#like fuck it's like I literally lose the ability to form a single coherent thought

[running-in-the-dark]

I want to be someone who has smart and interesting things to say about shows/movies that I like - like when I tried to convince my friends that they really need to watch Leverage. that would have been useful! instead I'm just like 'it's sooo good I like it so much I love all the characters they're all so awesome 🥰'

my thoughts are generally just like.

ooh he soo prettyyy. I want to braid his hair. hehe he punched someone. look at his lil face 🥰 baby boi. pretty smile his mouth is so nice I like his teeth. chest hair. hands! arms arms arms 🤤 his eyes are so pretty. oooh blood on his face, blood on his face! he's growling. annd his voice is all raspy again. I wonder [many many redacted thoughts]. ooh now he's in danger oh noo 😏

there's a bunch of 'she's so pretty' and 'I love her' somewhere in between all that too but mostly it's just. very, very stupid

[crescentcrossbow]

The fact that blocking people you don't like on Twitter is an absolutely necessary part of having a good experience, while blocking people you don't like on Reddit and Tumblr is an act of spite that makes both you and the person you've blocked have a hard time, has plagued my brain for a while. I think now I'm actually capable of putting it into a coherent thought.

Blocking (in the sense of "preventing people from seeing and interacting with your posts," held distinct from restricting and/or filtering DMs) as a form of interaction control really only makes sense on a social media platform that meets the following conditions:

The primary model of interaction is based around individual blog posts, not around forum threads (whether linear like on a traditional forum/chatroom/imageboard or tree-based like on Reddit/Tumblr).

The sorting algorithm that shows you people's posts is more complicated than a simple reverse chronological feed.

Twitter meets these conditions.

Blog post-based, not thread-based: When a post is served to your dashboard on Twitter, you don't see a reply chain. You see a single post. If the post is the start of a thread, it has to indicate that so you know to click through and look for the rest.

Not reverse chronological: You cannot control who you see and in what order, because the Bird will just randomly serve you something that people you follow like or some shit, and you'll keep getting served it even if you unfollow them. Reciprocally, that person you don't want to see cannot avoid being served your posts.

So because the platform is such a complete clusterfuck, blocking as a feature makes sense: it's literally the only way for Twitter users to curate their blog.

However, in the case of (for instance) Reddit, when you go to a community you see all of the posts the same way everyone else does. A Reddit community is a forum, and that is how forums are supposed to work. It's not a blog that other people are interacting with, it's a community that you are a part of.

Tumblr, though it is technically a collection of blogs, is the same way. Unless you are isolated in your little hole, never reblogging from anyone and indistinguishable from a bot, you are a community member. You follow people. You see their comments in threads in the order they were made. If you don't like what you're seeing you can unfollow them, or perhaps filter out a tag if it's only posts with that tag you're not fond of.

When your site uses this interaction model, having a block feature is fundamentally a misunderstanding of what kind of site you are operating. And when understood this way, the fact that blocking someone or being blocked by someone completely fucks up your ability to use the site as intended makes sense. It's like the old phenomenon of a CEO demanding the latest buzzwords be added to a product that physically cannot exist with those buzzwords, and being surprised_pikachu when the results turn out to be dogshit.

On Reddit, if someone you have blocked or someone who has you blocked makes a comment anywhere in a thread, you completely lose the ability to vote on or reply to any comments anywhere else in that thread, including your own. On Tumblr, if someone has you blocked and then one of your mutuals reblogs a post that has them anywhere in the thread, you completely lose the ability to interact with that post, even though it's your own mutual's post. These are fundamental barriers to using the site as intended. They punish you for having people who mildly dislike you, or for mildly disliking people, by making the UX inhospitable.

It's the clash of two completely incompatible interaction models.

A forum should not give users the ability to block other users. A site that gives users the ability to block other users should structure its design around individual top-level blog posts. These two philosophies cannot mix, and when they do, the results end up shitty.

[loudstan]

Epiphany (P1. 13, FINALE)

A collection of  NCT werewolf AU stories.

Doyoung (pt.1) (pt.2) (pt. 3) (pt. 4) (pt. 5) (pt. 6) (pt. 7) (pt. 8) (pt. 9) (pt. 10) (pt. 11) (pt. 12) (PT. 13 FINALE)

Summary: The wolf population kept decreasing and those who were left had a hard time trying to fit  into society. Sure, people didn’t consider them as dangerous as vampires, but wolves could still sense some hostility every time they did as much as go for a walk in a public place. Thanks to wolves’ natural magical abilities, NCT (one of the remaining packs) found a safe place among witches in a town where no one knew their secret, allowing some members to finally get a job, study and interact with others without fear of being rejected.Life seems to finally be peaceful for them… except that wolves have needs, and one of those needs is finding their mate.

Pairing: Werewolf! Doyoung x Witch! female reader

Warnings: smut

“So you’re okay with this?” you asked

In awe, he nodded and you wasted no time.

You straddled him again and with no warning you pumped his length a couple of times, lined yourself up and started to sink down.

Desperately, Doyoung scratched the couch to the point he tore the soft fabric up, mumbling something you couldn’t quite comprehend.

