#no kebabs for fascists

[antifainternational]

From fascist clubhouse to kebab shop: Durham 1934 & 2020.

[abocador-memetic]

A vegades, tot millora

[dougielombax]

Today marks 32 years since the beginning of the Bosnian war.

I’m gonna include links for information and resources in this post.

Thousands of innocent civilians, mostly Bosniaks would be slaughtered, raped and/or interned by Yugoslav army troops, Bosnian Serb fascist militias and foreign volunteer mercenaries (mostly Russian and Greek christofascist types).

This would lead to the Bosnian genocide which consisted of atrocities such as the Srebrenica massacre where 8,372 men and boys would be killed en masse.

Among many other atrocities (too many to list here)

Atrocities which continue to be defended and/or denied by politicians among the Serbian far right, Bosnian Serbs, and far right fascist monsters in Europe, America, Israel and other places.

Including British loyalists in my own country, lionising figures like Miloševic and calling for my own people to be slaughtered like the Bosniaks. (Ironic since the UK they claim loyalty contributed troops and resources to the NATO and UNPROFOR missions against such forces in Yugoslavia at the same time)

Defending or denying such atrocities saying “tHe SErbS wERe ONLy deFEndinG THEir hOMeLanD¡” (if I hear another kebab removal joke I will NOT hesitate to get violent). Lionising the perpetrators in the process. Even to this day.

The war would end in 1995 with the signing of the Dayton Agreement. Which has since led to a lasting but uneasy peace but denialism still continues.

I’m including a few more links in a followup post too.

Reblog the shit out of this.

I bring this up because I study history myself.

[froggi-mushroom]

I had my international relations exam for history today and because I was forced to analyse a source from a former member of the British Union of Fascists, here’s a fun fact: their old headquarters in London is now a kebab shop, god bless

[lalignedujour]

"Ça par exemple, c'est débilo-dangereux". Et on a ri. Il a dit ça alors qu'on croisait un type en train de marcher tout seul sur le bord de la Nationale. Y avait pas de trottoir, et il marchait pas dans le talus, il marchait carrément sur le bord de la route. Il devait y avoir 40 centimètres entre la glissière de sécurité et la chaussée, et lui il marchait dessus tranquille.

Moi j'avais pas d'avis sur lui. En fait, je l'avais même pas remarqué. J'ai un tempérament à pas facilement être choquée par les choses inhabituelles. C'est un vrai truc. J'ai fait un test à la fac. La prof nous a montré une vidéo où il fallait déceler des anomalies, bah moi j'ai rien trouvé. Bref, il aurait pu y avoir un kangourou sur la Nationale, j'aurais pas tout. de suite remarqué.

C'est un problème d'ailleurs, ça, de manquer d'intuition sur les trucs "qui vont pas", surtout quand on fait du stop. Là, le type me paraîssait tout à fait ok, comme en fait toutes les personnes qui m'ont prise en stop depuis deux ans.

J'ai quand même appris à repérer les gens aux radios qu'ils écoutent. Y en avait un une fois qui écoutait carrément les podcasts d'arte radio, comme ça, sans thème, dans le désordre. Genre y avait un podcast féministe, puis le récit d'un ancien gangster, un truc sur l'origine des mots, et jusqu'à des histoires de rue à Marseille. Des anecdotes toutes nulles, mais avec l'accent marseillais, ça rend tout épique ! Ça faisait genre "tu vois, je commande un kebab, à Belsunce, tu connais le quartier, bon, je commande un kebab sans oignon, je dis bien sans oignon, j'aime pas ça moi les oignons, je les digère pas, ça me… bon, sans oignon. Très bien, le type prépare le kebab, il me demande quatre euros, bon j'étais minot hé les kebabs à quatre euros, c'était à l'époque hein. Je paye le kebab, je sors, je croque dedans, crac y a des oignons." Ou alors l'histoire d'un gars qui a un rendez-vous le bon coin pour acheter un vélo. Un vélo jaune. Il avait rendez-vous en plein centre. Et là y a un type balafré qui se pointe sans vélo mais avec une pince Monseigneur et une bombe de peinture jaune, il fait : -c'est toi pour le vélo ? -oui, c'est moi, mais. -ça fait 100 balles. -d'accord, mais oh il est où le vélo ?! Et il répond juste : -il est où tu veux le vélo, tu veux lequel ? Je pense qu'elles étaient pas toujours vraies ces histoires. Elles sont trop nulles pour être vraies, même si je suis pas la bonne personne pour déceler les mythos. Je sais pas trop juger, de toute façon, tout me paraît ordinaire (ou tout extraordinaire, ça dépend comment je vois les choses).

Et donc celui de ce matin, je l'ai aussi jugé à sa radio. C'était une radio de droite avec des émissions de débat de merde genre à caser des mots-valise du gouvernement comme "islamo-gauchiste", "éco-fasciste" ou "éco-terroriste" en mode premier degré.

Et c'est là qu'il a dit "débilo-dangereux". Ça m'a fait rire de soulagement, lui aussi, et il a changé de station. C'était une voiture de location, et il a aéré parce que ça puait à fond le réac là-dedans.

L'ambiance de la voiture a changé dès qu'on l'a croisé.

J'ai connu Jed.

[gender-euphowrya]

anyway hoping the trend of old fascists kicking it continues i need jean-marie le pen skewered and spun around like a kebab

[bigtittyhimmler-blog]

Luke Turner fights antisemitism

It is without pleasure that I must announce that the door of the third bathroom stall to the left in Berlin Ostbanhof train station has chosen to participate in a virulent antisemitic hate campaign against me by slamming itself shut on my exposed dick, inflicting serious damage to my penile tissue, and causing the end of my dick to turn purple and swell alarmingly. While this attack was shocking, it was sadly not unexpected. Doors have a long and documented history of collaboration with far-right ideology. For instance, the Nazi architect Albert Speer’s designs frequently involved doors or door-like structures. This attack was clearly intended to evoke cruel and disgraceful antisemitic tropes: by mutilating my dick, the door alluded to the notion of the ‘castrated Jew,’ while also mocking the religious practice of circumcision.

This vile attack has forced me to withdraw from the bathrooms at Berlin Ostbanhof train station, where I can no longer allow strange men to fuck me in the ass. I encourage my fellow artists, writers, and curators to do the same. I suggest that the train station be demolished entirely, and replaced with a public showing of my 2014 artwork WHAT IS A TWIG, consisting of a black canvas printed with the words ‘what is a twig’ in a different shade of black. I have written to every company that posted advertisements in the Ostbanhof, asking them why they continue to support structurally antisemitic institutions. While I am still awaiting a reply, I am shocked that trains are continuing at stop at this station, literally platforming abuse.

It should be obvious why this is taking place. The violence against me has severely disrupted #TRUMPISARIGHTWANKER, a performance art piece in which I livestream myself gently masturbating for eight solid days to footage of my previous work, #TWOFINGERSFORTRUMP, itself a video installation that shows me masturbating to my 2017 intervention, #BUGGERTRUMP. (This last work, an extended touring project, was sabotaged by alt-right fascists who perforated one of my testicles with a kebab skewer.) My art aims to create a participatory, welcoming, and loving digital space in which the public is invited to take part in the process of artistic production by telling me how wonderful I am. As such, it’s a powerful rebuke against the politics of racism and division.

I wish I could say that this assault was an isolated incident. However, as a result of my courage in speaking up against people I don’t like, there have been multiple racist attacks on me and my work from within the art world in only the last 36 hours:

Instagram user “@squantblort” published a photograph of a frog sitting on a lilypad. The frog has an unfortunate association with the fascist ‘alt-right’ movement, which has repeatedly threatened, harassed, wedgied, and humiliated me. This image was ‘liked’ by CUNY adjunct Daniel Daintree, a supposedly ‘left-wing’ intellectual who clearly has no problem indulging in racist imagery. I demand that Daintree be fired.

