of you. Gloves, please?" He whispered on your ear before moving to kiss your neck.

"Not a chance if I don't get to do some perusing before." You manage to say before he stood half a step back to look at you as if you’d defied him.

Without removing the gloves, you took your time untying the bowtie, and opening the first three buttons of the shirt. He held you steadfastly to him and, as he asked you to do more, you never changed the pace with which you were going, carefully unbuttoning each one knowing the tease you were being by going so slowly.

After his shirt was undone, he let go of you and turned you around to plant some kisses along your neck and shoulders before his hand reached your side and undid the zipper. It was slow, calculated, and definitely doing more than a thing or two to your brain. As the dress fell to the floor due to the weight of the embroidery, his free hand explored your back, and you turned around, stepping out of the dress to undo the belt buckle and the trousers. He was still dressed, and it was unfair of him for you to be standing on your underwear while he had trousers and an undershirt on.

The continued teasing touches left you two standing fully naked, craving each other desperately, and leaving the gloves as the final barrier between teasing and fucking. He slowly helped you take one glove off, never letting go from the remote, before helping you to the other. Once both of you were standing fully naked, his hand found his way once more to the small of your back and with strength and self-assuredness, started kissing you with more passion than ever. You were certainly no fool either, letting him go for it and voicing it to his ear how good he was doing as he kissed your breasts and tended to you.

From that point on, the night became a blur. He immediately left the remote after the first kiss and guided you to the bed where things got going. You could feel his fingers and lips exploring you just as you were getting acquainted with his body. You liked the feeling of his hairy chest on you and, as you asked for more, he certainly wasn't going to leave you hanging. Excited beyond measure, you kept it going until you couldn't do any longer without feeling him inside. You took him in and reveled in the sensation of feeling full, using your legs to hold him tightly in you. Neither of you was fully sure of how many orgasms came from the nightly adventure, but as you two lied side by side, you took the pleasure of feeling exhausted for more than one reason aside from sleep deprivation. After a quick shower, the week of poor sleep caught with you, and you dozed off almost immediately after getting into the covers. You could feel Stewy's hand running along your side, similar to how he touched the rib embroidery on the dress. You're not sure if he placed one last peck on your back or not because you were already gone.

The next morning, you woke up early to see, in private, whatever Stewy managed to capture from the night. One picture immediately caught your eye where he was pressing your back against him and laying a kiss on your neck. Both seem to have forgotten the camera was there, looking absolutely locked into the moment. Another picture, him looking mesmerized as you undo his belt, getting extra light touches from the way the glove embroidery reflected light as you moved. Certainly, these pictures and the others you were selecting would enter your private collection. A thing to be only enjoyed by you.

You felt a warm hand on your shoulder, and you turned to see him awake and only wearing his boxers. He crouched to your eye level and pointed to the screen saying, "I'll want these prints first thing" before a quick peck on the cheek.

"Should I trust you to keep them private?"

"No one should ever see you like that, except me." His smugness oozed off from him and the look he gave you emphasized the nature of his request and his word. As he said to some other person at the gala, his word was his bond, and he might see to it with the seriousness with which he pulled business deals.

In the meantime, he got a notepad from the desk drawer and wrote his address.

"I want them delivered here with a special request for you to be the courier."

"Should I wear the gloves too?" You mentioned keeping a playful tone to what seemed to be a confirmation of an upcoming date.

"As much as they're yours now, I want to see them again doing precisely that." He responded by pointing at the picture where you removed his belt.

A knock on the door pulled you two out of it and breakfast was served. Who knew if and when you'd do this gala date all over again. But for now, you had a package to deliver and some joint morning aftercare to ease you back to your routine. 

[antigonick]

Hello! I've lost my love for writing. Everytime I write, even if what I'm writing is, in my head, something that I would love and have fun writing about, I feel utterly bored and would rather do anything else than write.

I've tried to distance myself from it, finding other hobbies and spending time reading or watching or just consuming media I enjoy, find inspiration and so-and-so, but I always find myself itching to write, yet when I do, I'm bored again and the cycle repeats.

Is there any advice you could give?

Hmm... I'm not sure. I've been through the push and pull of wanting-to-write but losing-any-interest-in-writing once I sit down, and the daunting feeling that comes with it (did I just lose it?). Thing is, since my work life makes academic writing and translation compulsory, creative writing has re-become a pleasure and an escape because, in part I think, of its contrast with work-writing—its freedom and its specificity, its lack of responsibility. Academic writing is hard and challenging but peaceful because it is disciplined and I have to tackle it, whether I like it or not; creative writing is MINE, with all the anguish and the joy that comes with it. It's the same with reading—I'm often burnt out, but the possibility of free reading when I so often have work-reading makes it desirable all the same. So, two things:

If you have story or character ideas, but no writing fuel, don't lose the pleasure of story-telling just because you won't make it into a coherent, finished text: share it with a group of friends and/or writers, write about it if you can't write it, give very short-length prompts a shot, etc. Creation doesn't have to end up in production to give you pleasure and keep the creation gears oiled up.

