labour time

[ image description: A screen shot of a post that reads “Don’t cross oceans for people who wouldn’t cross a puddle for you.” Someone has crossed this out with a big grey X and underneath added “No, do it. Do cross oceans for people. Love people, all people. No conditions attached, no wondering whether or not they’re worthy. Cross oceans, climb mountains. Life and love isn’t about what you gain, it’s about what you give.” End of descripton ]

I hate this post, I hate it so much. And let me tell you why.

At first it seems like a pretty good post, right? You should love people and do things for them because you want to or because it’s nice, or just because you love them, not because you expect something in return. Yeah. We learn that as kids. But listen. Listen to me. It is not that simple. Yes you should do nice things for people. Carry in your grandmother’s grocerys even if she forgets to say thank you. Sure. But you should never, never, pour yourself into someone who does not give back to you.

Doing everything for someone who gives you nothing in return is not love.

A friend of mine worded it really well “The point of the original post was to emphasise that your own mental/physical health is more important than someone’s selfish needs.” It’s not romantic to run yourself into the ground for someone who can’t even be bothered to care about you. And not only is it not romantic, it’s unhealthy.

I have, on more than one occasion, “crossed oceans” for people who I do believe loved me, but who didn’t even come close to crossing them for me. And do you know what I got out of that? The first one I lost 10 pounds because I was so miserable I could barely eat and I was throwing up what I did eat. And I was still doing whatever I could to be with them, and make them happy, even though they didn’t seem to be willing to put any work in themself. Why bother, I was always there. The second one I ran my own mental health so thin that that literally could not do anything for him, all I could do is sit in the bathtub and think about how I coudln’t feel anything. But I still refused to turn my phone off and ignore his messages. I still made myself avaible to him because he “needed me.”

There was nothing romantic about either of those situations (note: only one was a romantic relationship but the idea of giving and giving and giving when you’re gettin nothing back is romanticized whether it’s in a romantic or platonic relationship.) There was nothing beautiful or selfless about it. It was miserable. I was miserable. I can remember one of my friends telling me he missed me because all I could talk about was the person I had allowed to become my whole life.

And in the end, both of them stopped talking to me.

Don’t believe anyone when they say the second part of that post. It’s bullshit and I’m really tired of seeing it romanticized. It tells people (especailly young girls) that this is an okay way for a relationship to be, that this is what they should be doing. 

There is nothing selfish about demanding that your emotional labour be reciprocated. That’s what makes a relationship (romantic, platonic, or otherwise) healthy. That’s what love is. Both people giving. Both people supportin each other. Not one person giving until they have nothing left for themself. 


It’s a revolution, not a war;

London, in the early 1900′s. Lady Morgana Pendragon is the highly controversial daughter of the Conservative leader The Rt Hon. Sir Uther Pendragon, MP. It has been widely speculated by the tabloids that the Lady Morgana is secretly funding the suffragettes movement. It would seem where the Lady Morgana would go she would attract attention from her bold fashion reflecting her general demeanour to her choice of “companion” with the young Miss Guinevere Leodegrance, a once servant to the Pendragons, now with the help of the Lady Morgana a sensation in London’s affluent music scene. 

On the other side of the Spectrum the working class are rising in the form of the Labour party, the leader is rumoured to be the opposition’s own wayward son, The Rt Hon. Arthur Pendragon, MP. who gave up his titles after his rebellion. Mister Pendragon is often criticised for the position due to his privileged upbringing, most publicly by a certain reporter by the name of Mister Merlin Emrys. Mister Emrys is The Guardian’s most favoured reporter, whose wish with the help of his undercover colleague Miss Mithian Nemeth it is to expose the Lady Morgana’s affair with Miss Guinevere, in the hope to use the scandal to bring upon an uprising against the Aristocracy for a modern Britain.  

anonymous asked:

Idk if anyone has asked you this, but how do you think sakura and karin became good friends despite liking the same person? I like how karin and sakura shares a bond but i can never wrap my mind on how.

A while ago, someone had made an absolutely brilliant doujinshi regarding Sakura’s time in labour, and how she and Karin became good friends. It was literally like that person invaded my mind and stole all my thoughts, lol. I agreed completely with it, but unfortunately it was taken down.