Well-known New York artist Julia Klurpell had a dream about me in which I was a glob of tar floating in a gutter. Associating Jews with gutters, filth, disease, and sewage is a rancid and ugly antisemitic trope, deployed frequently in Nazi propaganda. Despite the art world’s silence on this utterly unacceptable dream, I’m brave enough to insist that there is no possible excuse for platforming racist harassment inside your own head. I demand that Klurpell submit to a full frontal lobotomy.

In the Crafts 4 Kidz workshop in Bridgewater, Nova Scotia, an eight-year-old boy failed to spin a bowl on a potter’s wheel, and said that ‘the Turner is stupid.’ Attributing personal failures to Jewish influence is a shocking and vile antisemitic trope. By allowing this child to remain on its premises, the Crafts 4 Kidz workshop has directly platformed hate speech and enabled harassment against Jewish artists. I demand a) a full and sincere apology from the workshop b) that the child be permanently deplatformed from Crafts 4 Kids, along with all other workshops, galleries, exhibition spaces, biennales, and places that look nice, c) that before he’s ejected the child’s ceramics are smashed in front of him, d) that all Crafts 4 Kids employees take turns stamping on the shards of broken pottery, and e) restitution of $1.6 million. Only then can the Crafts 4 Kids workshop begin to repair the damage wrought by its long history of complicity with fascism.

The Louvre is in Europe, a continent historically occupied by Nazis, and contains none of my works.

When I started furiously retweeting myself about all this, twitter user “@homosexual_kumquats” harassed, gaslit, and cruelly taunted me, telling me to ‘calm down dude’ and ‘get a grip.’ This gaslighting is clearly an example of antisemitic denialism, insinuating that Nazi hate crimes like the Holocaust or the eight-year-old boy’s pottery comment were ‘false flags,’ invented by Jews. Who is “@homosexual_kumquats”? How are they connected to the violent hate campaign being waged against me by the door, the frog, the dream, the child, the Louvre, the sky, and the moon? I am going to spend three months exhaustively going through their social media history. I am going to find out where they live, and install listening devices in their home to see if they ever laugh at any joke at my expense. I am engaged in calling out fascism and antisemitism in the art world, and if anyone publicly states that this is ‘bizarre’ or ‘creepy’ or ‘obsessive,’ or that I’m a ‘dead-eyed narcissist,’ or that I’m ‘pathologically fixated on trying to cause suffering for others under the flimsy pretense of fighting oppression,’ or that I ‘hide behind a Jewish identity to deflect any and all criticism of my stalkerish fixations,’ or that I believe ‘all such criticism of myself or my deeply weird behavior is inherently illegitimate and racist,’ or that I’m a ‘big dumb crybaby bitch who can’t stop writing open letters every time someone upsets me,’ or that I’m ‘the heir to the vast Turner-Bianca PLC textiles fortune, and have used that money to buy myself an art career I don’t really deserve, which is kinda par for the course in the industry, but instead of actually producing any worthwhile art I’ve chosen to deploy my incredibly privileged position to mount endless crusades against extremely marginal art-world figures while ludicrously positioning myself as a perpetual victim,’ or that I’m a ‘habitual liar and hysteric,’ or that I’m ‘drunk on moral self-righteousness,’ or that I ‘keep pretending that the contemporary art scene, which is probably the safest place for Jewish people in the world, is actually a hive of antisemitism, because some weirdos who make frog sculptures don’t like me,’ or that I’m ‘riding the coat-tails of a popular and necessary movement against fascism to pursue my own personal vendettas,’ or that I ‘seem to take particular delight in trying to disrupt the careers and livelihoods of young women,’ or that my face ‘looks like a squished bug,’ or that I ‘got my dick trapped in the door at a train station bathroom while jerking off to footage of myself and now it’s turned all gross and purple,’ then this can only be because they’re fascists and antisemites themselves.

[voyagedametnoe]

[12 aout 2019 ~ Mourmansk, Russia]

Ca y est, on est à Mourmansk ! Pour ça il a fallu qu'on se fasse une petite frayeur. On est pris par un mec un peu autoritaire, qui venait d'un oblast pas loin de la Tchéchénie, connu pour emprisonner les homosexuels. Il nous appelle directement par nos prénoms et nous invite à manger chez lui à Mourmansk un plat traditionnel qu'il aurait cuisiner. Il est très insistant et amical un peu vite et on trouve ça louche. Il passe pleins de coups de téléphone et j'ai l'impression qu'il parle de nous. À un moment le mec bifurque d'un coup vers une petite route qui n'est pas notre direction, il répond plus à rien. Matis lui demande ou il va, il répond vaguement que c'est pour son taff. Je sors un peu de mes gonds et lui demande ou il va, il répond pas. Quand on est arrivé dans une zone industrielle cheloux j'étais à 2 doigts de l'étrangler par derrière avec sa ceinture. On a cru qu'on allait se faire braquer. Mais en fait il allait juste checker des fenêtres pour son travail. On en a profité pour discuter un peu de quoi faire en quoi de danger.

On se retrouve sur la direction de Teriberka, un petit bled sur la Mer de Barents ou on a bien envie d'aller. Mais en fait y'a pas grand monde et personne nous prends, alors on se replie sur Mourmansk en se disant qu'on ira à Teriberka plus tard. En fait on ira jamais. On se plante sur les routes à prendre parce que c'est la merde avec les échangeurs, mais on finit par rejoindre un arrêt de bus qui nous emmène dans le centre de Mourmansk.

Mourmansk ça ressemble a n'importe quel bled soviétique, mais en plus grand, avec des grandes cheminées industrielles et pleins de militaires parce que c'est une grosse base navale de l'armée russe. Du coup y'a beaucoup de militaires dans les rues tout le temps, des barres d'immeubles disposées en rangs sur les collines autour du port, quelques graphs avec des étoiles rouges. On se pose à Macdo pour chercher ou dormir. On réserve un 1er truc, mais à l'adresse indiqué on trouve rien. On va dans une boutique de manucure, une femme nous aide. Elle se rend à l'évidence, y'a rien à l'adresse. On fait le tour de la barre, à l'arrière un autre mec vient nous aider. Ils parlent à la concierge qui confirme qu'avant il y avait bien une auberge mais plus maintenant. Ils cherchent sur leur téléphone, appellent un numéro qui n'existe plus, bref faux plan. Heureusement on avait rien payé parce que l'hostel n'existe pas. Ils nous conseille un hôtel, on va se renseigner mais c'est beaucoup trop cher. Et là pareil l'hôtesse nous aide grave. Elle nous parle par traducteur interposé, pendant qu'on cherche encore sur booking, appele pour nous des hôtels et cherche avec nous. C'est un hôtel qui appelle un autre hôtel pour réserver. Caucasse.

On finit par se retrouver dans un hôtel type pension, des apparts reconvertis en chambre, c'est assez mignon mais un peu cher, la meuf qui nous accueille est pas bien sympathique. Mais tant pis on est content d'avoir trouvé !

On se met en quête d'un kebab dans la ville. C'est plutôt lugubre, les gens n'ont pas l'air très heureux. On se fait taxer une clope par des gamins bourrés qui sont trop contents d'avoir trouvé des français, et on trouve un kebab encore ouvert à 21h (c'était pas facile). C'est une petite échoppe sans places pour s'asseoir, c'est souvent comme ça en Russie de ce qu'on a vu.

