occupy la

La La Land (Steve Rogers x Reader)

Originally posted by ohevansmycaptain

A/N: Hey guys! So sorry there haven’t been any updates in a while but here is something!!! I have a bunch of ideas but I’m having trouble finding time to write. More stories to come soon! Leave some feedback if you’d like :) Also La La Land has become my new obsession so…. here. Enjoy!

Word Count: 2,018

Prompt: You’re at the cinema alone and so am I we might as well sit together and I swear I didn’t think there was anyone else in this universe who appreciates this movie like I do.

- Written by Brie - 


You’re lame. You’re so lame you can’t even believe yourself. Who the hell goes to the theater alone at two in the afternoon just to see a movie for the third time. You, that’s who. You didn’t even bother to stop at the concession counter for the classic popcorn and soda combo as you hurried to your theater door, by now were an expert at sneaking outside food into the theater. If only the snack counter sold chicken nuggets and fries, you wouldn’t have to feel so guilty sneaking in your salty contraband.

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Sogno un mestiere che mi succhi via il sangue vitale. Fino all’ultima goccia. Che mi svegli presto al mattino e mi convinca a star sveglia la notte. Sogno un mestiere che mi occupi la vita, che la ostacoli. Che mi faccia dire “basta, non ne voglio più” o “voglio licenziarmi” o “voglio ammazzare un uomo”. E invece non farlo. Sogno un mestiere che mi appassioni, che diventi ciò per cui apro gli occhi. Sogno un mestiere che mi porti lontano, che mi illustri il mondo. Che mi tenga lontana da casa e poi mi ci riaccompagni dolcemente. Sogno un mestiere di contatti, di facce, di numeri di telefono. Di telefoni che squillano mentre mangio, mentre dormo, mentre faccio l’amore. Di appuntamenti da psicoanalisti la domenica mattina. Un mestiere sempre presente, sempre pressante, sempre vivo e alimentato. Un mestiere pieno di soddisfazioni, di obiettivi, di traguardi, di fallimenti. Sogno un mestiere che mi faccia dimenticare, dimenticare ciò che devo smettere di pensare, dimenticare che devo smettere di fumare, dimenticare che a volte è sacrosanto dimenticare. E poi sogno di poter finire, un giorno. Di potermi fermare e continuare ad amare il mio mestiere con lo stesso folle amore. 

anonymous asked:

Blake needs to find a hobby or something in LA. Gwen always has a lot going on, but all Blake's stuff is OK based. So if he's in la and not working on the voice he doesn't have much to do if Gwen is busy (like now with rehearsals).

I recommend songwriting 🗣🗣

But for real I think once the house finally sells and they move he’ll have a lot more to occupy him in LA.

And I still think they optimize their time apart so that they can make their time together as meaningful as possible. So if he has things to do he might as well do them when she’s busy anyway, and vice versa.

Lo más gracioso de todo el sistema es que lo que sostiene la ecuación, la tierra, no aparece en la ecuación económica y cuando aparece es para aprovecharse de catástrofes naturales y desgracias personales. La NASA y la ONU ya han dicho que el sistema nos lleva al desastre y no cambia NADA, vamos directos a la muerte de miles de millones de personas y nadie va a cambiar el rumbo. Párate, piénsalo, vamos contra una pared directos y miramos para otro lado

you said okay
flatsound
you said okay

it all started with closed eyes
and a feeling in my gut telling me 
i need to keep them shut the whole time
because they opened even for a second and i saw your lips
they’d suck me in like black holes when they bend light
and it was then i realized you were not my world
you were my universe

sometimes when i look up i see stars
that cut through the sky and fade quickly into nothingness
and i pray that you aren’t as fleeting
because when we’re lying in roads i get the same feeling
that gravity will just turn off and i’ll fall endlessly 
into something much larger than i am
and i wonder if that’s what it feels like to die and
if i’ll ever understand god in my lifespan
because i want to see god
i want to know what god feels like

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“Se state leggendo questo messaggio, vuol dire che mi sono suicidata e quindi non sono riuscita a cancellare questo post programmato.