Luckily, since the doujinshi was basically a physical manifestation of my own thoughts on the matter, I can recount it perfectly :)

This is MY headcanon for it

(Because that doujinshi basically stole all of my ideas!)

Basically, after Sasuke and Sakura arrived at Karin’s hideout, she was surprised that they had chosen to go to her instead of the local doctors at any of the villages they had visited. Sasuke justified his decision by saying how he knew and trusted Karin, and would rather rely on the help of an ally then a random stranger for a matter as important as this. Karin was a little flustered and taken aback by this, but she quickly regained her composure, and said that in that case, it couldn’t be helped, in a rather tsundere-like manner.

After a while of Sakura resting in a bed, Karin would come and check on her, to ask her a few questions to see how far along she was in the labour process. Eventually, Sakura would interrupt and ask Karin whether or not she still loved Sasuke. Karin would initially deny it and act as though she didn’t know what Sakura was talking about, but Sakura would insist that it was obvious; the way she looked at Sasuke said it all. Sakura would then ask why Karin never confessed to him? Because if it had been her, she wouldn’t have been able to keep it a secret from him for all these years.

Karin would then concede, and in a defiant manner, she would ask why it mattered? Sakura’s feelings were the ones that had gotten through to Sasuke in the end; Sasuke had chosen Sakura, and she could tell that he was happy:

Karin was glad that Sasuke had found someone who loved as him as deeply as Sakura did, but she also revealed that she couldn’t help but feel a little envious. She would have given anything for Sasuke to look and smile at her the way that he does with Sakura. After all, it’s what she had originally wanted:

But Karin would reiterate that nothing can be done about it, Sasuke had made his choice, and Karin felt as though she subsequently had no alternative but to discard her feelings for him.

But Sakura interjects. She tells Karin that the first two times she confessed to Sasuke, whether or not he felt the same way had never been a fear of hers; she just wanted to let him know that he wasn’t alone, and that someone truly loved him. Sakura would then go on to state that just because she was his wife doesn’t mean that Karin automatically became nothing to Sasuke; the fact that he could have chosen any amazing doctor in the world, but he came to seek her aid should have indicated that, but Sakura would continue. She mentions to Karin how it was her who was by Sasuke’s side while he was at his at rock bottom; while he was so engulfed in darkness and hatred that he became unrecognisable, and Sakura reveals to her how grateful she was that Karin looked after Sasuke all that time, stayed by his side even though it pained her to see him that way. She tells Karin that she may be his wife, but the bond Karin formed with Sasuke will never disappear; she’ll always be an important person to Sasuke, and would like to also consider her a friend:

Karin was very moved by Sakura’s words, and after a little while, she would begin to smile as tears formed in her eyes. Sakura would ask if she was okay, and Karin would say:

“You know, Sasuke was right. You really are annoying. Just when I thought I had found the resolve to finally let go, you drag me back in…”.

Sakura smiled at this, and said that she would love for Karin to be her child’s godmother, and was sure that Sasuke would approve as well.

After Sakura had just given birth, Karin would congratulate them on a healthy baby girl, and would look on with a sad smile at the happy family in front of her:

But after a little while, Sasuke would ask Karin to hold baby Sarada. Karin would comically hesitate, but after looking at Sakura, who just silently smiled and nodded in approval, she’d carefully take Sarada into her arms. Sasuke would then genuinely thank Karin for her aid, and would display to her that elusive smile that she had wanted to see for all these years:

And after realising that Sasuke’s smile was indeed directed at her, Karin was left at a loss for words, and was just frozen in place for a moment:

But she soon regained her composure, and jokingly warned Sasuke to not do anything to make Sakura unhappy. Sasuke only smirked at this, and Karin smiled to herself as she went back to making funny faces at baby Sarada.

As Sasuke and Sakura were about to depart with their new companion, Karin would privately tell Sakura to please take care of Sasuke. He had gone through so many hardships in his life, and he deserves some measure of happiness in return, which had become apparent that he had finally found with her. Sakura would then reassure Karin that she would do everything in her power to make Sasuke happy. Karin could see the sincerity of her words, and would tell Sakura that she was glad Sasuke had someone like Sakura in his life. She would then wish the two of them all the best as they headed back towards Konoha. As she watched them leave, Karin would quietly whisper to herself the three words that she had never been able to say to Sasuke directly, but was sure that he knew how she felt anyway…

As Sasuke and Sakura slowly faded from view, Karin would then make her way back inside, thinking about what she’d send Sarada for her first birthday.