Deux types rentrent. Le 1er est grand, blouson en cuir, plutôt baraqué, crane rasé. Le second petit et sec, pas beaucoup plus de cheveux. Ils ont tous les 2 des tattouages dans le cou, un de loup et l'autre d'aigle. Et aussi des tattouages sur la main, des symboles qu'on comprend pas. C'est un peu le malaise direct quand ils rentrent, on pense rencontrer des skins russes. On discute de ce qu'on veut commander. Le grand se retourne plusieurs fois vers nous, l'air nerveux. Il nous demande si on est français, on dit oui, il nous lance un regard de dédain et se retourne dire un truc à son pote en nous pointant du doigt. Noé lui demande s'il parle anglais, il répond un truc du genre non, chez nous c'est la Russie alors on parle russe. Y'a un petit blanc. Il finit par se retourner et il dit à Noé quelque chose comme ''racist''. On saura jamais exactement ce qu'il a voulu dire, si c'est qu'on est raciste, s'il nous demande si nous on est raciste, s'il a affirmé que lui il était raciste. Mais voila c'était posé. Les 10min de préparations de leurs kebabs vont être très longues. Le grand arrête pas de faire des grands mouvements de bras comme pour se chauffer les articulations. Matis lance un grand ''j'crois que c'est des fafs''. Faf c'est comme fasciste, et fasciste c'est quand même un mot qu'on retrouve dans beaucoup de langue. Le grand se retourne pour le regarder. À chaque fois avec ce même regard, moitié de haine moitié de dédain. Le petit répète notre commande parce que le cuisto comprennait pas, le grand lui dit quelque chose comme ''tu vas quand même pas aider les anglais''. Matis récidive sur les fafs. Cette fois le grand se retourne et nous demande ou on va. Matis lui dit qu'on va en Norvège, le grand se retourne vers son pote et fait le signe de se tirer une balle. Ils finissent par récupérer leur commande et partent, on est soulagé de pas s'être battus avec des skins russes.

Vers 22h Matis reçoit un mail de notre 1ère réservation, avec une autre adresse que prévue, sur un bâtiment plus éloigné de la rue. Le lendemain je me dis qu'on peut réserver une 2ème nuit là-bas, ça coute moins cher et ça nous permettra de profiter de la ville et de nous reposer. Je vais voir vite fait si la nouvelle adresse existe bien parce que bon, sait-on jamais. Et on doit rendre la chambre à midi donc je fais vite. J'arrive au bâtiment prévu, c'est une barre toute niquée, avec des recoins glauques et une énorme croix celtique ornée sur slogan ''skins''. Aucune trace de notre auberge. Un militaire sort de l'immeuble, je lui demande en baraguinant s'il y a une auberge par ici. Il me regarde avec un air du style ''t'as pas vu ou t'es ? t'es con ou quoi ?'' Pourtant le mail reçu la veille à 22h nous invitait à venir ici. Loul.

[postpunkpontypandyphantomthief]

Lolipops and Gumdrops (The Young Ones) (written October 2nd 2018)

The Young Ones was written by Ben Elton,Lise Mayer and Rik Mayall

The Young Ones was a sitcom that lasted from 1982-1984 

this fanfic is a exploration of the past,present and future for the characters

as in the ending of the show they were killed off because the writer’s had ran out of ideas.

The term "Lollipops and Gumdrops" is a made up term to describe feelings of wholesome mixed nostalgia

it's second meaning refers to the development of Vyvyan and Rick's relationship.

Chapter 1  (this explores the past of the characters prior to the events of The Young Ones)

 Before Scumbag

It was the early 1970s

In a fancy neighbourhood lived a family, and their son was sitting at the dinner table,

His parents were having an argument he had a vest and rolled up trousers with a few spots on his face.

His dad growled as he slammed his knife and fork on the table

“I SWEAR THIS NEIGHBOURHOOD HAS BEEN TAKEN OVER BY FILTHY HIPPIES!”

His mother nodded,

“Dominic I couldn’t agree more  useless layabouts all they want to do is do drugs and take up space on the roads with their protests”

Rick rattled his teeth as he nervously shook and timidly asked

“can I be excused?”

His dad shouted back

“Richard for the last time I said no talking when your mother is talking!”

His mum scoffed

“Yes, that’s incredibly rude  GO TO YOUR ROOM!”

Rick mumbled before he yelped, “I don’t have to do what you say fascists” as he attempted to flick a rude hand gesture

His dad glared

“HOW DARE YOU USE SUCH A OBSCENE GESTURE IN THIS HOUSEHOLD!”

Rick staggered up to his room when he shut the door

Rick’s room was his escape his shed of wonder, music and revolution

Philosophy and Marxism books on his nightstand, posters of Cliff Richard and The Who on his wall

And his prized possession...his record player   he looked through his records and put on his Ziggy Stardust ep as the opening chords of Starman were music to his ears

He stripped off his white shirt, replacing it with his black shirt while he sat on his bed reading a graphic novel and wrote a bit of poetry

He said

“I wish I could be like Ziggy or Cliff...be someone else for a change...not lonely pathetic Richard

Someone not like that, Someone who isn’t boring someone who doesn’t take rules from anyone...except Marx”

While he finished flicking through the pages he looked through his dressing table and took out...his makeup compact  he wouldn’t dare tell anyone at school about his androgyny

But he felt that he could be something unique…

He adjusted the brushes and applied the various eyeshadows, blush and lip gloss to his face canvas

He had a cigarette in hand and relaxed in his chair bobbing his head to bowie’s inviting eclectic voice.

Elsewhere down the street was another high class family the mother and father were a few generations older but they still moaned about “workers” and how the youth were a threat to society” in their back garden was their son Neil he normally had slicked back hair and fancy suits but when he’d go outside he’d show the hippie wallflower he’d later become

"Oh what a lovely day it is today Hello flowers, hello sun, hello clouds, hello plants"

anthropomorphic vegetables and plants grinned back at him "Hello Neil!"

he’d catch insects, wander the hedge mazes and grow vegetables..but amongst the pretty vines that decorated the patio he’d sometimes think about wrapping those wreaths around his neck until all he could see would be the beautiful sunlight...one of the days he did that his parents found out and he was diagnosed with clinical depression,his parents saw that as a disgrace he lost sleep and would stay up on some nights but as much as he was miserable he knew he wasn’t the only one so Peace Studies was what he decided to study once he finally got a place in uni.

In the city in a more dangerous side of town lived a barmaid Lindsay and her daughter Vivian

Lindsay would work at the pub the Kebab and Calculator leaving Vivian alone on some days

"Viv I'm just heading down to the pub alright"

"ok Mum"

Vivian waved and nodded frowning as she shut the door

"Vivian put on the cassette player and the sound of the Misfits was blasted, Vivian turned on the television to watch horror films and aggressively punch pillows.

Vivian had gotten used to bad luck,he had to buy her own birthday presents Lindsay would just give booze as presents while Viv liked the odd babycham it got old after he hit 17 when Vivian would be alone Vivian would either play video games,watch tv,get in street fights with fascists,study for her science exams or go to clubs to mosh to punk music Vivian at times felt lost...it didn’t help that at times socialising was hard for Vivian she’d retaliate with violence often

when Vivian was little she'd just listen to enter sandman on her walkman while blowing bubbles.

Vivian didn’t feel like a girl. she would dread looking in the mirror, Vivian eventually decided to transition, Vivian became...Vyvyan being a punk Vyvyan felt like he could show more of his self-expression through his appearance and attitude  he made his dyed orange hair spiky, got a few piercings and bought a ton of band merch and patches for his “battle jacket”

Vivian would bind but he'd only do it when he'd be alone when his mum did find out his mum couldn't tell the difference

There was also Mike a runway model influenced by classic Hollywood who would scam people for money usually the money was just so he and his papa wouldn’t end up on the streets again.

Chapter 2  (considering the original ending resulted in the characters getting killed off via a bus crash with no answer to what happened afterwards this chapter gives an alternate ending of what would happen if they did survive)

: Summer Holiday Part 2

The aftermath of the bus crash

It had been a few decades

Rick, Vyvyan, Neil and Mike were at Uni, Scumbag College specifically

Richard took up a different name "Rick", he took inspiration from ziggy's style and put plaits in his hair projecting an androgynous appearance he would've been able to show previously he openly wrote his poetry and got interested in political science and Anarchism self-proclaiming himself as "The Peoples Poet"....however, his tory side still could be seen in his pretentious, egotistical attitude.