Per favore, non siate tristi, è meglio così. La vita che avrei vissuto non sarebbe stata degna di essere vissuta… perché sono transessuale. Potrei entrare nei dettagli per spiegare perché lo penso, ma questa lettera sarà già abbastanza lunga così. Per farla semplice, mi sento una ragazza intrappolata nel corpo di un ragazzo da quando avevo quattro anni. Per molto tempo non ho saputo dell’esistenza di una parola per definire questa sensazione, né che fosse possibile per un ragazzo diventare una ragazza, così non l’ho detto a nessuno e ho semplicemente continuato a fare cose convenzionalmente da maschi per cercare di adattarmi.

Quando avevo 14 anni ho imparato cosa volesse dire la parola “transessuale” e ho pianto di gioia. Dopo dieci anni di confusione avevo finalmente capito chi ero. L’ho detto subito a mia mamma e lei ha reagito molto negativamente, dicendomi che era una fase, che non sarei mai stato davvero una ragazza, che Dio non fa errori e che ero io a essere sbagliata. Se state leggendo questa lettera: cari genitori, non dite così ai vostri figli. Anche se siete cristiani o siete contro i transessuali, non dite mai questa cosa a nessuno: specialmente ai vostri figli. Non otterrete niente a parte far sì che odino se stessi. È esattamente quello che è successo a me.

Mia mamma ha iniziato a portarmi da terapisti ma solo da terapisti cristiani, tutti con molti pregiudizi, quindi non ho mai avuto le cure di cui avrei avuto bisogno per la mia depressione. Ho solo ottenuto che altri cristiani mi dicessero che sono egoista e sbagliata e che avrei dovuto cercare l’aiuto di Dio.

Quando avevo 16 anni mi sono resa conto che i miei genitori non mi avrebbero mai aiutata, e che avrei dovuto aspettare di compiere 18 anni per iniziare qualsiasi terapia e intervento di transizione, cosa che mi ha davvero spezzato il cuore. Più aspetti, più la transizione è difficile. Mi sono sentita senza speranze, sicura che avrei passato il resto della mia vita con le sembianze di un uomo. Quando ho compiuto 16 anni e ho capito che i miei genitori non avrebbero dato il loro consenso per farmi iniziare la transizione, ho pianto finché non mi sono addormentata.

Ho sviluppato nel tempo una specie di atteggiamento “vaffanculo” verso i miei genitori e ho fatto coming out come gay a scuola, pensando che forse sarebbe stato più facile così un giorno dire che in realtà sono transessuale. Per quanto la reazione dei miei amici sia stata buona, i miei genitori si sono arrabbiati. Hanno pensato che volessi compromettere la loro immagine e che li stessi mettendo in imbarazzo. Volevano che fossi il classico piccolo perfetto ragazzo cristiano e ovviamente non era quello che volevo io.

Quindi mi hanno tirato via dalla scuola pubblica, mi hanno sequestrato il computer e lo smartphone e mi hanno impedito di frequentare qualsiasi social network, isolandomi così completamente dai miei amici. Questa è stata probabilmente la parte della mia vita in cui sono stata più depressa, e sono ancora stupita di non essermi uccisa già allora. Sono stata completamente sola per cinque mesi. Nessun amico, nessun sostegno, nessun amore. Solo la delusione dei miei genitori e la crudeltà della solitudine.

Alla fine dell’anno scolastico i miei genitori finalmente mi hanno restituito il mio smartphone e mi hanno permesso di tornare sui social network. Ero felicissima, finalmente potevo riavere indietro i miei amici. Ma solo all’inizio. Alla fine mi sono resa conto che anche a loro non importava molto di me, e mi sono sentita persino più sola di quanto fossi prima. Piacevo agli unici amici che pensavo di avere per il solo motivo che mi vedevano per cinque giorni ogni settimana.

Dopo un’estate praticamente senza amici unita al peso di dover pensare al college, di risparmiare per quando avrei lasciato casa, di tenere alti i miei voti, di andare in chiesa ogni settimana e sentirmi di merda perché in chiesa tutti sono contrari a quello che sono, ho deciso che ne ho abbastanza. Non completerò mai nessuna transizione, nemmeno quando andrò via di casa. Non sarò mai felice con me stessa, col modo in cui appaio e con la voce che ho. Non avrò mai abbastanza amici da esserne soddisfatta. Non troverò mai un uomo che mi ami. Non sarò mai felice. Potrò vivere il resto della mia vita come un uomo solo che desidera essere una donna oppure come una donna ancora più sola che odia se stessa. Non c’è modo di averla vinta. Non c’è via d’uscita. Sono già abbastanza triste, non ho bisogno di una vita ancora peggiore di così. La gente dice che “le cose cambiano” ma nel mio caso non è vero. Le cose peggiorano. Le cose peggiorano ogni giorno.