Breaking The Fast.

The response to ‘Mi Amore’ was simply overwhelming and on Tumblr it has been most well received piece I have ever written, so to say thank you I decided to follow it up today with a second instalment of what I am coming to think of as the 'lost moments of Outlander’ that we may have seen had the book flowed from Jamie’s perspective. Thank you to everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/like my work. It is a time consuming labour of love and it is my utter pleasure to share it with you all. xxx


Dougal beamed and threw an arm affectionately around Jamie’s shoulders as he dropped into the seat beside him. The hall was buzzing with the sound of a hundred men taking breakfast and sharing the gossip of the dawn. Dougal’s grip was too tight to be an entirely friendly embrace and Jamie glanced sideways at the older man with thinly veiled distaste.

“Good morning, Uncle. How does the day find ye?”

“Pissed as a gnat in a barrel o’ light ale.”

Dougal whispered and the fumes that rose from his mouth were enough to make Jamie’s own eyes water. Now that he looked closer he could see the whites of his uncles eyes were bloodshot and the skin of his cheeks visible beneath the beard was dry and reddened.

“A wee bit early for such merrymaking is it not?”


Dougal laughed, an awkward barking sound devoid of humour

“Ye sound like yer Mam. A wee scold and no mistake.”

“Careful uncle, I’m sure ye dinna wish to insult your sister’s memory.”

Jamie detached the arm from around him and twisted in his seat to face Dougal properly.

“No, I wouldna wish to do that. She was a good lass, kind and … well ye ken. Ye ken all of that.”

Dougal’s demeanour changed, softening at the thought of his sister and Jamie allowed his face to relax and his fists to lightly uncurl on the table top. He had been at Leoch just over a week and already he found himself clashing with his rambunctious uncle. The man was loud and ill-mannered and had an air of one who feels life has robbed them of their chance of greatness without ever stopping to consider that their destiny may lay within the realms of the ordinary. Dougal expected glory to fall into his lap with the same regularity of chamber maids hoping to curry a little favour.

As a lad Jamie had held him in particularly high esteem, he was the life of every party and seemed to thrum with an insistent vitality that his own father seemed to lack. Brian was more reserved and, to Jamie’s young mind, a little boring in comparison with uncle Dougal, who encouraged Jamie to drink and dance and generally act the fool. It had taken some time for Jamie to realise that Dougal and his friends were laughing at him, not with him.

However the man was family and he had the same pale grey eyes as his mother, and the same way of raising his chin before he laughed that his Mam had and Jamie loved him despite a distant rumble of awareness that told him the feeling was not mutual.

“Aye, Uncle. She was. Have ye been up the whole night then?”

Jamie grinned and nudged his uncle in the ribs, hoping to restore some of his buoyancy.      

“Eh? Och. Aye, I have! Awake and stood to attention too! Three charming lasses and a not so charming one but my God, she rode me like a …”

Dougal broke off and Jamie followed his gaze toward the entrance of the hall. Claire was stood in the doorway, smiling a little uncertainly and clearly wondering whether it was safe to try and make her way to the table laden with food, or better to suffer an empty belly for a while longer and come back when the men had moved out.

“Now there … mmmphmm. There is a woman I would sell my left nut to the devil for a go on.”

Dougal’s nostrils flared and Jamie felt this skin of his neck prickle with heat as his temper caught like a lit match.

“Dinna be sae crass, she is a woman alone amongst strangers. Have some courtesy.”

Jamie snapped but Dougal was too intent on Claire to notice the tone of his nephew’s voice. He ran the back of his hand across his mouth and stood, wobbling a little.

“I’ll go and see what it is she wants. Maybe a decent sized bit o’ meat to break her fast …”

Jamie stood up so fast it startled Dougal from his lewd innuendo and he looked at his nephew, eyes wide with shock. The air around them crackled with pent up aggression and Jamie tensed himself readying for a fight but Dougal held up a consoling hand.