Vyvyan didn't change anything, Vyvyan didn't give a toss what people thought of him sure his explosive violence and anger were repetitive at times but sometimes his compromises of destroying property were needed considering their lack of money and food stock.

Neil expressed the flower child that he truly was...but he was also a bit of a hypochondriac believing superstitions easily not the brightest crayon in the box but at least he had good cooking skills using the vegetables he had grown to make soups, lentils and other dishes

Mike just kept his "cool person" persona he couldn't get enough qualifications to get to mainstream colleges so he bribed the deen his course was business and advertising

It was kinda depressing...having to eat leftovers half the time, often having to deal with fights either from Vyv and Rick or from the people outside.

but they knew that they had nobody else, the country was in political hell so Rick's constant thatcher bashing was justified, Vyvyan's habit of destroying stuff was needed so they'd have money left, without Neil they'd not have much food and without Mike they wouldn't have someone to be the "voice of reason" in times of such chaos.

Thus the bank robbery ironically being at the same time as another bank robbery, in that bus, everything was nothing as they happily sung Cliff Richard's "Summer Holiday" only to drive off the cliff.

BOOM!

Neil and Mike got away quickly with minor burns...Vyvyan and Rick, on the other hand, we're stuck inside amongst the flames and debris

Neil shouted "Oh Mike this is very heavy, like more heavy than anything else we've ever experienced"

Mike nodded in response "I agree this is starting to be dangerously serious" as he flicked out his phone and called emergency services

"YOU BASTARDS YOU COMPLETE UTTER BASTARDS ARE YOU JUST GOING TO LEAVE US HERE TO ROT HELL?" Rick screamed in panic

"Oh damn I never thought it would end this way, I never got to have my first love, my first shag none of that I am going to wilt like the great leaders that came before me I guess the pigs have won I guess there is no future, no future for me," he started sobbing

Rick stopped sobbing when he noticed an uncomfortable silence outside of the roaring flames around him...the silence was coming from Vyvyan at the front of the bus

Rick out of his seat and crawled underneath the flames up to where Vyvyan was "Vyvyan?" he quietly asked as he shook the unconscious punk in front of him

he repeated himself "VYVYAN?" he yelled at the top of his voice

Rick knew this wasn't good "No! God no, please not him sure we had our rows, fights and disagreements but he never left, I enjoyed when we'd take the piss out of each other, I don't know how I'd continue life without him, I'm not letting the fascists win...Vyv he..., Rick gulped "he was my friend"

he grabbed Vyvyan's body and carried him over his back while kicking the doors and windows open

now on the ground away from the flaming inferno, Rick tried to process the situation and his background knowledge of CPR

he rested Vyvyan on the flat surface and begun to tilt Vyv's head back slightly putting pressure on his jaw

smirking in relief Rick noticed there was something else he had to do he looked sideways

he inhaled pinching Vyvyan's nose with his thumb and index finger as he placed his mouth over Vyvyan's and took some quick breaths

Vyvyan started to be coming back to him Rick released his nostrils he could sense Vyvyan breathing again

Vyvyan was confused as he attempted a punch only for Rick to block Vyv's fist and kiss it

eventually, emergency services arrived Vyvyan didn't give more punches as wires and patches were put onto him while he was placed onto a stretcher and being checked for injuries and burns"

Vyvyan coughed a bit and said

"What happened?"

Rick stood nearby smirking

"We crashed a bus over a cliff conveniently placed next to a billboard of Cliff"

Vyvyan gave a snarling type of expression

"No, you bastard to me, what happened to me?"

Rick kept his smile but spoke more solemn

"You...you almost died your oxygen was low and because you were at the front of the bus you took the most damage"

Vyvyan tried to process the information and raised his eyebrows

"and you saved me?"

Rick nodded,

Vyvyan gulped speaking in a less rough raspy voice

"Thank you"

Rick kept smiling cheerfully at Vyvyan when he saw Neil and Mike running up

"There you lot are what were you waiting for? the end of the world? there's more to life than being a cloud you know" he scoffed.

Neil moaned

"Sorry Rick, but that was very heavy"

Mike folded his hands

"Neil's right that was horrible what you and Vyv were dealing with" "still it was smart of you to save him like that, I'm proud of you

Rick blushed at the compliment

Mike continued "I understand why you call yourself a peoples poet you're a poet for the people, you care for the people or the "workers" as you call them" he then patted Rick's head in a fatherly way"

Rick smirked "Yeah not all people some people are fascists but...some people..some people are alright"

Later they were in the hospital and it was no different than when they were at home instead of moaning about thatch Rick moaned about the NHS, Vyvyan would threaten to attack him with medical instruments and they'd chase each other, Neil would get leftovers from the vending machines and cafes nearby and Mike would flirt with the nurses.

Rick sat in his hospital bed, bored beyond belief, "I hate this, the stupid education system, the ruddy NHS, it's no different than prison"

Mike read his magazine "Well you're lucky we aren't in prison I'm never going back into the slammer you hear"

Neil moaned, "we get it but maybe if we got jobs, we could get the house back and avoid prison"

Rick scoffed smirking "WELL FOR ONCE NEIL HAS THE RIGHT IDEA!"

Mike said, " Rick I'm trying to read"

Rick answered back, "well then again we are innocent, we scrapped through our GSCE's, the bus I stole was already about to be destroyed anyway and the bank was already being robbed when we tried to rob it,we've all got social diseases but our opinions shall be justified by the riots going on in this country, and if the pigs do give us a visit we'll give this alibi

"Gee, Officer Krupke, we’re very upset; We never had the love that every Child oughta get We ain’t no delinquents We’re misunderstood Deep down inside us, there is good!"

Mike groaned, "Oh no he's singing Broadway songs"

Rick kept singing out of tune "We’re no good, we’re no good We’re no earthly good Like the best of us is no damn good!"

Vyvyan yawned and lept out of his bed grabbing a plastic knife and fork, aiming them at Neil and Mike

Rick said, "if it wasn't for me you'd be dead"

Vyvyan shrugged, "well it does feel more like hell than it does a hospital"

Neil asked, "Vyv why aren't you, your usual aggressive self?"

Vyvyan chuckled to himself "I'm taking a break from that, the doctors say my anger levels give me a risk of having high blood pressure, headaches and other problems

Mike emotionlessly turned his head "Oh"

Neil then walked  off to the cafe and vending machines to get food

Vyvyan fidgeted with the plastic fork as sat by Rick's hospital bed smirking at him

"Well this is it, new world, new people yet you're still stuck with us aren't you?"

Rick grinned, "Yeah, in a way we are kind of like a weird family, We're the children, Neil's the mum and Mike...."

Mike rolled his eyes "your the one thinking of weird ideas, Rick"

Rick snorted "well your the one to talk Dad"

Vyvyan fell on the floor laughing, while Mike blushed bright red "Oi! nobody who isn't a date of mine can call me that!"

Vyvyan got up "I think we've heard enough out of you've listened to too much Frankie goes Hollywood"

Mike tried to backpedal "T-They said that song was about motivation"

Vyvyan and Rick smirked at each other ".....Sure"

Rick then looked at Mike smiling innocently "it's ok Mike, we accept you for the gay dad that you are"

Mike said, "I'm not gay, I like men but I like ladies as well"

Rick cheered, "So your Bi, like Freddie Mercury wonderful"

Neil walked back carrying a wooden tray of sandwiches, chocolate bars, chips, toast and sausages, placing it on the nearby coffee table

"Hi Guys, I got us some supper, and it's not lentils"

Rick jumped for joy hugging Neil "Thank you, Neil, you shouldn't have  Now! let's have the last supper"

Neil smiled "Uh, your welcome Rick, but why are you suddenly being so nice?"