Questo è il succo, questo è il motivo per cui mi sento di uccidermi. Mi dispiace se per voi non sarà abbastanza una buona ragione, lo è per me. Per quel che riguarda le mie volontà, voglio che il 100 per cento delle cose che possiedo sia venduto e che il denaro (più i soldi che ho da parte in banca) siano donati a un movimento per il sostegno e per i diritti delle persone transessuali, non importa quale. L’unico momento in cui riposerò in pace arriverà quando le persone transessuali non saranno più trattate come sono stata trattata io: quando saranno trattate da esseri umani, con sentimenti validi, sinceri e legittimi, e con dei diritti umani. Le questioni di genere devono essere insegnate a scuola, prima è e meglio è. La mia morte deve significare qualcosa. La mia morte dev’essere contata tra quelle dei transessuali che si sono suicidati quest’anno. Voglio che qualcuno guardi a quel numero e dica “questa cosa è assurda”, e si occupi di sistemarla. Sistemate la società. Per favore.

Addio,

(Leelah) Josh Alcorn"

—  Il respiro dei libri
you said okay
flatsound
you said okay

“it all started with closed eyes
and a feeling in my gut telling me
i need to keep them shut the whole time
because they opened even for a second and i saw your lips
they’d suck me in like black holes when they bend light
and it was then i realized you were not my world
you were my universe

sometimes when i look up i see stars
that cut through the sky and fade quickly into nothingness
and i pray that you aren’t as fleeting
because when we’re lying in roads i get the same feeling
that gravity will just turn off and i’ll fall endlessly
into something much larger than i am
and i wonder if that’s what it feels like to die and
if i’ll ever understand god in my lifespan
because i want to see god
i want to know what god feels like

but with the weight of the bible i will break adams ribs
and repeat, my dear eve, you do not take after this
you were not made in a mans image
but if that’s the case why do you feel so lost
in the empty space that his hand isn’t
why do i wait wondering how long it’ll take you to admit it
i’d rather keep my mouth shut then start to say what i can’t finish
baby i have limits

so i’m singing ‘la la la’ in empty rooms that carry sounds like hollow caves
‘la la la’ just to prove you’re not the only one that can occupy a borrowed space
'la la la’ for every ship that was set to sail but got washed away
i’m singing ‘la la la’ in desperate hopes that when it bounces back i hear the octave change
so if we could just pretend that your voice exists inside this empty void within
then holy shit, holy shit, holy shit if you spoke
insomnia might loosen its wholesome grip on my throat
and i can begin to forgive you for admitting the hoax
instead of learning to hate you for very minute you don’t
because i sit here wondering if anything you said was true
and who it was that taught you to speak bullets
without considering the exit wound
tell me who

because i still think back to the first time you called me with nothing to say
that morning you were more than just my friend and we both noticed something had changed
you drove to your parents house and we talked about everything
we talked about how much it sucked, but no matter what, we had to remain
nothing

and in that deafening silence
i asked if i could still call you my snowflake
and you said okay”

This is America

This is America people. Earn your keep. Use your God given, hands, legs, head, brain, and heart and fight for what you want. Don’t expect the government to support you, or to take care of you. Yes, they will to an extent, but those dreams you have, those aspirations you wish to achieve: YOU have to make them happen. The reality is the value of the dollar is universal to all Americans, Democrats, Republicans and everyone in between, and it effects the choices being made. When the government makes a decision, it has the country’s and their own best interest in mind. They are not thinking about you as an individual. Stop complaining about what’s not being done for you, and start doing something for yourself. Stop waiting to be spoon fed like a child. Stop sucking on the government tit. You are an adult. You are a more than capable individual. So whether you are the 99% or the 1%, earn and fight for what you want, and never expect anyone to give it to you.