Give yourself a writing chore, something that is more about crafting than free-creation. Translate something linguistically difficult. Write a review, a summary of an essay you like, whatever. Or, if you prefer to write fiction only, do with a daily compulsory word-count (a small one): see if discipline breaks a dam and makes the possibility of fun writing without obligations shine brighter by contrast.

That being said, sometimes a break is nice. I stopped writing for a long time at one point, and it's encountering a work that pulled me out of complacency and made me want to reply to it, to jump from and beyond it, that brought me back around. Not doing and leaving things to simmer a little at the back of your brain for a while isn't always bad. A reset can be healing too.

I'll leave this here if others want to add ideas in the notes!

[dailyanarchistposts]

Leninism: Why Not

Red Fascism has its roots in Leninist thought, an analysis dating back to critiques in 1939 with The Struggle Against Fascism Begins with the Struggle Against Bolshevism by Otto Rühle[28] and 1921 The Russian Revolution and the Communist Party by “Four Moscow Anarchists”.[29] The latter states:

[State Communism] is not and can never become the threshold of a free, voluntary, non-authoritarian Communist society, because the very essence and nature of governmental, compulsory Communism excludes such an evolution. Its consistent economic and political centralization, its governmentalization and bureaucratization of every sphere of human activity and effort, its inevitable militarization and degradation of the human spirit mechanically destroy every germ of new life and extinguish the stimuli of creative, constructive work.

As Gabriel Kuhn declares in his review of Malm’s recent publications:

As long as it is not clear how future Leninism of any stripe – anti-Stalinist, ecological, whatever – will be able to avoid these pitfalls, I really don’t find it terribly reassuring to suggest that, well, somehow it’ll turn out alright this time.

In a similar fashion, Malm does not add new elements to the discussions on escalation of tactics in the environmental movement, contrary to his book’s promise. It might be this hollow radicality that entertains bourgeois circles and will grant him a broad audience separate from the core of radical change.

Furthermore, his ability to brag about his own past flirtations with direct action, from the comfort of middle-class existence in a social democracy, shows that he really has no understanding of ecological struggle. People who actually risk themselves struggling for their land, their survival, our planet, face death or decades in prison. They do not get to put their actions on their resumé to sell books after just a few years. To put it plainly, Malm does not know the meaning of struggle. His expertise is in writing academic papers, securing a comfortable, privileged existence for himself, and climbing the class ladder.

Malm tries to ridicule James C. Scott for his not very popular nor influential book Two Cheers for Anarchism (2012), where he makes silly comments on traffic lights. If you’re familiar with Scott’s work, it becomes apparent that Malm’s attack might be caused by Scotts critique of Lenin in Seeing like a State (1998), exposing Lenin as controlling and elitist. Scott’s work will be mentioned further in the next sections.

[holdoncallfailed]

do you ever think about the parallels between damon and graham and paul and john? the childhood best friends and inseparable creative partners, one is the pusher for the dream, and the other one is the arty emotional live wire, the jealousy, competitiveness, emotional breakdown, and dissatisfaction/unhappiness with their dynamic. eventually, one gets a new creative partner, and the wedge becomes a chasm. yet only one of them got the opportunity to fully reconcile while the other was robbed of it.

of course, they're not the same, and the level of success does make for a lot of that separation. but I see how much time and effort it took for damon and graham to rebuild their relationship, knowing it couldn't go to what it once was but still working to repair it. glad they did, especially when you hear paul say that one should never put off telling someone you love them.

yeeeesss this has been a point of great interest for myself and certain other rpf scholars on this site (hi @elena-ferrante). watching paul in get back really reminded me of damon lol...i think it's interesting that part of the tension between d&g and j&p is that the domineering control freak "spokesman" member of the pair comes across as the one calling the shots but is in fact so full of admiration for and places such a high value on the opinion of the other that he becomes sort of deferential to him... i think they all struggle(d) with their identities and public images being intertwined. but i also think that there is/was more love between them than we could possibly understand from the outside. i really sincerely think that john and paul would have reconciled if they'd been given enough time.

speaking more broadly to your point about the wedge & the chasm: i think another thing about why bands are so interesting and why they capture the public imagination is that they frequently present this homosocial fantasy of companionship that is very much rooted in an adolescent configuration of life , i.e. hanging out with your friends all the time, doing whatever you want, responsible for only yourselves, obligated to each other out of a shared passion. and that lifestyle is not compatible with The Institution of Adulthood, i.e. stable career, marriage and family-rearing, which still feels compulsory—if not totally inescapable—for most people in [heterosexual] society. a band can be a world unto itself but it is not the real world. there are soooooooooo many examples of bands falling apart once a member gets married and/or commits to a new creative partner because that development inevitably ruins the fantasy on which the band was built, consciously or subconsciously. the real world comes careening back into focus...and you can't ever get that old life back once you've deviated from it.

i think the assumption within heterosexual society that homosociality is something that one "ages out of" is very pervasive (and homophobic, natch, but we don't have to get into that now). that homosocial relationships—or even friendships more generally—are always ultimately secondary to romantic relationships (specifically marriage) is something that i think a lot of people struggle with as they move further into adulthood (i know i am lol). it just happened on a much more drastic scale for these guys because of their fame.

also so much of the stuff in this post is very damon & graham coded...

well anyway let's all kill ourselves.