If you weren’t so turned on you would have laughed at his weak attempt to stay still while you were sitting there, taking all of him. You thought that convincing him would be harder, but he was clearly about to lose it.

“Are you sure you don’t want to touch me?” you teased, giving a tentative bounce.

He sobbed and squirmed, still babbling nonsense.

“What was that?” you asked leaning closer so you could hear what you were sure was a string of curses and moans. Instead it was more coherent than you expected, and in Latin.

A spell?

You sat up just in time to see a dim light surrounding his wrists, glueing them efficiently to the couch.

“The handcuff spell? Seriously?” he was either being childish or kinky. Handcuffing himself with magic to control his wolf? “How long can you keep the spell going though?” you scoffed.

“I-it’s not up to m-me,” he sighed, slightly relieved that the spell had worked. “It will vanish once you say the password.”

“So, a safeword? Fine, what is it?”

“You’ll h-have to figure it out,” he had the audacity to smirk when he wanted this as much as you. Maybe even more than you, he was the one who got physical pain if he couldn’t have his mate.

“Have it your way,” you said, giving another bounce. “ Like I need your help to get off.”

“We’ll see a-about that.”

You decided not to argue anymore, quickening the pace instead and effectively turning him into a moaning mess. Or maybe the one moaning was you, you couldn’t quite tell at this point.

As the minutes went by and the air grew thicker, your whole body was trembling as you felt him grow inside of you.

“O-oh, god,” you panthed. “ Are you getting b-bigger? Is that your knot?”

Doyoung, who had been observing you with lidded eyes the entire time, finally had something to say.

“Uh, n-not yet. That’s just m-me…”

“Oh… but that means that knots...are a thing, right?

“Y-yeah, it normally happens during heats, but it can also happen if we...get really worked up,” he said, licking his lips. “ But it takes a while of uh...fucking for that to happen. You know, basic werewolf anatomy.”

You looked at where your bodies were connected, your mind completely blank. You had stopped listening after he confirmed he could indeed knot you. You had never thought you were into that before, but there was something so animalistic about being knotted that you could only think about that now.

With a new purpose in mind, you gathered the strength you had left and rode him hard. Doyoung looked at you with wide eyes.

“D-does that turn you on?” he asked in disbelief in between moans.

You whined and nodded. Normally you wouldn’t admit it, but your pride was long gone.

“Yeah? My needy little mate wants my knot? Oh- so g- ah! That feels so good, baby. Just like that, just like that,” Doyoung was also leaving all formality behind, seeing you so desperate for him.

His praises served you as motivation to continue moving, even though your legs had given out. Frustrated, you tried to force yourself to ride him, only managing to grind harsh and slow.

“I can’t, please!” you sobbed incoherently.

“Keep going. Keep fucking going. Come on baby, use me,” he encouraged you while trying his best to thrust his hips into you. He couldn’t fuck you properly if he couldn’t move freely, but it was better than nothing. You were willing to take anything.

“More, more please oh my god,” you gasped as he gave you a few more thrusts, mixed with the weak movements your body could offer in your state.

“Are you gonna cum soon, hmm?” he hissed. “A-re you satisfied?”

“No!” you wailed. You were oh so close, but you didn’t want to cum just yet. “Y-your knot, want your knot.”

“Fuck!” he growled and his member twitched inside of you. “I wanna breed you so bad. You’re mine, mine, mine-”

It was the possessiveness in his voice that had you reaching your climax and collapsing on top of him while he whispered sweet nothings in your ear.

“Good girl, you did so well. I love you so much.”

“Love you too,” you replied weakly, closing your eyes to welcome what you thought would be a long nap, when you heard a sudden snap and Doyoung’s arms surrounded your body.

“Finally,” he growled next to your ear and before you could even blink, he manhandled you so you were on your back under him.

“Wha-” you tried to question what had just happened when he connected his lips with yours into a passionate kiss.

“Did we really have to go this far for you to admit that you love me?” he asked between kisses. “I literally had to fuck the confession out of you.”

“T-that was the password?” you asked gasping when he kissed his way to your breasts.

“Not necessarily,” he delicately licked at one of your niples before sucking on it, moaning.. “The only condition was that you admit your true feelings for me, whether you felt something or not.”

He released the sensitive nub and gave it a last kiss before going back up and pinning your wrists above your head with just one of his large hands. His other hand travelled down to grab his member and without a warning he re-entered you.

You literally shrieked and squirmed under him.

“Too s-sensitive-AH!” your eyes rolled back when he pushed himself in deeper than he could when he was tied up.

“Shh, baby. Don’t you want my knot?” he purred, grabbing your hips and pulling you onto his cock again and again.

“Oh my god, ohmygod,” was all you could mumble.

“Fuck, you like that, baby?” he gritted as he lifted one of your legs and his pace accelerated.

The new angle and how deep he could reach now had you arching your back and letting out a silent scream.

He pulled his hips into him harder and faster, his knot slowly forming at the base of his length. He let out a shaky moan as he forced it inside of you, your mind too blinded with pleasure to feel any pain at first, but when the rest of it started growing inside of you, you panicked.