-The Average American Citizen

Occupy Wall Street and Labor: The Closest of Strangers
Michael Hirsch  February 10, 2012

     A sign on a lower Broadway storefront window just one block south of Wall Street reads “I can’t afford a lobbyist, so I organize.” The sign, one of many put up by Occupy Wall Street activists, sits inside a cavernous street floor space the United Federation of Teachers lent gratis to OWS for storage and coordination. The UFT, like other city unions, can afford lobbyists—subsidized by its own members through voluntary contributions. Like other city unions it operates an extensive volunteer political action arm, and massaging or muscling elected officials is seen as key to improving members’ wages and working conditions. And, like other unions in a state boasting the nation’s highest concentration of union households and home to the largest number of Fortune 500 mega-corporations and public-sector-union-averse think tankers, it also organizes aggressively.

     Organizing and lobbying are tactics used by the Transport Workers, Service Employees, Communications Workers, AFSCME and Unite-Here, too—key supporters of the Occupy movement nationwide. Yet the slogan hints at outstanding contradictions between two movements that view the world—at least right now—quite differently, even as its activists are building warm relationships with each other.

     What labor and Occupy share is a common enemy in corporate America. What else shared is not so clear. Much of the discussion at a recent forum on “Can the Labor Movement and Occupy Wall Street March down the Same Road,” sponsored on Jan. 27 by The Murphy Institute, a graduate labor program at City University of New York, was about fostering dialogue and the need to see things from others’ perspectives. Certainly the plague of joblessness, growing economic inequality, environmental genocide, needless military adventures and federal and state policies that reward the financial industry even after it sunk the economy are all powerful incentives for cooperation. But substantively, in my view, very little was exchanged.

     Occupy Wall Street is a movement that eschews political demands. Its blogs are rife with comments that demands in themselves validate government and reinforce the social order. That sentiment, wrong on its face, embodied at least a smart tactical move, initially. It maximized participation, mainstreamed a radical slam at the rich and powerful and restated Jack London’s classic charge against business: “you have mismanaged.” In one moment, Occupy switched media attention from the growing federal deficit to the venality and homicide of corporate society. Occupy has returned a sense of “them and us” to the American psyche. It is, as panel moderator and author Steve Fraser said, a movement that is inherently “anticapitalist,” and “using liberated language.” It’s allowed,“ said panelist John Samuelson, president of the city’s subway workers and bus drivers union, "labor contracts to be concluded because the other side doesn’t want job actions” in the era of Occupy.

     In the same vein, Mario Dartayet-Rodriguez, organizing director for AFSCME’s District Council 37 , sketched the two movements’ similarities, saying that “Despite differences over politics and the ballot box, no one else has the same view of the concentration of power,” adding that “As long as wage disparities and joblessness exist, there’s plenty of room for collaboration.”

     Tammy Kim, staff attorney at the Urban Justice Center and an active member of the Occupy Wall Street Immigrant Worker Justice Working Group, gave examples of wage theft committed against immigrant workers. She reminded listeners—if indeed we needed reminding—that organized labor (or as she unfortunately put it, “Big Labor”) is just one part of the working class.

     Amy Muldoon, a Verizon repair technician serving as liaison between her Communications Workers district and Occupy, and whose union donated mattresses, walkie-talkies and other supplies to the occupiers, said Occupy’s attraction came from “class anger at 30 or 40 years of attacks,” and how the occupation was “incredible and intoxicating for those of us who slog in the unions.” She said the rage contained in OWS was effecting “a groundswell for change in unions and against organizational inertia.” She even quoted German revolutionary Rosa Luxemburg, about movements advancing and retreating “but always leaving a footprint.”

     I’ll even add that culturally Occupy legitimates giving the risible finger to the invisible hand, something that is not just the bravado of a subculture but a rational and helpful political act in itself

     Is any of this enough? Is any of it, well, bankable?

     Samuelson, whose union was the first of many in New York to embrace the occupation, said the number one question for the day was “What can each movement learn from each other?” Fraser, whose book “Every Man a Speculator,” is a withering critique of Wall Street, said that while collaboration between the two movements was crucial, activists had to be aware that the movements diverged in terms of structure, demands, political perspectives, as well as over tactics and strategies.

     "These differences need to be worked on, and that’s what we’re doing today,“ said Fraser said.

     A worthy goal, but it didn’t happen. To me, the meeting was more an exercise in mutual validation and less an actual exchange of ideas and experiences. There was a lot of talk of "dialogue,” but it was more monologues on parallel tracks.