Rick grinned as he walked back to his bed "I, Nice? Neil the people's poet is always thankful for their people and goods, it's just part of my nature"

in between bites of food he got more honest speaking in a softer tone "I've learned a lot from you,Vyv and Mike, I was an internally homophobic twat back then,I would lash out at others when I was really angry with myself,I became sarcastic I was angry with the world but was still learning how to shake off my parent's conservative values for the revolutionary Marxism I was studying,I am grateful I know you, and how your able to put up with a bastard like me, I love you, my comrades, we are all Young Ones,and I've accepted who I am too,I'm Rick and I am brilliant"

Vyvyan sat on the side of Rick's bed smiling at him hiding tears "that is the soppiest thing I've ever heard but now you've made cry, hope your happy"

a few years after that they performed alongside Cliff himself for Comic Relief 1986 their cover got the song in the charts again and it felt like they would always be "ThE YoUNG ONES"

who weren't afraid...to live, love while their love is strong even when they wouldn't be Young Ones anymore.

Chapter 3  (this explains what the Young Ones were up to in the 1990s)

: Common People

It was the 90s Rick was into Britpop, Vyvyan was into glam punk and industrial music like KMFDM, Neil was grunge and Mike wore dad Hawaiian shirts

they weren't tv stars like before though, the most they got was from US Reruns on Comedy Central

they still lived in the same house they just changed it up a bit Vyvyan spent more time going to industrial mosh pits or appearing in advertisements Neil also appeared in advertisements,advertisements for petrol in Austrailia...yeah I don't get it either Mike got back to college but studied a different topic he studied film and Rick well out of his still active political life oh! you should've seen

Rick stood on a blue stage that had his name sparkle on a neon sign above him he was in his old outfit of a rolled up shirt, tie and jeans

She came from Greece she had a thirst for knowledge, She studied sculpture at Saint Martin's College, That's where I, Caught her eye. She told me that her Dad was loaded, I said "In that case, I'll have a rum and coca-cola." She said "Fine." And in thirty seconds time, she said, I want to live like common people, I want to do whatever common people do, I want to sleep with common people, I want to sleep with common people, Like you. Well what else could I do I said "I'll see what I can do." I took her to a supermarket, I don't know why, But I had to start it somewhere, So it started there. I said pretend you've got no money, She just laughed and said, "Oh you're so funny." I said "Yeah? Well I can't see anyone else smiling in here. Are you sure you want to live like common people, You want to see whatever common people see, You want to sleep with common people, You want to sleep with common people, Like me. But she didn't understand, She just smiled and held my hand. Rent a flat above a shop, Cut your hair and get a job. Smoke some fags and play some pool, Pretend you never went to school. But still you'll never get it right, 'Cause when you're laid in bed at night, Watching roaches climb the wall, If you called your Dad he could stop it all. You'll never live like common people, You'll never do whatever common people do, You'll never fail like common people, You'll never watch your life slide out of view, And dance and drink and screw, Because there's nothing else to do. Sing along with the common people, Sing along and it might just get you through. Laugh along with the common people, Laugh along even though they're laughing at you, And the stupid things that you do. Because you think that poor is cool. Like a dog lying in a corner, They will bite you and never warn you, Look out, they'll tear your insides out. 'Cause everybody hates a tourist, Especially one who thinks it's all such a laugh, Yeah and the chip stain's grease, Will come out in the bath. You will never understand How it feels to live your life With no meaning or control And with nowhere left to go. You are amazed that they exist And they burn so bright, Whilst you can only wonder why. Rent a flat above a shop Cut your hair and get a job Smoke some fags and play some pool Pretend you never went to school, But still you'll never get it right 'Cause when you're laid in bed at night And watching roaches climb the wall, If you called your dad he could stop it all Yeah You'll never live like common people You'll never do what common people do You'll never fail like common people You'll never watch your life slide out of view And then dance and drink and screw Because there's nothing else to do I want to live with common people like you.....

"I LOVE YOU JOHNNY MARR,DAMON ALBARN AND MORRISSEY!!!" Rick shouted into his microphone

Vyvyan snarled at Rick "Shut up Britpop bastard"

Vyvyan snatched the microphone and bulged his eyes out at the audience he had dark purple eyeliner and vampire esque contour on "Oh the beautiful people, the beautiful people

Neil then took the mic "Where the lights out, "ENTERTAIN US!", "HERE WE ARE NOW!"

Mike finger-gunned the audience "I'll be here" singing the spice girls I'll be there out of tune

Chapter 4 (and now the present and future,how the characters are interacting in the 21st century)

: The Young Ones: Years on into the vaporwave moonlight

The Young Ones in the 2010s note:this chapter is littered with Internet references

Rick was on a parade float holding a guitar filled with "angst" he had a military type outfit on and his pigtails were undone so his semi-long hair could be shown

"When I was a young child, my dad took me into the city, to see the marching band," "he said, Richard, you'll grow up would you be the poet saviour for the people, broken, beaten and the damned

Neil would play post-grunge songs with local bands for events like weddings, pub parties etc. , Mike was in a rockabilly revival subculture and Vyvyan was a fan of White Stripes and Gorillaz

But a new decade was just starting to show

Rick said,

"Vyvyan that's the wrong tape rewind it"'

Neil moaned as he worried about the camera

"Oh guys stop being so heavy it's just a polaroid"

Vyvyan then adjusted the camera correctly and handed it back to Neil who was wearing hipster attire with a star necklace around his neck and tarot cards in his other hand

.......SHUTTER...........rec:o beep 02:10:18

Rick rested on his bed posing in an "aesthetic" way decorated in an 80s anime styled sweater with his name written in Japanese characters, a pastel coloured cardigan and his plaits out like before wearing light orange shades singing the song lyric "I want blood, guts and chocolate cake"

Vyvyan ran over to his side placing a tray of crisps, ketchup and chocolate on the dressing table dipping the crisps in the ketchup eating them as he begun to fidget with a fake rainbow coloured butterfly knife before shoving Rick's face into the chocolate cake

"VYVYAN YOU RUINED MY AESTHETIC!"

Vyvyan screamed "I WAS BORED, IT'S NOT THAT HORRENDOUS TO OFFEND OSCAR WILDE IS IT"?

on a book cover, a ghost of Oscar Wilde is folding his hands sarcastically "no I suppose not peasant"

later that night Vyvyan was sitting in front of his laptop recording with a torch, microphone and horror figurines around his room "Hey mates it's Vyvyan's spooky storytime of True Crime" "so there was this girl in Liverpool and she knew some boys of the neighbourhood who would frequently mock and harass her so...she stabbed them and hid their corpses in the local pond"

"BE QUIET IM TRYING TO LISTEN TO JAPANESE 80S MUSIC WOULD YOU STOP BEING A HYBRISTOPHILLIAC!" Rick shouted from next door

Vyvyan shouted back, "CULTURAL APPROPRIATOR"

Rick overdramatically gasped "How dare you I am no weeaboo unlike you"

the next day they were at Mcdonalds when Neil noticed something about their meal

" I don't think we should eat this, it's not vegan you don't get it I'm literally eating death"

Vyvyan shrugged

"It's no different than the rest of the manufactured garbage you get in these places"

Mike nodded and Rick smirked, "Yeah Neil, if you hate the place so much eat somewhere else"

Neil moaned "but I don't go anywhere else without you"

they all groaned while Neil kept complaining

"You see all your doing is killing and torturing these animals"

Vyvyan rolled his eyes "Yeah animals that eat their offspring"

Neil wouldn't shut up so Rick stabbed him with a fork

when he noticed Mike was telling a waiter about what happened he hid in the bathroom "I can't believe it I killed Neil, it was all over one silly argument how could I?"