“It’s too big, s’ too much-please” you scratched his arms and back.

“Take it,” he simply said as his knot grew further while he fucked into you. “I’m gonna fill you up so good.”

Your entire body was shaking. You had never felt so full. And just when you thought the pleasure couldn’t be better than this, Doyoung gasped dramatically and halted his movements. Your eyes followed to where he was looking: at the very bottom of your belly there was a little bump.

“Y/n, look,” he said, caressing your belly as if he was hypnotized. “I’m so deep inside of you.”

“Fuck,” you were officially losing it now. Your locked your legs around his hips, trying to fuck yourself into him. “Give me your knot, give it to me.”

He didn't need to be told twice. He pulls you into him as he fucks forward as fast and hard as he can.

“You want it? You want me to cum right inside of you where I belong?”

“Yes! yes, yes,yes, yes, oh fuck!”

You spasmed around him and reached your high as he fucked you brutally. Right after, he fell forward, his knot squirting furiously inside of you as he let out a delirious laugh, lost in pleasure.

“Oh, y/n look at how good you take it,” he gritted while his hand reached for your clit and rubbed it quickly. “One more time, baby, cum for me one more time, come on.”

Sobbing desperately you felt another wave of pleasure hit you, your entire body trembling before you relaxed completely. You felt Doyoung panting next to your ear, before he started licking and sucking on the mark he had left there weeks ago.

It must be a wolf thing, you thought gaining back some of your long forgotten ability to think.

“Sorry. I'll remember to use a condom for the next round,” he said softly. “I’ll also get you plan B if we need it.”

“You’re lucky I’m on the pill. How many rounds are we talking about?” you asked breathlessly.

“Enough to fuck the attitude out of you-ouch!” he laughed when you hit his arm. “I don’t know, it could take one more round or we could be here all week.”

“Well, fuck.”

“Yep, fuck indeed.”

You two remained in silence for a few minutes before he broke the silence again.

“Can we please be together now? Like, really together. As a couple? I mean, we don’t have to, but-”

You bursted out laughing, but stopped when you saw the insecurity in his eyes. Seriously, only he could get insecure when his knot was locked inside of you.

“On one condition: I get an A for my last written assignment.”

He stared at you in disbelief before he let out a chuckle.

“I’ll reread and re-evaluate every single assignment you wrote this year, after I make you squirt.

“Deal.”

[bump1nthen1ght]

Thicker than Water (Demon x Reader) Chapter 1

Pairing: Female Reader x Gender Fluid! Demon

Genre: High Fantasy

Warnings: Arm Injuries, Several mentions of blood

Word Count: 1870 Words

Summary: A summoning gone awry ends up in your favor

Chapter 2

A/N: Alright, I know I literally just posted a demon story but this post showed up on my dash and my god if I have never been more inspired to write a fic. I legit wrote this in 2 hours in a frenzy. Also I plan this story to be multi-chap, but still rather short, so maybe 3 parts in total

Before that night, you had never known what nearly-passing out felt like.

Your mother had done it, once or twice, usually after a particularly stressful day at the shop. If you didn’t check on her between your studies she may forget to eat entirely, your father as well. But you had been lucky; Someone had always been there to catch her, to cradle her head and spoon-feed her strength back.

On the forest floor, surrounded by the smell of your own blood, you have no such luxury.

The black spots flickering in your vision blend into the desne canopy above you and your tears only muddle your sight. The iron and copper of the summoning circle drawn around you drown out the scent of fresh pine and grass, while your ears can only focus on your own heartbeat and the bickering of the four boys.

Oh, that’s right, they’re still here.

It seems you had lost more fluid than you realized, probably because of your incessant crying. You had tried to stop the flow, but your brain was losing coherent function with every second. The boys conversation sounds far away and hollow, bouncing off your eardrums and confusing your sense of direction

“You idiot, I told you not to go for the arm!”

“We needed a lot of blood!”

“But she needs to read the ritual dumbass! She can’t if she dies!”

Ah yes, the ritual, it all is flooding back to you now.

Having received a private education from your father at your family’s apothecary, you were already prone to isolation as a child. It didn’t help having no siblings, nor a lacking natural talent for friend-making. Although you had lived in the city all your life, the young people your age knew very little about you, and you them.

You knew they had rumors about you, The daughter the apothecary hides away; That your gaze can turn people to stone, that you can curse and poison people with a couple words and the right ingredients.

The truth was you weren’t so glamorous. You knew your way around a medicine cabinet, sure, but nothing about poisons or magic spells. You didn’t have any special abilities to compensate or explain your reluctance for socialization. Just some overprotective parents and a shy disposition.

So when the handsome postmasters-son began to pay you special visits, you let your guard down. You let him walk you to and from the market, memorizing your weekend route. You let him in for a bit of tea late at night, especially when it seemed so cold, and told him where the spare key was kept. And yes, you even told him about your favorite secluded spot in the forest, where the sounds of civilization were far away, where you could be alone.

And here, in these last moments of your life, you can’t help but feel so naive.

“Hey, hey!”

A boot taps your cheek, shaking you out of your revelry. Your glassy eyes look over to your right.