“Easy laddie, what’s amiss?”

“Nothing is amiss but I wish ye to leave Mistress Beauchamp alone. Ye stink o’ drink and can barely walk straight. She doesna need ye slobbering over her in that state.”

Jamie kept his voice low but his hands trembled beside him with the urge to physically shove the old fool down on his stool and keep him there by force until Claire was safely away.

“Do ye wish her for yeself, Jamie lad? A pretty wee whetstone to sharpen a young blade?”

Dougal leant in close and winked at Jamie slowly. Jamie shook his head and felt exactly as he had at sixteen, out of his depth and gangly but there was more at stake than his young pride now, there was Claire. He could not tell Dougal of his feelings for her; it would only make the man more desperate to take her to his bed and whilst his uncle insisted that he did not hold with rape, Jamie was not entirely convinced that he always held himself to that particular standard.


He took a firm grip on his uncle’s arm and sat him down with more force than strictly necessary.

“But I dinna wish ye to embarrass her or yeself either.”

He shoved his mostly untouched plate of food beneath Dougal’s nose.

“Eat this and sober yeself up. I will see that Mistress Beauchamp is alright.”

Jamie didn’t wait for Dougal to respond, nimbly ducking out from behind his seat and striding toward Claire.

“Mistress Beauchamp! I hope the day finds ye well? Ye seem a little lost.”

He smiled as he approached her and the obvious relief that lit her face at his presence made his breath stick in his throat like toffee.

“I am very well Mr McTavish, although I have no idea where one is supposed to queue for a serving of breakfast and as there are not actually any ladies present at the moment I am beginning to realise I am either too early or too late…”

The words tumbled out of her mouth in a jumble and Jamie found himself grinning like an idiot at her, enjoying the sound of her voice and the pretty pink blush that touched her cheeks as she realised she was rambling.

“Aye, the men are here to get their fill before a hunt and it’s no’ the best place for a lass to be on her own, many will have started on the whisky already, ken?”

He gave her a solemn blink in place of a wink. Claire ducked her head and as she did so a single curl tumbled from the carefully pinned tresses and settled in the sweet curve of her collar bone. Without thinking Jamie reached out and delicately moved it behind her ear, his large fingers lightly brushing the smooth skin of her neck.

Jamie felt the tips of his ears begin to burn but as acute as his embarrassment was, he could not tear his eyes from hers. She was looking at him with a mixture of confusion and something else … Jamie was normally very adept at reading people but the expression on Claire’s face was beyond his knowledge. A plate crashed to the ground and a shout went up from further down the hall and like a stone being cast into still water, the stillness between them broke. Claire blinked and looked away, a faint smile on her lips.

“I should head back to the kitchens then, try my luck there.”

Jamie nodded, swallowing a couple of times before answering


His voice cracked and came out in the high-pitched tone of a wee lad and he hastily coughed to clear it. Claire’s lips trembled but she held in her laughter and Jamie thought he had never been more grateful to anyone in his life.

“It would be a wise idea.”

Claire bobbed her head and

“Thank you for your solace, Mr McTavish and please call me Claire.”

“The pleasure was entirely mine, Claire.”

Jamie said savouring the feel of her name on his lips, drawing himself up to his full height, narrowly resisting the urge to bow. Claire turned to go and Jamie watched the sway of her hips as discreetly as he could. Suddenly a thought occurred to him and before he could stop himself he cried

“Ye can call me Jamie!”

Claire turned around and this time she did laugh, but she also nodded and favoured him with a smile that was in no way unkind.

“I’ll call ye ‘pillock’ sit down ye bloody great fool!”

Murtagh had appeared from no-where and gripped Jamie’s elbow firmly steering him back towards his seat, scolding him all the way.

“Can I no’ leave ye alone for five minutes wi’out ye makin’ a scene? Eh? Ye have enough on ye plate wi’out being lumped in as being friendly wi’ the Sassenach.”

Dougal was sat staring at him, probing food from between his teeth with his tongue behind closed lips.

“Did ye spill ye load, laddie?”