Vyvyan opened the door "you, miserable sod you can come back out now Neil's still alive nothing serious"

Rick breathed a sigh of relief "Thank goodness"

a few days later Mike wanted Vyvyan to stick his head out the window again.....for the vine

"ok Vyv just do what you did before on university challenge," Mike said as he manoeuvred his phone

"Do not stick your head out the window, mmm I wonder why" Vyvyan then slammed his head against the window as the video was done being recorded

Mike smirked to himself "this will get me lots of hits" Vyvyan had a few cuts on his face, he wasn't happy "You bastard my face is gonna need stitches now because of this!"

Mike ignored him only for Vyvyan to say "It's not stopping me from wanting to kick your face in" as he chased Mike and had a slapstick fight with him

while they were in the middle of that Billy Balowski was nearby rapping badly "Hey it's Lil Balowski and this is what I'm doing today I'm kneeing this two for not giving their pay"

It was night-time and Vyvyan and Rick were watching the sunset Rick said, feeling nostalgic "remember the good old days when we would attack each other with cricket bats and call out thatcher in our satirical performances"

Vyvyan finished his cigarette and said "Yeah, those were wild times of complete madness the chasing like Tom and Jerry and constant mentions of bottom"

Rick laughed it off "I recall you wanted to kiss my bottom" Vyvyan smirked "I did not, you wanted to kiss my bottom, anyways we were young ones then and we aren't young anymore"

Rick looked out into the now present moonlight "technically we will always be young ones, the floating timeline keeps us this way, it's like hell but it's our personal hell an anarchic fun open hell, not a fascist one"

Vyvyan nodded "hey, what was your life before this like anyway?" Rick inhaled and said "Well it certainly wasn't all lollipops and gumdrops" "I had some elements of self-expression and I did love some parts of my life but other parts are overshadowed by negative memories being told to believe on the right wing side of things. Where nothing but political lies were fed to you with Teresa and Trump the world seems to be repeating itself, but I never got a chance to fully spread my wings until meeting you. I was usually a quite timid, shy bloke, heh I do like the others but it was you who I felt the most connected to...you had an energy that I wanted but now I know I already had it now I have someone beautiful to share it with."

Vyvyan was surprised that all of that was hidden in those whining tantrums Rick had back in the 1980s but he felt like his eyes had been opened he felt the same way, he held Rick's hand and smiled at him "I think so too, you, annoyingly revolting, amazing sod"

Rick blushed under his glasses

Vyvyan mumbled smirking, "P-Peoples Poet"

Rick then kissed Vyvyan he kissed back as they cuddled throughout the night

no cricket bats, no punches, no fighting

just love sickeningly revolting but wonderful...love

......Love is the answer ~ Rik Mayall (1958-2014)

[kropotkindersurprise]

May 1 2018 - After a fascist demonstration a neonazi was spotted secretly enjoying one of the many fruits of multiculturalism in Germany; a delicous döner kebab!

Hopefully next time the owner will welcome the nazi the way one of his colleagues did in 2016:

[2goldensnitches]

For some reason trad catholic tumblr found my post and before any person starts to whine about me blocking them over “anti catholic bias:” i have zero problem with catholics. I myself come from a catholic majority country. Who I do have problems with are piece of shit trads (or any mention of that term in a header) who reblog from fascist trash and wring their hands over abortion while simultaneously laughing over “remove kebab” memes

[antifainternational]

After a call from the German police union, Boris Pistorius of the social-democrat SPD, and minister of the interior of the German state of Niedersachsen, is attempting to ban Antifascist organisations.

We join our German friends in their condemnation of this ridiculous attempt at criminalising grass-roots community self-defense against Neonazism, racism and bigotry:

Antifascism cannot be banned! Declaration against the planned ban on anti-fascist groups in Lower Saxony.

On Friday, January 15, 2021, we learned that Boris Pistorius, as Lower Saxony's interior minister, wants to research a ban on anti-fascist groups. Boris Pistorius is reacting to the "Bund deutscher Kriminalbeamter", which calls for a ban on "ANTIFA" in Trumpian fashion.

Unproven claims and misconceptions about alleged organizational structures are once again turning reality upside down: in the past few years, terrifying examples of racist and anti-Semitic assassinations and murders have come to light in Germany. The NSU's series of murders only ended in November 2011 with the self-exposure of the core trio . On October 9, 2019, a racist murdered people at a synagogue and a kebab shop in Halle . And on February 19, 2020, a man murdered ten people in Hanau, also for racist and fascist motives. The stabbing of mayor Henriette Reker in Cologne and the murder of politician Walter Lübcke in Kassel also had racist backgrounds. Both had campaigned for the accommodation of refugees. In the headlines, the image of individual perpetrators is often used. Little is reported about support networks and hardly any reports about the social reasons for racism and ideology of inequality.

News about the right-wing and fascist networks within the German justice system, police departments and military are also played down as isolated cases. Furthermore; nothing was done against the AfD when it pushed the limits of what can be said beyond the limits of humanity.

The survivors of the Buchenwald concentration camp swore when the camp was liberated on April 19, 1945:

“The destruction of Nazism and its roots is our watchword. The building of a new world of peace and freedom is our goal."

They already knew that not only German fascism had to be defeated, but another world had to be fought for. Would the survivors of the Buchenwald concentration camp also be “left-wing extremists” today?

Anyone who equates left and right, as in the horseshoe model, does not defend democracy, but defames and fights against those who fight for a society of solidarity, in which all people can be themselves, together without fear.

In fact, in these times the promotion of and participation in Antifa is more important than ever! A strong civil society is needed that is proudly anti-fascist and that resolutely opposes right-wing ideologies. The work of anti-fascist activists, whose research makes a significant contribution to clearing up right-wing attacks and uncovering right-wing networks is needed now more than ever. Therefore loud protests are needed when attempts are made to deligitimate and criminalize anti-fascism!

We stand together in solidarity and demand: No ban on anti-fascist groups in Lower Saxony!

#WirsindalleAntifa

Wir sind alle Antifa! We are all antifascists!

[dzeikobb]

1.09.2020

Chodziłem w Łazienkach sam w czarnym i brązowym zmierzchu

Kupiłem sobie kawę w okienku u młodej dziewczyny

Nie nosiliśmy wtedy jeszcze masek

Ludzie zza granicy też kupowali kawę, albo gofra

Łazienki były idealnie utrzymane, biel ławek idealnie malowana, trawnik idealnie przystrzyżony

Liście idealnie ułożone wokół drzew

W zapadającej ciemności młode pary fotografowały się przed pałacem, przechodzili rodzice z dziećmi, pary na randkach, znajome na spacerach

Chodziłem po Parku Ujazdowskim z D. i H. po deszczu, w dzień

Musiałem przepraszać je za to, że poprowadziłem je po mokrym piasku ścieżek z kałużami i ich drobne białe buty mogły się zabrudzić

Ale to wszystko dlatego że dziewczyny nigdy w tym parku nie były i chciałem, żeby go poznały

To było wtedy kiedy mieliśmy iść na wystawę Żarty Żartami w Zamku Ujazdowskim i pocałowaliśmy klamkę, bo źle zapamiętałem datę i przyszliśmy tydzień przed otwarciem

a D. przestraszyła się w holu wejściowym czarnoskórego artysty, o którym potem dowiedziałem się, że wystawia swoje prace w ramach wystawy, i zaczęła się śmiać histerycznie, a on śmiał się z tego, że ona się śmiała

a w niedzielę trzydziestego sierpnia pocałowałem P. w podzięce za prywatny koncert na pianinie, jakiego mi udzielił w holu kasowym Teatru Studio, za zamkniętymi drzwiami, w trakcie spektaklu na górze

nie słyszałem ani dźwięków burzy, ani odgłosów z baru, kiedy grał mi fragmenty koncertu Rachmaninowa, arie Bacha, fugi Beethovena

wychodziliśmy na portyk, żeby P. mógł zapalić i zapatrywałem się w deszcz i błyski na niebie, stwierdził, że mnie szybko wzięło piwo, a ja byłem tylko zmęczony i pragnąłem milczeć

gdy wyszliśmy, zebrał się na odwagę i sam długo mnie całował przed rozświetlonym wejściem do Pałacu

to było zaledwie dzień po tym, kiedy spałem u innego, nowopoznanego P. na Gocławiu

codziennie rano piszę do Ł. i wymieniam z nim memy i artykuły z gazet

nie zliczę ile razy spotykałem się ostatnio z ludźmi

ogarnia mnie wielki lęk, kiedy nie mam planów na wieczór i nikogo nie spotykam

bardzo nie chcę siedzieć sam w domu i nie wiedzieć, co robić

szedłem za dnia przez pandemiczne bulwary, ludzie zachowywali się tak, jak zawsze, słyszałem też język angielski za plecami, grała muzyka, szedłem spięty, choć starałem się wyglądać naturalnie

niektóre lokale były zamknięte. Tete a tete zniknęło.