It’s one of the local merchant’s boys, you think his name is Nicholas? It doesn’t really matter. All you knew about him was that he was a bit rough around the edges; always nicking things from pockets, looking up ladies skirts, and skipping his lessons. That’s what your dad complained about anyway.

A page is shoveled in front of you, dangling over your face. Your eyes take a while, but focus on the words. Nicholas’ boot heel digs into your neck.

“Read it out loud, or we’ll kill you.”

Clearly I’m going to die anyway dumbass, why should I help you?

You might’ve retorted, if you were in such a physical condition to do so. But instead, you do as you're told, and start speaking.

To your left, the postmaster’s son, Richard, sucks in a breath with anticipation. Any false composure he had while luring you here is gone, his feet tapping with excitement as he holds your left arm and lef bound spread eagle.

Holding your right leg is Markus, another merchant boy. He picks at his teeth.

“What are you guys going to wish for?” He whispers. It goes in your ear and out the other, too focused on forming coherent sentences.

“A full-harem of babes, obviously.” Simpers Hunter, the son of a landlord. He isn’t ugly, only a bit plain, and has enough money to boot. Compared to the other bachelors in town however, he has had little luck in procuring a courtship.

“A million coins could get you that and more, idiot. That’s what I’m wishing for.” Whispers Richard.

“What are you going to wish for Nic?” Asks Markus

“Oh my gods, will you guys shut the fuck up?”

Nic snarls, unconsciously digging his heel back into your throat. You choke and stutter, but keep going. The runes around you, written in your own blood, begin to glow.

All of the boy’s eyes widen and they step back from you. Your limbs sink like dead weight as the words begin to flow out your mouth with no thought. The paper with the chant drops to the ground, out of your sight, but it's like your brain has been reprogrammed; You know the rest, know it in your bones.

The grass begins to simmer and burn under the summoning circle, smoke swirling into formation above you. When the final word whispers out of you, you feel your body go lax. You don’t even remember tensing up

I guess this is it. Sorry Mom, Sorry Dad.

You clench your eyes, just hoping the demon will be quick. That it will at least leave a recognizable corpse.

“Holy shit.” You hear muttered, unsure by whom.

Your eyes are closed, body teetering on the brink of unconsciousness, but your senses are still intact. A hot wave of breath washes over your face and the ground below you trembles with heavy footsteps. The boys are quiet but you can hear their hearts pounding. They thrum with life, while yours slowly fades.

“Why have you summoned me, mortal?”

Even half-dead, your muscles tense in fear. The demon's voice is deep and resonates like a crowd talking all at once. It reeks of inhuman power and cracks like thunder.

A brief silence passes, before Nicholas finds his courage.

“We have come to ask for a wish.”

Later, when recounting the story, you will mention that the demon looked over to Nicolas, unamused, despite never seeing it yourself. The demon huffs, the heat of it blowing over you once more.

“I don’t believe I asked you.” The demon mutters. The cacophony of voices blend together into one, bland and emotionless. Even in your state however, you are able to decipher a couple of louder tones which overpower the others. They seem...angry.

“But...you…”

“I asked….”

Your eyes snap open as a wet droplet lands on your cheek. Lingering above you, drool seeping from their unnaturally sharp teeth, is the creature. It’s face resembles that of a goat, but sharp fangs stick out from their lower lips. Their eyes are golden and shine in the night, piercing right into yours. Despite the part of your body screaming out in terror, another part feels oddly….comforted. It’s why you don't startle when they brush a hand against your cheek, their thumb wiping away your tears. Their palm is warm, not like a blistering flame, but like a thick quilt. Like hot chocolate on a rainy day.

“......What do you need of me, little one?”

Their hand, padded and calloused, slides down your arm, closing up the large gash on your inner bicep. In another movement, they do the same to the other. Power and vitality seems to sink back into your body, drip by drip.

Words escape you, but not Nicolas.

“Excuse me, demon, but we're the ones who summoned you.” The sarcastic tone of his does little to hide the quivers of his fear, especially when the demon's neck turns toward him at an unnatural speed. Still, he persists. “Not her. And we want-”

“Do you take me for a blind fool?” The voice bellows, sending all the boys to their knees. Markus clutches his ears while Hunter whimpers on the ground. Nicolas falls back to the ground, eyes widen.  The demon stands to their full height, several feet above all of you. “Do you think I was born without smell, without sense?” The step away from your body, swiping at the ground with their fingers, taking a small bit of your blood with it.

The demon sticks their thumb and forefinger in front of Nicolas’s face, causing him to yelp and fall onto his back. “Is this your blood which forged the connection? Was it your words that spoke me into existence? Was it your body which came to the brink, wrenched open the door and pulled us both through?”

Nicolas, trembling like a leaf, shakes his head no. The demon’s eyes jerk up to the others. “And was it any of these young men?”  

Richard furiously shakes his head, while Hunter stays collapsed on the ground. Markus pushes himself away, hands still clamped around his ears. The demon sneers, before turning and walking back to you.

The demon kneels before propping your upper body up with a gentle touch. A comforting claw rubs your lower back while another paw rubs the tension out of your shoulders.