He asked and exploded into riotous laughter before Jamie could respond. Murtagh nudged Jamie from behind, urging him to sit down and placed a full plate of food in front of him

“Eat. Then ye and I are goin’ out to the paddock to work on the horses.”

“What about …”

Jamie let his eyes slide toward Dougal. He knew he could not stand sentry over Claire but nor would he knowingly leave her here alone whilst his uncle was in such a mood and despite the compression of his Godfather’s lips, he knew that Murtagh understood.

“Will ye be hunting today Dougal?”

Murtagh asked and was met with a nod and a hearty explanation of Dougal’s aim to bring in a particular stag he had seen on the hills.


Murtagh muttered gruffly when Dougal paused to refill his cup and Jamie nodded, eyes on his plate as Dougal resumed his speech. He didn’t mind suffering Murtagh’s displeasure at making a spectacle of himself, nor Dougal’s mirth at his expense. He didn’t care about any of it, his mind completely filled with the mysterious look that had so briefly crossed Claire’s face and what if anything such a look could mean.

Stories from work 6:

A list of my adventures from working Labour Day weekend

  • Two ladies fought with each other over the last girls backpack; neither of them ended up buying it
  • A mother screamed at and hit her son because he didn’t wanna try on a polo shirt
  • I was the only employee scheduled in the kids section and it was a disaster
  • After telling a lady we don’t have a size between XS and S, she insisted I was lying and told me I was bad at my job
  • A mother vented her frustration to me about how absurd it was that we’re closed on Labour Day
  • Every time I told someone we have no more dresses in the back, I was told to go check anyways
  • People being upset that they had to spend $100+ in order to use the coupon
  • While I was folding clothes, a lady told me I should be trying harder to clean the place
  • I told a kid to stop shaking the mannequin and the mother screamed at me for doing so
  • Having to tell customers to stop taking clothes from the display (and having to fix the same displays over and over)
  • Repeatedly telling kids to stop running; they usually didn’t stop
  • Having to replace sale signs because the kids take/ruin them
  • Kids drawing on shelves

- mod k

“Aren’t we a sight for your sore eyes, Inquisitor.”

Von went to Tevinter with Dorian and accompanies him back to Halamshiral for the Exalted Council. With a new outfit, of course.

anonymous asked:

follow-up question to bad at studying: easy, low-spoon ways to start worship/living heathenry? thank you so much for your help. :)

I’m not a spoonie myself but I have followers that could give more specific suggestions, here are some things off the top of my head that might work for you:

Make everyday things into offerings. If you have to, say, do a little cleaning, you can dedicate the work to a deity. If you exercise, dedicate your routine to a deity. If you’re having a really low spoon day but you managed to shower? There’s your offering. We don’t often talk about giving things like time or labour as offerings, but they are perfectly valid ways to do things.

If you want to offer food, look at what you’re already eating. Some deities and spirits want offerings to be left for them and then disposed of (there are wights who get really annoyed if you touch their food, for instance) but it’s also okay to eat offerings. If you already have a cup of coffee in the morning, you can offer it to a deity, then drink it. One major part of sacrificing animals in Heathen times was so the community could eat, after all.

Some inexpensive things to give deities:

Written or spoken word: Obviously, prayer is a thing you can give deities. I have given deities poetry that I’ve written off the cuff. I know some people who write “devotional fanfiction” to their deities. I wrote a story about Freyr falling in love with a hunter as an offering.

Water - everyone scoffs at water offerings because most of us have constant access to it, but water is necessary for life, without it, most people die in like, three days

Candles - if you can’t have actual candles, electric candles can be left on as semi-permanent offerings. The electric ones might be a bit more expensive, but at least you can’t accidentally set things on fire with them

Plants/flowers - if you don’t have the spoons to care for a plant (which can be a devotional activity) you can pick or buy flowers to give as offerings. If you go out to pick flowers, be aware of your local laws. If in doubt, it’s probably best to buy potted plants

Sweets - Sweets come very close to being a universal offering across cultures, I think it’s easier to list entities who prefer raw meat to entities who accept sweets. I don’t know if I’d call it a “safe” offering because every deity and spirit is different (and maybe your experience of Odin is that he likes spicy over sweet) but if, say, Heimdall shows up out of the blue and wants something, you could do worse than offer him sugary treats.