Gdy potem czekałem na tramwaj na Moście Gdańskim, napisała do mnie D. Przeraża mnie to, jak ona potrafi wyczuć, kiedy jest się samemu albo nie ma się co robić i natychmiast zarzuca sieci, oplata mackami, żeby się tylko spotkać

więc wypiłem z nią wieczór przed Pałacem Kultury

bolała mnie prawa ręka gdy próbowałem zasnąć w mieszkaniu P. na Krypskiej. Może od tego, że ścierpła, a może to od wilgoci i deszczu.

S. nie wydaje się być mną zainteresowany, ja straciłem zainteresowanie M. (uświadomiłem sobie nierealność całego założenia), z D. już chyba nigdy nie pójdę na imprezę.

próbuję być miły dla wszystkich, ale nie ulegać, nie dawać się zbytnio naciskom ich woli, nie inwestować czasu tam, gdzie nie powinienem

G. zamilkł, chodzi na spacery z D.

Kebab King przy metrze Nowy Świat nie przetrwał. Czupito zniknęło. Nowy chodnik na Mazowieckiej, jakieś nowe kluby. W Zachęcie wystawa Moniki Sosnowskiej. Pomalowane na zielono, poskręcane fragmenty straganów Jarmarku Europa wiszą na stalowych linach kilkanaście centymetrów od podłogi. W centrach medycznych trzeba wypełnić ankiety i zgody, lekarze pokryci cali ochronnymi płachtami, w czepkach, jak do operacji. Deszcz złapał nas, mnie i P., gdy szliśmy Grochowską wieczorem, stare domy, stare bramy, małe sklepy, złapałem klimat, który myślałem, że już nie istnieje.

"Queering is just a marketing mechanism to articulate more discourse to protect the capitalist political order. It doesn't challenge the dominant social order; it streamlines it.

Unless you can reveal living truths of LGBT+ lives under capitalism that:

- break out of its countercultural association with capitalism

- and become their own separate logic, counter to capitalism,

then you're just helping in the process of reforming capitalism. Queer discourse is still discourse, and discourse will always be gobbled up by the market at every turn.

I understand that there is an imperative need for LGBT+ people to express themselves, but don't forget that you are part of a historical mechanism that seeks to gobble you up, that seeks to incorporate you into capitalism, so that the ruling class can feel like it is beyond criticism, and like it doesn't have to capitulate to workers, the colonized, women, LGBT+ people, disabled people, and psychiatric misfits.

Postmodern relativity is killing us, and capitalism is living off our blood like a fucking zombie. Is that not proof enough of absolute truth, aka, our common circumstance? We are being eaten. All of us."

Where there is oppression, there is resistance. 

"It's funny how philosophy is implicitly, often unconsciously taken up by societies throughout history. The rejection of Hegel and the upholding of Kant and Heidegger in the last century couldn't be a more interesting mirror to the decisions that liberals and fascists embarked upon against the communist world.

With some exceptions, Hegel remains an adversary, an object of banal skepticism, while Kant remains the liberal norm; just as well, we can see the almost conscious, Heideggerianism of fascists throughout the world, and their thirst for war and cultural mythology as the only means to change the political landscape, albeit in the victor's favor.

It should come as no surprise that with liberals' obsession with the law and with capitalism, they should come to the same conclusions as the fascists, in the midst of war, political deadlocks, and cynical pessimism - that they must find an excuse to mythologize their own need to justify violence through both the law, and the capitalist state in the bourgeois democratic form.

The major capitalist states know that they must enforce bourgeois democracy and capitalism throughout the world. In order to turn all myths and all laws into commodities, they know full well that capitalism demands they serve the symbolic deadlock - making dead bodies dance and all languages sing the tune of the market, without ever peeking behind the curtain to see the truth of their undoing. Liberals make the whole, proletarian, colonized world live for the curtain, always with the threat of hitting the cast. This is to say that the truth of Liberalism is that its Kantian project has turned a shade of Heideggerian.

We are made to believe that there is nothing but our own death outside our cultural purview, and that our only hope for change is through colonialism, including our sham, colonial democracy, whose very existence is a living threat to the Black and Indigenous peoples within the borders of the US and Europe. Either we uphold the law, which leaves us prey to those who transgress it, or we use imperialism as our perpetual justification for transgression, always in the name of democracy. This reality is the shadow of the postmodern worldview that we aren't allowed to question - this notion that there are no universal narratives.

What does this tell us about the unconsciously held philosophy of Liberalism today? It tells us that its Kantian project of law-bound individualism, abstract humanism, and "perpetual peace" is eroding, to reveal what amounts to a realpolitik, an appeasement of everything conservative and fascist - literally, the hopeless, nostalgic conservation of national ideals sublimated through war with the third world, and the binding of chemically-preserved, processed lumber of cultural legacies whose wood grain is burning at both ends. The life of the world is swallowed up in a Protestant, apocalyptic myth against its will. Being unto death indeed, living proletarian life as dead labor, or rather undead labor, with neither rupture from the order, redemption, nor recompense.

Hegel remains an adversary because capitalism will not die. The hypocrisy of the Heideggerian degradation of Kant is that its raison d'être is never to live out its declared "authenticity" through its decomposition, but for the subjects of its statehood to die in its place - Being unto death for democracy. Being unto death for the law. Being unto death for individual authenticity and agency - none of which can be individual, legal, or democratic, except, conveniently, through the market, through the military and prison industrial complexes. The colonial subject, the gendered subject, the sexual subject, the disabled subject, and the psychical subject find, not war, but a common cause, a common fidelity to the truth of capitalism, which it must overcome as the proletarian subject.

For Hegel, our lived difference is sublimated into an open unity of pure thought, a decision against the bourgeois imperative and the fascist state of exception. To celebrate his work is to celebrate two and a half centuries of philosophers from all walks of life, who were tossed by the wayside, criticized, martyred, murdered, and sometimes forgotten, for criticizing everything that existed about the political order. They are remembered only for their hysteria, disavowed, because they questioned the senseless, violent, and spineless dogmas of their day.

In Hegel's philosophical lineage, we find revolutionary thinkers, who, themselves, might have not been revolutionaries in the way that we usually conceive of them, but whose bodies of work could only ever be taken to revolutionary ends, or otherwise falsified. To celebrate Hegel is to celebrate Karl Marx, Vladimir Lenin, Mao Zedong, Kwame Nkrumah, Kim il-Sung, Evald Ilyenkov, Sigmund Freud, Jacques Lacan, Frantz Fanon, Georges Bataille, Max Stirner, György Lukács, Anuradha Ghandy, Lise Vogel, Theodor Adorno, Herbert Marcuse, Alain Badiou, Joan Copjec..."