“Now, mistress, what may you ask of me?”

Your muscles may no longer tire from blood loss, but your mind truly feels like it’s on the brink of breaking. The demon, with fearsome fangs and a soft look, looks to you for an answer.

“I-I…” You mutter as the demon continues to massage your back. They hum.

“Take your time, it is alright. Rituals are difficult, I can only imagine the toll your body feels.” The mass of voices have synchronized, fading from a hundred to a single, harmonious tune. It is cavernously deep, but pleasant. It reminds you of the portly older man who used to read stories aloud every holiday.

You feel your body unconsciously turn towards your captors. Nicholas stays stuck to the ground, the whites of his eyes almost glowing in the darkness. The others have slowly moved to their knees, all terrified with shaky limbs, and look like they might make a run for it. Markus is slowly inching towards Nicholas’ shoulders, trying to lift him up to his senses.

For the first time in your life, a deep, boiling hatred burns your skin.

Cowards. You sneer, with all the malice stored in your reserves.

“I want-I want…” You stumble as the anger bubbles out of your belly. “I want them to hurt. To feel humiliated.” Nails bite into the palm of your hand, letting out blood as you clench knuckles. “I want everyone to know what they’ve done, who they are, every fault they’ve ever been guilty of. I want them alive, but I want them to burn.”

The demon smiles, pulling you in for a hug. You collapse into their embrace, keeping your eyes locked onto the boys, those rats. The demon hums a contented tune as they rub your back.

“As you wish, my master.”

[antoine-roquentin]

I think one of the major problems with the modern left is a focus on cultural analysis instead of economics. When I say culture I EXPLICITLY DON'T MEAN racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, ableism, and Indigenous rights/decolonization.

Stupidpol and their ilk are reactionaries and should be treated as such. What I'm talking about is the focus on things like analyzing TV shows or picking over the latest issues of the NYT op-ed column, the sort a caricatures you see on Chapo.

Zizek is emblematic of this syndrome. He's a theorist of ideology, a film critic, a Lacanian psychoanalyst and complete reactionary on gender and immigration issues, and he's widely considered to be one of preeminent Marxist scholars alive. And, and this is important, Zizek does fuck all actual economic material analysis. Mark Fisher, who was an excellent Marxist theorist, covers almost exactly the same ground from a different perspective, and you can repeat this across academia.

Inside academia the problem has gotten so bad that the best economic analysis is being carried out by the fucking post-humanists. Take, for example, Anna Tsing's excellent Supply Chains and the Human Condition. Tsing is a brilliant theorist but she spends most of her time writing about multi-species interactions between humans and mushrooms. Carbon Democracy, one of the best theories of the carbon economy ever written, is by a left-Foucaldian.

There are some exceptions to this, Andreas Malm's Carbon Capital is wonderful, Riot Strike Riot is great and I have to mention the group I call The Other Chicago School, Endnotes, whose infrequent analysis is a breath of fresh air. But Endnotes isn't particularly well read even inside the academy, which takes back outside the ivory tower in the dismal mess that is what passes for popular left "economics."

I want to go back to Occupy for a second because what happened there is indicative of the problem. Occupy, at least technically, actually had a theory of economics that went beyond "neoliberalism bad, welfare state good." And it's really not as bad as its critics have since accused it of being. Graeber's "the 1% meme" was supposed to be part of an MMT analysis of the ability of banks to create money out of nothing, see Richard A. Werner. The theory then goes with the ability to create money out of nothing the question becomes who should actually have that power. The 1% are the people who control that power and use that it to gain wealth and their wealth to gain power.

This is essentially what happened after 2008 and it relates to an entire analysis of the politics of debt and war that's captured really well in the last chapter of Debt, The First 5000 Years, drawing from Hudson's excellent Super Imperialism. Again, not bad, and not the disaster it became in Liberal hands. But note two things:

1, His work is intentionally detached from the production process- Graeber uses a value theory of labor about the social reproduction of human beings. That theory is really interesting and I'll leave a link to his It is Value that Brings Universes into Being here. But Graeber is an anthropologist, not an economist, and his recent work is mostly composed of a set of theories of bureaucracy.

And, don't get me wrong, I really like Utopia of Rules and Bullshit Jobs, and it's possible to build an economic theory out of them, but almost no one actually does. And this gets us back to my second point about Occupy and economics.

2, Not a single other person I have ever met, including people who were in Occupy, have ever actually heard the theory behind the 1%. Part of this has to do with Graeber’s rather admirable desire to not become an intellectual vanguardist. But, I cannot overemphasize how much of this is a result of the left's retreat into an analysis of consumerism instead of capitalism and its further insistence that the entire fucking global economy can be explained by chapters 1-3 of Capital and this just isn't a "read more theory" rant, it's not like reading the rest of Capital is going to help you here. But even that's better than what's actually happened, which is people reading Imperialism, the Highest Stage of Capitalism and the Communist Manifesto and trying to derive economic theory from that, or getting lost in a Gramscian or psychoanalytic miasma trying to explain why revolution didn't happen. But we can't keep fucking doing this.