As for living Heathenry, I’m going to take a page from the Kemetics: don’t be a dick, I know there are Heathens out there who make it their job to be the biggest dick possible, don’t be like them. You don’t have to follow the Nine Noble Virtues, I hate the Nine Noble Virtues, they’re not reflective of the moral codes of the time and they’re used to justify a ton of shitty behavior. As far as I’m concerned they’re only useful for legal purposes or if you find a set of ethics in list format helpful. There’s my mini-rant for the day.

Hopefully this is useful to start. Here is a general tip: Don’t do more than you can handle. If you can only set aside time once per week to make an offering, or talk to the deities and ancestors, then do that. If you know you can’t keep to a regular schedule because spoons, that’s okay.

insurrectionarycompassion  asked:

How do you feel about the Autonomist focus on unwaged labor and how the wage relation obscures the unwaged labor which reproduces the conditions for waged labor?

I think drawing a hardline between waged and unwaged labour in this way is a bit confusing - because the minimum price of labour power includes the price required to reproduce the labour of the worker - this bundles together the wage as actually also the amount needed to reproduce the labour done in the domestic sphere - unwaged labour, emotional labour, whatever we call it. In this sense the two kinds are reciprocal, no ‘unwaged labour’ reproduces itself in isolation - not unless we’re talking about a peasantry who can still do unalienated labour directly for their own consumption. At the same time, the labour power sold to the capitalist is not reproduced passively - the wage does not pay for a maid, a servant, a personal accountant and trainer, a cook etc, it doesn’t include the ability to reproduce ones labour with no additional expenditure of effort. So that’s where unwaged labour comes in, either in the form of familial bonds - and then it gets super gendered and we gotta refer to Federici, or for some unlucky souls they get to do it themselves (we can’t discount the fact that a small fraction of waged workers are also extremely socially isolated - basically alone - and any reproductive labour they do is done by themselves, or paid for directly rather than tacitly). 

It’s a complex question, the two make each other possible, as reproductive labour needs an injection of use-values which are bought with the pay of the ordinary waged labour. So basically, this unitary characteristic of waged/unwaged labour and its interaction emphasises that the proletariat as a political actor must be one forged of various fractions - one of which is specifically the ‘working class’, but the proletariat as a whole are all those who rely on the wage fund in some way to reproduce their lives. So a political programme for the class would need to incorporate the interests of both. 

At a personal level, I often say that one of the few things worse than being exploited by capital in waged work is being basically excluded even from this exploitation. Anyone who has been unemployed involuntarily will basically agree. But the big thing is that worker-centric politics misunderstands why the working class matters - it isn’t the revolutionary class because workers are essential for production to continue (and I’m concerned that how you explain the autonomist perspective just flips this logic and applies it to unwaged workers, says that they also matter because they’re essential for production). But that is not and has never been the point, in my opinion, when it comes to socialist politics. The reason the proletariat matter is not their position in production as ‘variable capital’ so much as their generalised estrangement from the means of production - they are ‘sans reserves’ and as such have no interest at all in reproducing society the way it is, or becoming a new ruling class over a class society because there is no basis for them to do so without ceasing to be proletarians. 

No idea if I’ve answered your question - I’m pretty hungover. 

todaybybryn  asked:

Just wanted to say thank you for all the time and labour you put into your exquisite RR trilogy pieces. They're making the journey through the series so much more colourful and multi faceted. :)

I’m so happy they they were of help ^___^


David Tennant and Gregory Doran (Artistic Director of the RSC, and director of David in Hamlet, Loves Labour’s Lost, Richard II, Black Comedy, and The Real Inspector Hound)

ugh ancaps talking about the LTV on my dash…I don’t need this on a monday morning. How come they all misunderstand it in exactly the same way?

If only there was a way of letting them all know how wrong they are and making them stop talking shite that doesn’t involve actually conversing with an ancap. Maybe some billboards in strategic locations that say stuff like “VALUE AND PRICE ARE DIFFERENT” and “SOCIALLY NECESSARY LABOUR TIME! SOCIALLY NECESSARY!”