     All speakers praised Occupy’s focus on horizontal organization as a replacement for what they saw as a prevailing bureaucratic mentality, but there was little recognition that labor’s problem is structural and not (or not primarily) cultural. A fixation with horizontal organization as a cure-all doesn’t take into account the legal and contractual strangleholds holding unions back, leaving it, instead, at attitude problems. Sure, the laws, the timed contract system, even the lack of a political party that speaks unambiguously for working people, aren’t permanent roadblocks, though Samuelson admitted that getting unions to change direction “was like turning the Titanic.” Certainly the top-down union structure allows leaders too much sway to cut side deals and too little incentive to empower members. But is lack of imagination really labor’s Achilles’ heel? Is changing the “culture” of the unions just a matter of style or substance?

     And where was the recognition of Occupy’s own dirty little secrets: that the General Assemblies enable one individual to stymie the will of thousands; where endless debates restrict decision making to those with the time and energy to occupy 24/7—giving the edge to those without jobs or families—and where, as in one New York case, a workgroup focusing on demands was effectively neutered not on the merits but after daring to change its own internal workings to require a 75 percent supermajority on decisions when consensus failed. Then there’s the predilection for confrontation. Civil disobedience is a powerful weapon, but too many encounters with the police—at least the ones not provoked by the police high command—were done with little preparation or even sufficient legal observers present. Ouch!

     OWS activists consider nonhierarchical structures and open sourcing to be the indispensable condition for good social organization if not prefigurations of the good society. With all its talk of consensus, OWS boils things down to a minimum. At its worst moments, it’s a talk shop with meditation. Labor, for its part, is hierarchically structured; its message is crafted (hopefully with input from the bottom up) but its democracy is centralized. It’s the leadership that speaks. Unions—the good ones at least—see democracy as the basis for mobilizing members for a goal and training activists. Then they prize representative democracy as a good in itself, a tricky proposition no less problematic than is the participatory alternative. There’s also a tendency for even the most social-justice-conscious trade unionists to give breathtaking critiques of corporate greed, yet their solution is a one-shoe-fits-all electoral involvement. Political action is at best one part of a solution.

     And of course union leaders are not blameless. If they were, we wouldn’t need a blog called Talking Union. DC 37, for one, was generous with its meeting space, allowing two separate labor-oriented workgroups to hold weekly meetings, which are still going on. But that didn’t stop AFSCME’s International Executive Board from endorsing President Obama for re-election with hyper-exuberant language, stretching credulity to claim this much failed president deserved re-election on the merits, rather than because the GOP is so god awful and dangerous. The February issue of Public Employee Press cites AFSCME’s President Gerald McEntee as saying in pure Occupy speak, how “Obama is the only choice for the 99 percent.” It quotes Lillian Roberts, the DC 37 executive director on a counterfactual, that “Obama is a proven fighter whose stand on economic, political and social issues demonstrates strong support for protecting the rights of working men and women.” Gee, Lillian, wasn’t McEntee’s saying “we’ve got no choice” sad enough?

     Of course, there are good things both movements can learn from each other, and dialogue should facilitate that learning, but it won’t come without engaging each other, too. Right now, solidarity between the two movements is as broad as a football field and shallow as the turf. It can’t be allowed to stay that way.

     The possibilities of real dialogue are exciting. The OWS may be inherently anticapitalist, but it’s worker-lite. The Labor Movement breathes the language of class, but is only anticapitalist in the final instance. Until then, it’s all negotiable. For now, unions straddle the fence between defending labor power and selling it. OWS could give up its biblical prophet pose and talk about real solutions, while unionists could explain their legal and contractual binds and the real inhibitions on making every member an activist, including how plenty of workers vote Republican, as every political director knows. (Keeping that number below 30 percent is considered a victory). That’s an exercise that could give fresh thought to ways of breaking those binds. That’s a discussion that should happen soon.

     Instead, OWS activists segregate themselves into work groups with little in common with the larger OWS. The two labor workgroups comprise union activists, officers and staff. It presents some interesting possibilities for joint work between elected leaders and shop-floor militants, but these can’t affect the overall OWS sensibility. An exciting labor solidarity project to help locked-out union art handlers at the tony Sotheby’s Auction Gallery got a lot of media play, but was done largely by unionists affiliated with OWS. For too many of the rest in OWS, it was the spectacle at Zuccotti Park that counted. That and the drumming.

Michael Hirsch is a veteran union activist and a member of the New Politics editorial board.