If we do we're just going to keep getting stuck in endless fucking inane arguments, one of which is about which countries are Imperialist or not based on trying to read the minds of world leaders, and the other of which is a bunch of racists trying to argue that they're actually "class-first" Marxists and that if we don't say slurs and be mean to disabled people we're going to lose the "real working class," which is somehow composed only of construction workers banging steel bars.

So let's stop letting them do that. One of the reasons Supply Chains and the Human Condition is so great is that it describes how the performance of gender and racial roles creates the self super-exploitation at the heart of global capitalism. Race and gender cannot be ignored in favor of some kind of "class-first" faux-leftist bullshit. THEY ARE LITERALLY THE DRIVER OF CAPITAL ACCUMULATION.

Most of the global supply chain has been transformed into entrepreneurs and wannabe entrepreneurs (see the countless accounts of Chinese garment factory workers who dream of getting into the fashion industry and who attempt to supplement their meager income by setting up stalls in local marketplaces to sell watches and clothes).

The fact that global supply chains have reverted to the kind of small family firms that Marx and Engels thought would disappear is a MASSIVE problem for any kind of global workers movement, because it means that the normal wage relation that is supposed to form the basis of the proletariat isn't actually the governing social experience of a large swath of what should be the proletariat, either because they're the owners of small firms contracted by larger firms like Nike who would, in an older period of capitalism, have just been workers or because the people who work for those firms are incapable of actually demanding wage increases from the capitalists because they're separated by a layer from the firms who control real capital, and thus are essentially unable to make the kind of wage demands that would normally constitute class consciousness because the contractors they work for really don't have any money. These contractors are in no way independent.

Multinational corporations set everything from their buying prices to their labor conditions to what their workers say to lie to labor inspectors. The effect of replacing much of the proletariat with micro-entrepreneurs is devastating.

The class-for-itself that's supposed to serve as the basis of social revolution has decomposed entirely. Endnotes has a great analysis of how this happened covering more time, but the unified working class is dead. In its place have come a series of incoherent struggles: The Arab Spring, the Movement of the Squares, the current wave of revolutions and riots stretching from Sudan to Peru to Puerto Rico- all of them share an economic basis translated into demands on the state. We see housing struggles, anti-police riots, occupations, climate strikes, and a thousand other forms of struggle that don't seem to cohere into a traditional social revolution and WE HAVE NO ANSWER.

I don't have one either, but we're not going to get out of this mess by trying to read the tea leaves of the CCP or analyzing how Endgame is the ruling class inculcating us into accepting Malthusian Ecofascism.

I want to emphasize YOU DON'T NEED TO SHARE MY ECONOMIC ANALYSIS to develop one, I'm obviously wrong on a lot of things and so is everyone else. The point is that we need to start somewhere.

There are other benefits to reading economics stuff even if it can be boring sometimes, like being able to dunk on nerd shitlibs and reactionaries who do the "take Econ-101" meme by being able to prove that their entire discipline is bunk. Steve Keen's Debunking Economics is absolutely hilarious for this, he literally proves that perfect competition relies on the same math that you use to "prove" that the earth is flat.

Or learning that the notion that markets distribute goods optimally is based on the assumption that what is basically a form of fucking state socialism exists, and that the supply demand curve is fucking bullshit. Here's a page from Debunking Economics looking at the socialism claim, it fucking rules, and it's the result of the fact that neo-classical economics and central planning were developed together. Kantorovich and Koopmans shared a Nobel Prize.

But wait, there's more! We can PROVE that THE MARKET PLACE OF IDEAS DOESN'T EXIST. Do you have any idea how hard you can own libs with facts and logic if you can demonstrate that THE MARKET PLACE OF IDEAS DOESN'T EXIST?

But seriously, if you go outside of the Marxist tradition there are all sorts of fun and useful things you can find in post-Keyensian circles and so on and so forth. I'm a huge fan of Karen Ho's Liquidated, an Ethnography of Wall Street/Liquidated_%20An%20Ethnography%20of%20Wall%20Street%20-%20Karen%20Ho.pdf) which looks at how the people at banks and investment firms actually behave and, oh boy, is it bad news (they're literally incapable of making long-term decisions which is wonderful in the face of climate change).

Oh, and also, all of the bankers are essentially indoctrinated into thinking they're the smartest people in the world, so that's fun.

This may sound like I'm shitting on Marxism, and I sort of am, but there's Marxist stuff coming out that I absolutely love! @chuangcn is a good example of what I think the benchmark for leftist economics and historical analysis should be.

Chuang responded to the call put out by Endnotes to cut "The Red Thread of History," or essentially to stop fucking arguing about 1917, 1936, 1968 and so forth and look at material conditions instead of trying to find our favorite faction and accuse literally everyone else of betraying the revolution, and then imagining what we would have done in their shoes. The present is different from the past and we need to organize for this economic and social reality, not 1917's.

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Chuang produced an incredibly statically and sociologically detailed account of the Chinese socialist period in issue 1 and the transition to capitalism in the soon to be put online issue 2 that focuses on shifts in production and investment and shifts in China's class-structure and how urban workers, peasants, factory mangers, technicians, and cadre members reacted to those movements and shaped each others decisions and mobilizations. They largely avoid discussions of factional battles of the upper level of the CCP, which dominate liberal and communist accounts of the period and produce, in supposed communists from David Harvey to Ajit Singh, a Great Man theory of history.