"Ale rzeczywistość jest taka, że nawet gdyby taka Margot i całe Stop Bzdurom posłuchały się rad internetowych wujaszków i ugrzeczniły swój przekaz, to zawsze znajdzie się kolejna osoba, która „skompromituje” LGBT, tym razem na inny sposób" - a nawet jeśli nie... to ją wymyślą. Patrz: małpa na balkonie z baldachimem z IKEA udającym tęczową flagę. Rzekomo profanująca marsz patriotów, w którym - i to już nie fejk - od ładnych paru lat z podniesionym czołem maszeruje faszystowska międzynarodówka. Małpa na balkonie to fejk i prowokacja praktycznie nie do wymazania i nie do sprostowania w czasach zalewu fejków i błyskawicznego obiegu informacji i DEZinformacji. I nawet jeśli obalasz to w dyskusji, to usłyszysz i prędko się zorientujesz, że homofobicznej stronie jest dokładnie wszystko jedno, czy to faktycznie była osoba "ze środowiska LGBT". Chodzę po szczujniach wyborców pisu i tam jest wszystko. Zdjęcia fetyszystów. Zdjęcia gołych heteryków z jakiegoś eventu nudystów. Zdjęcia specyficznych praktyk seksualnych. Robotnikom homofobicznej szczujni jest dokładnie wszystko jedno - nawet gdyby osoby LGBT+ były grzeczniutkie co do jednej, i tak jak nie znajdą, to zmyślą.

A propos wujków i cioć dobra rada - ciągle trafiam na takie wypowiedzi. Że "ja nie mam nic przeciwko, nikomu nie zaglądam, nie wtrącam się, ale po co oni... ... ...?" I jak tak poskrobać, to szybko się okaże, pod jakim warunkiem jest ta tolerancja. Ano proste: nie róbcie marszów, nie obnoście się, nie pokazujcie się, nie afiszujcie się. Krótko mówiąc - bądźcie hetero. Wpisujcie się w nasz obrazek. Baby na lewo, chłopy na prawo. Co inne, od Złego pochodzi.

Nie jest to żadna akceptacja, ale to nie jest nawet tolerancja. To jest wpychanie kolanem do szafy upiora, którego nie chce się oglądać i nawet myśleć o jego istnieniu. Bo nie pasuje do obrazka.

I może jeszcze powinno się dziękować, że jak się w tej szafie zamkniesz, to cię nie pobiją...

Albo po rękach całować, że tylko tak tłamszą, bo przecież "gdyby tu byli muzułmanie, to dopiero by wam dali popalić".

Wszystko to zusammen do kupy jest po prostu przemocowe. Czasem wprost, pięścią w twarz, czasem w białych rękawiczkach. Ale chodzi dokładnie o to samo. Żebyśmy nie istnieli. Żeby o tym naszym istnieniu nawet nie trzeba było myśleć. 100 lat za równymi prawami dla wszystkich obywateli i 100 lat za godnym, bezpiecznym, otwartym życiem."

[momo-de-avis]

The height of white supremacy slash fascist hypocrisy has got to be preachinf against the "islamic invasion of europe" as a campaign slogan only to be caught on a business meeting inside a kebab place im pissing my pants

[batfamfucker]

Britain First reps knocking on the doors of people's hotel rooms to scare and intimidate immigrants and trying to 'reveal' them is literally what Nazis used to do to Jewish people in the 1930s-40s when they would go hunting them from door to door. Take your facism and leave. The NHS isn't in "crumbles" because of immigrants (And, since we're on the topic of the NHS, do yourself a favour and look up how many of our doctors, nurses, etc are immigrants. Actually, I'll do it for you after this), it's because the government has no idea what it is doing, a government you likely voted in because of Britain First's xenophobic Brexit ideology and the belief that Brexit becoming a reality would mean less immigration, clearly something you're against. Yet you live in a country that 'immigrated' to a plethora of countries, meaning your sad excuse of an existence wouldn't have even happened had it not been for own 'migration'. And by 'migration', I mean we colonised civilisations, we completely wiped out some native tribes and cultures, took people from their homes and forced them into slavery. We pillaged, raped, and murdered our way to power and greed. Our ancestors were disgusting, and we have to take responsibility for the systems we abide by that were put in place by them, systems that aren't working because they were built on a foundation of racism, something you clearly thrive on. You're a hypocrite for saying these people don't belong here as if our ancestors belonged in any of the places they colonised. The people in those rooms you are terrorising have done nothing, which isn't something we ourselves can say. They haven't pillaged, raped, and murdered their way here like we have through the world. They're here looking for safety for their families and children. Are you so heartless that you cannot leave them be? Show me proof our taxes are being 'wasted' on them (Speaking of which, more benefit money goes to people born in the UK than people who immigrated here, which you can see from the images and sources below). And even if it is 'our' money funding their safety until they can get back on their feet, so what? If the roles were reversed, would you not hope they'd show you the compassion, sympaty, and humanity you clearly lack? And so are you truly so cold hearted you cannot do the same? If you are so against immigration, then stick by it. Stop using resources and luxaries provided to us from other countires and cultures. No more furniture from Ikea, no pencils from Germany, or phones made in China. No more Indian, Mexican, Chinese, Thai, Italian (Etc) food. If you're so deep in your indoctrinated belief that "Britain comes first", fine. Only bathe in the reasources and luxaries proudced here. Only eat Scottish strawberries, English tomatoes. Sorry, you can't have spices, they're not from the UK. No, you can't have Nandos, you can't have McDonalds or KFC, you can't have a kebab when you're drunk, you can't have tea which we originally got from China, and many more things that you consider "British". That also means you can't retire and emigrate to Spain since you love Britain so much and since you yourself can't possibly be an immigrant if you hate immigration so much, and that's, again, if we're ignoring the whole colonisation thing, like it isn't a significant thing that happened and still negatively affects so many people to this day.

You can either live in a beautifully diverse country enriched by a mix of cultures, foods, fasions, music, religions, beliefs, etc. Or you can starve when you get bored of your potatoes and strawberries. Regardless, it doesn't seem like you're really putting "Britain First" when you don't even abide by one of the main Britsih Values (Which are a thing btw), which is tolerance. Quite frankly, I'm done tolerating you and your blatant fascist xenophobia. So, with due respect, of which you are due none, fuck off.

Benefits statistics:

Source: https://migrationobservatory.ox.ac.uk/resources/briefings/migrants-in-the-uk-labour-market-an-overview/

Basic Economic Benefit Statistics:

Source: https://www.oxfordeconomics.com/recent-releases/8747673d-3b26-439b-9693-0e250df6dbba

NHS Statistics:

Source: https://commonslibrary.parliament.uk/research-briefings/cbp-7783/

British Values, as stated by the government about what it "means to be British":

Sources: https://www.youngcitizens.org/british-values

https://www.gov.uk/government/news/british-values-article-by-david-cameron

Link to video this is in response to:

https://twitter.com/JamieKay22/status/1299299200753168384?s=19

[trans-girl-nausicaa]

dont reblog this, im tired and this hasn’t been proofread at all

its stupid how theres a lot of so-called leftists whom dont know shit fuck about RECENT history and will therefore entertain & be convinced by genocide denial bullshit. specifically the bosnian genocide, is what i am talking about, like you fucking idiots could LITERALLY go listen to people who were personally affected, who lived through it, etc, and yet you’re like entertaining genocide denial from chomsky, parenti, corbyn, etc. 

literally do you people think that serb ethnofascists don’t exist? do you think there was not a war, that serb ethnofascists were not engaged in one?

it makes no sense. denial of the bosnian genocide is completely evil and stupid. it’s just as bad as holocaust denial. 

why do you think that golden dawn, the greek fascists, assisted the serb ethnofascists? fascist anti-muslim collaboration. islamophobic genocide. 

“remove kebab.” that is the ironic-not-ironic dogwhistle “joke” of islamophobic fascists in this day. a reference to the bosnian genocide. 

“it didn’t really happen.” if you say this, then you are assisting the fascists. they want people to believe that there was no genocide in the 1990s Balkans, or 1940s Europe, so that when they seize power from those who are complacent and dont believe in the severity and reality of genocide, those who did not halt fascism, they will be able to ignite genocide anew. 

please study and learn history, and learn why people say “never again.”