[I]n the midst of the accidental and ever-fluctuating exchange relations between the products, the labour-time socially necessary to produce them asserts itself as a regulative law of nature. In the same way, the law of gravity asserts itself when a person’s house collapses on top of him.
—  Karl Marx, Capital (1867)

For years, assembly line workers had rejected being treated like robots, while a minority turned away from work and the consumer society. Capital replied by installing real robots, suppressing millions of jobs and revamping, intensifying, densifying what was left of unskilled labour. At the same time, a widespread desire for freedom was converted into freedom to buy. In 1960, who imagined that one day a 12 year old could get cash out of a dispenser with her own plastic card? Her money - her freedom… The famous slogans of 68: “Never Work!” and “Ask for the impossible!” were mocked when people were forced out of secure jobs and offered ever more plentiful and frustrating goods to buy.

Many compare the situation today to the 20’s and 30’s - fascist threat included. But unlike the insurrections and armed counter-revolution that took place between 1917 and World War Two, the present proletarian setback has been protracted and gradual absorption of vast sections of the working class into joblessness and casualisation. If there’s hope, it’s in the proles, Winston says in 1984. It’s as though a lot of the proles of the real 1984 had risen a few years before that date, taken the world into their hands and refused either to accept or change it. Decades earlier, their grandfathers had locked themselves behind factory gates (Italy 1920) often with guns; they had fought and died, but the premises always ended up again with the boss. This time only a handful got their guns (and even less with the advent of unemployment: one does not shoot at a closing plant). So, more a failure than a defeat, actually. Like a player stepping aside from a fixed game: he can’t or won’t smash the place, and lets the fixers win.

That game’s lost, there’s no use denying it. Capitalism triumphs, more fluid and immaterial than 25 years ago, universalising everything but in an abstract, passive, screenwise, negative way. A 60’s commercial pictured an auto worker looking at a photo of a new car and wondering: “Who makes this model?” Forcibly part-time and flexible, the year 2000 car worker will watch Crash on TV while his kid plays a video game that uses chips which could one day “downsize” his father and himself. Never before has humankind been so unified and divided. Billions watch the same pictures and live ever more separate lives. Goods are at the same time mass produced and unavailable. In 1930, millions were out of work because of a huge economic breakdown. Now they’re on the dole at a time of growth, because even a recovering economy can’t make profits out of them as they did 30 years ago. In many ways, we’re out of the profitability crisis of the 70’s, and most of the business community is better off than before. The paradox is, labour productivity has risen so much that capital often does not need to hire more labour to valorise itself.

—  The Eclipse and Re-Emergence of the Communist Movement - Gilles Dauvé & François Martin

Sunday, August 2nd 2015 // Today I did good, especially in the afternoon! I studied all the pages I planned to do. I’m really enjoying studying Labour law - I never thought I would say that since the professor was so boring I couldn’t pay attention to a single word he said. It’s a bit like Private law, so it’s not hard to understand… it’s just quite a lot of things to memorize. 

I wish I could dedicate more time to Labour law, but I have to study EU law as well :/ I really don’t like studying that subject… which makes me wonder if I should choose the International law profile in the last 2 years of uni or not. Maybe the Civil law profile would be a wiser choice since I prefer in ‘technical’ subjects like Private, Commercial and Labour law… I don’t know. Anyway, I have another year to think about it!

In other news, my parents said I can go to London again later this year for Hamlet 😳 I never ever thought they would even consider it seriously! I mentioned the fact that there’s this play (Ben C is playing the main character, no big deal) that I’d love to go see and my mum just said “What’s the problem? Go see it!”. We’ve talked about it and they’re perfectly serious - I, Francesca, can go to London, where I’ve been a couple of weeks ago, to see Hamlet, played by Oscar-nominee Benedict Cumberbatch. So now my main past-time is refreshing the Barbican website in the hope that 2 tickets become available again! (My brother is coming with me ♥) This makes me even more motivated to do GREAT in my exams!

Capital is thus, despite itself, instrumental in creating the means of social disposable time, in order to reduce labour time for the whole society to a diminishing minimum, and thus to free everyone’s time for their own development. But its tendency always, on the one side, to create disposable time, is on the other, to convert it into surplus labour.
—  Marx - Grundrisse 1857