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Franarchy

@memoirs-of-a-dutiful-disaster / memoirs-of-a-dutiful-disaster.tumblr.com

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criticiseafterdinner-blog

To Those Born Later

Truly, I live in dark times! The guileless word is folly. A smooth forehead Suggests insensitivity. The man who laughs Has simply not yet had The terrible news. What kind of times are they, when A talk about trees is almost a crime Because it implies silence about so many horrors? That man there calmly crossing the street Is already perhaps beyond the reach of his friends Who are in need? It is true I still earn my keep But, believe me, that is only an accident. Nothing I do gives me the right to eat my fill. By chance I’ve been spared. (If my luck breaks, I am lost.) They say to me: Eat and drink! Be glad you have it! But how can I eat and drink if I snatch what I eat From the starving, and My glass of water belongs to one dying of thirst? And yet I eat and drink. I would also like to be wise. In the old books it says what wisdom is: To shun the strife of the world and to live out Your brief time without fear Also to get along without violence To return good for evil Not to fulfill your desires but to forget them Is accounted wise. All this I cannot do: Truly, I live in dark times.

I came to the cities in a time of disorder When hunger reigned there. I came among men in a time of revolt And I rebelled with them. So passed my time Which had been given to me on earth. My food I ate between battles To sleep I lay down among murderers Love I practised carelessly And nature I looked at without patience. So passed my time Which had been given to me on earth. All roads led into the mire in my time. My tongue betrayed me to the butchers. There was little I could do. But those in power Sat safer without me: that was my hope. So passed my time Which had been given to me on earth. Our forces were slight. Our goal Lay far in the distance It was clearly visible, though I myself Was unlikely to reach it. So passed my time Which had been given to me on earth. You who will emerge from the flood In which we have gone under Remember When you speak of our failings The dark time too Which you have escaped.

- Brecht

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apunninglinguist

I recently discovered that I have somewhat by accident dropped 2-3 clothing sizes, and so am sorting through my wardrobe to get rid of things that really don’t fit me any more. However, I’m struggling to work out what to do with some of my less safe for work items - I feel too awkward to give them to a charity shop but don’t know where to give them to failing that. Does anyone on here happen to know about such things?

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memoirs-of-a-dutiful-disaster

If they are worn you could put them in one of the rag bins where clothing is recycled, did that with a load of corsets that didn't fit me anymore last werk

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fullpraxisnow
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edwadacademy

Course Outline

Week 1

Week 2

Week 3

Week 4

Week 5

Week 6

Week 7

Week 8

Week 9 

Week 9

Week 10

Week 11

Week 12

Week 13

Week 14

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For the employing class, the free movement of workers within the EU is not, nor has it ever been, about multicultural values and open borders. It is a tool used by rich nations and industry to exploit poor and vulnerable workers for profit. The free movement of labour within the common market, guided by neoliberal ideology, has been used to drive down wages and worsen living conditions for the working class, especially in industries such as agriculture, cleaning, care work and hospitality. A vote to remain won't improve conditions for exploited migrant workers. This isn't a statement against migration or in favour of voting leave - I'll be voting remain today. But don't fool yourself that remaining in the EU will help migrants who already bear the brunt of worsening employment conditions and fascist internal border controls. Only a united working class in solidarity with migrant struggles can do that. Don't just vote remain - join a union, raise money for migrants held in internment camps in Calais, join an anti fascist group, fight for migrant women's right to access healthcare. Do something.

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the world is becoming more and more brutal and cruel in ways that i don’t understand. i’m frightened to think how it will look a year, even a few months from now.

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its-almost-as-if
I have never been able to understand people with consistent lives – people who, for example, grow up in a liberal Catholic household and stay that way; or who in junior high school are already laying down a record on which to run for president one day. Imagine having no discarded personalities, no vestigial selves, no visible ruptures with yourself, no gulf of self-forgetfulness, nothing that requires explanation, no alien version of yourself that requires humor and accommodation. What kind of life is that?

Michael Warner, “Tongues Untied” in Curiouser: On the Queerness of Children (216)

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