Instead, they trace how strikes and peasant protests shaped the CCP's decision making and how the choices of people like Mao and Deng Xiaoping were limited by material conditions, in this case by their production bottleneck.

What's great about Chuang is that their work is so rich in sociological detail that you don't need to agree with them at all about what communism is and so on for their account to be useful, and they force us to think about the world from the perspective of competing classes bound by economic reality, instead of the black-and-white "good state/bad state," "good ruler/bad ruler," discourse that dominates our understanding of both imperialism and the global economy.

I'm just going to end this with a TL;DR: Cut the read thread of history and stop fucking arguing about 1917, use economic theory to dunk on Stupidpol and shitlibs. When you talk about "material conditions" talk about the production process, supply chains, capital movements and so on, not which states are good and bad (the bourgeoisie is a global class friends), recognize that strategies need to be built around current economic and social conditions, WHICH ARE INSEPARABLE FROM RACE AND GENDER, climate change is more complicated than the 100 companies meme (I only touched on this but please read Fossil Capital and Carbon Democracy), and in general try to learn more about different schools of economics and social theory, I swear reading something that wasn't written in 1848 isn't going to kill you.

[jammyjess]

Hey friends!

I found King Falls AM at a time in my life where I felt scared, hopeless and alone. I didn’t want to be here at all, and I thought for the most part I’d never be happy again. I’m still most of those things, but every day in King Falls makes that a little easier to be okay with. I thought long and hard about what I could manage for this, but most of all, I just wanted to say thank you. So. Here goes.

Thank you for Sammy Stevens, who is my favourite kind of character. He’s sassy and pretty and humble and full of love.Thank you for his cynicism and snark, but also for his ability to push aside his own beliefs and ideas and wants when it matters. Also, for letting him Suplex Grisham, because that was pretty neat! Thank you for the way he relates to the people around him, but especially to Lily. For a character who makes mistakes and actually tries to learn from them - he doesn’t always get it right, but he tries, and that’s so important. He’s made me laugh, he’s made me cry, he’s made me want to scream. I adore his backstory, it means more to me than I can say, but also thank you for the way you handled the events around 75. It was so meaningful. I love him with everything I have, which is why it hurts me to thank you for his pain, which is so unbelievably relatable to my own. For my own hurt that comes out of his mouth. The kind of hurt that transcends circumstances. I was in a dark place before this show, and parts of me are still there, but watching Sammy grow, and change and heal has meant everything to me. It gives me hope for better days. For Sammy, and for me too. Thank you for giving him the courage to stick around, and for giving him hope. Thank you for Benny Arnold. Who I can’t write about coherently without bursting into tears. He’s messy and flawed and just absolutely gorgeous. Seeing him grow through the years has been an absolute joy, but most of all, I love his ability to remain untainted by the horrors he’s been through. He’s still got the same heart, and it’s the best heart there is. I love his passion, his hope, his resilience. His belief in everybody around him. He remains unapologetically himself through everything, and I adore him. He is The Good, and I’m so glad we have him. Noah brings such complexity to him too, and I can listen a thousand times to a single episode and continue to feel all the things. 

Thank you for Emily. For making a strong, intelligent, badass women who’s also soft and desirable and loving. For letting her write her own story and for letting her be more than a prize to be won. She’s so good natured and considerate and thoughtful, and even in her worst moments she never loses that. Every moment she appears is wonderful and Jess KILLS IT every time! I’ve especially enjoyed phase two Emily, as her relationships with other characters become more integral to the story. Thank you for speaking out against the Frickards of the world through her, because it hurts and it’s hard but it’s so important. Using your audience for good means so much. Thank you for the thoughtfulness and care with which you consistently apply to sensitive subjects. For day-to-day happiness, for happy places and for months of quiet kindness without ever being asked. 

Thank you for Jack Wright. For the reminder to choose love (even when it’s hard. Maybe especially when it’s hard.) For the reminder that we’re all worthy of love, in all its forms. The affirmation that nobody corners the market on sadness, but also that we don’t always have to go it alone. That grief is universal, and that’s not always a bad thing. For quiet moments of humanity in the midst of absolute tragedy. For vulnerability, for heartbreak and moving forward together. For forgiveness and acceptance, and humility. 

Thank you for Dwayne Libbydale, who’s a special kind of chaos. I am again lost for words, but I love him, I love him, I love him. 

Thank you for Pete Escobar Ed Edwards Yardboy Myers and his funyuns and disdain and snark (even if me saying I love him means he’ll never listen to this show again.) Thank you for PHENOMENAL journalist Lily Wright, who is an absolute delight! She feels like the personification of grief, loss and trauma, but at the same time so, so real. Her reluctant acceptance of King Falls as home is beautiful, and I hope she gets ALL THE HUGS really soon. She’s not afraid to speak her mind, even if it means alienating the people she loves. Her shaky vulnerability with Sammy, Ben and Emily is so good, and I’m so excited to see where the future of Lily Wright lays. King Falls Chronicles was some KILLER story telling, and Candace was the icing on the cake. The acting chemistry she has with everybody is absolutely on point. I’m so glad we get to keep Lily. That she’s found home. Thank you for #DeputyDead. His unwavering optimism and willingness to see the good in everything and everybody is absolutely wonderful. 

Thank you for Debbie and RoboTim, who I still believe in, despite all evidence pointing to ‘don’t do that.’ Thank you for Maggie Masterson, an Actual Icon. And for our Man’s Man’s Man and his lil Kingsie Bab. For Regan who is a sweetheart and Chet who I hate to love.

Thank you for villains that fill me with white hot rage. Who’s actions are explained, but never excused. For Frickards and Gundersons and ShadowFUCKS and HFB3’s and Leland Hills and Ernies and Grishams. They’re different levels of despicable, and I adore hate them all. 

Thank you for ridiculous caricatures ; the Gwendolyns and the Cynthias and the Jacob Williams. Thank you for SPORTSBALL (CHOP. DAT. WOOD.) and WALL CRABS and GARBAGE BEARS and DANGER NOODLES  and every other ridiculous Benism. 

Thank you for Teareal and serendipity and redrum roses and for the inability to see the word ‘ghost’ and not correcting it to APPARITION. Thank you for Dan & Larry and boy band battles and Doyle’s Conspiracy Cavern and Devon Hamptonframptonshire. For Golden Owl, Finn and Gator Jack and Alvin and every other ridiculously loveable character you’ve created. Some of them barely last longer than an episode, but their chaos will fuel me for a lifetime. 

Thank you for Mary Jensen, who is the mom I wish I had. All moms are champs, but Mary is perfect. Thank you for Betty and Nancy and Loretta and Marigold. All who I expect deserve the praise they’re given. 

Thank you for Herschel and Cecil, who are cranky old bastards and who probably shouldn’t fit together, but they do so effortlessly. The care and compassion they have for each other is inspiring, and I too hope to have a friend like that someday. Trent is wickedly skilled, and I’m sure he hears it so often but!!!! 

Thank you for BE WELL BUDDIES and silly puns in the titles, and short jokes and RoboTim mixups and Science Institute break-ins with vigilante superheroes and mysterious callers. Thank you for love through overnight oats and moustache talk and non-binary pals. For a willingness to grow and change and learn and laugh. For the electrolocaust and my favourite threesome and for sammiversarys. For Ben posting Sammy’s bail, and heart-to-hearts in jail cells. For stupid bets and bensplosions and the fucking kickball story. For creepy dreams and technical terms, for badly timed BEEPS for awkward flirting and on-air confessions. For idiots who can’t keep secrets, let alone not talk about them on air for more than five minutes. For missing hikers and weird shadow tornados and notebooks and shooting down UFOs and death by damnation. For the SECOND BEST small town in American Celebration, for Christmas Gifts for Ben’s Mom and Jupiter Jaundice. For Ben’s monopoly tactics and Sammy’s audible eye rolls, for prophecies and ‘legend-has-it’s and for love and love and love.

Thank you for the mysteries, and for the constant need for MORE. You do cliffhangers so wonderfully, and I feel like I’ve never anticipated anything so keenly in my life. Tim Jensen, The Dark, Merv, Death by Damnation, The Rainbow Lights, The Zombies. 

Thank you for Cameron Chambers??? How does he do it?? I have no idea, but I hope he keeps doing it. Especially all them Christmas BOPS. Legendary. Jazz-Hands worthy! 

Thank you for making Zombies the F- plot. 

Thank you for the Eagle Screech in the DALE’S DOLLAR TREE ad. And all the other ads too, I guess. I don’t understand The Fucky List, but thanks for that too! Thank you for JACK IN THE BOX JESUS which has caused my internet to constantly recommend me eat at Jack in the Box, despite the closest one being literal continents away.

Thank you for continuing to choose this. For being open to sharing so much of yourselves with us. Thank you for fan interactions and live listens, Q&As and twitter replies and twitch streams and retweets and Beyond the Falls. Thank you for the love and care you show us all, which above all feels genuine. 

Thank you for being the catalyst for a community where I finally feel like I belong. Like I’m important. Like I matter. Thank you for being the reason for hours and days and weeks and months of in-jokes and teasing and theories and head canons and screaming and food talk and love. For so much kindness. And acceptance. For a space to be myself without fear. For people I feel like I’ve known lifetimes, and for whom I hope I can love for lifetimes more. For people to cheer on, and cry with, and poke fun at. For stupid nickname changes, and memes and words in reactions. For making me feel like i’m part of something much bigger than me. For a place to be passionate without judgement. For a place to just be. For friends. For family.

Thank you for the push I’ve needed to create again. And for all the others you’ve inspired too. 

Every moment inside King Falls have been an absolute blessing, but the impact it’s had on my life outside of it is absolutely everything.

Congratulations on (almost) 100 episodes. What an adventure it’s been. I’m so excited for everything the future of King Falls holds, but most of all; Thank you for making this fuckin’ mean something.