OMNIA SUNT COMMUNIA

Our sardine fishermen work at night in the dark
of the moon; daylight or moonlight
They could not tell where to spread the net, 
unable to see the phosphorescence of the 
shoals of fish.
They work northward from Monterey, coasting 
Santa Cruz; off New Year’s Point or off 
Pigeon Point
The look-out man will see some lakes of milk-color 
light on the sea’s night-purple; he points, 
and the helmsman
Turns the dark prow, the motorboat circles the 
gleaming shoal and drifts out her seine-net. 
They close the circle
And purse the bottom of the net, then with great 
labor haul it in.

I cannot tell you
How beautiful the scene is, and a little terrible, 
then, when the crowded fish
Know they are caught, and wildly beat from one wall 
to the other of their closing destiny the 
phosphorescent
Water to a pool of flame, each beautiful slender body 
sheeted with flame, like a live rocket
A comet’s tail wake of clear yellow flame; while outside 
the narrowing
Floats and cordage of the net great sea-lions come up 
to watch, sighing in the dark; the vast walls 
of night
Stand erect to the stars.

Lately I was looking from a night mountain-top
On a wide city, the colored splendor, galaxies of light: 
how could I help but recall the seine-net
Gathering the luminous fish? I cannot tell you how 
beautiful the city appeared, and a little terrible.
I thought, We have geared the machines and locked all together 
into inter-dependence; we have built the great cities; now
There is no escape. We have gathered vast populations incapable 
of free survival, insulated
From the strong earth, each person in himself helpless, on all 
dependent. The circle is closed, and the net
Is being hauled in. They hardly feel the cords drawing, yet 
they shine already. The inevitable mass-disasters
Will not come in our time nor in our children’s, but we 
and our children
Must watch the net draw narrower, government take all 
powers—or revolution, and the new government
Take more than all, add to kept bodies kept souls—or anarchy, 
the mass-disasters.
These things are Progress;
Do you marvel our verse is troubled or frowning, while it keeps 
its reason? Or it lets go, lets the mood flow
In the manner of the recent young men into mere hysteria, 
splintered gleams, crackled laughter. But they are 
quite wrong.
There is no reason for amazement: surely one always knew 
that cultures decay, and life’s end is death.

Robinson Jeffers

dennisnsantana:

the ancient slavic people invented the mosin-nagant in 1267 to fight ghouls and yetis and it remains the best sword with the highest attack points and best agi requirements in use today


LITERALLY what i was just talking about though

dennisnsantana:

the ancient slavic people invented the mosin-nagant in 1267 to fight ghouls and yetis and it remains the best sword with the highest attack points and best agi requirements in use today

LITERALLY what i was just talking about though

Holy shit. Read the comments. Almost every single one is like “hell yeah!” “if they didn’t want threats, they wouldn’t murder people” “i don’t like violence, but i can understand why someone would say this”

When a girl favorites your tweet

i’m gonna giggle about what i tagged that black flame review as for a few minutes

not only is the mosin a cheap and reliable certa-fied bona-fide histori-fied nazi killer, when you run out of ammo you can use it as

- an oar

- a structural support beam

- backscratcher

- war club

- a motherfucking pike (assuming bayonet attached)

- a can opener (maybe detach bayonet for this)

- massive empty shells double as shot glasses

- walking stick

- prybar

- metal preservative (just heat it up, cosmoline should drip out and preserve whatever it’s being held above)

- uh

- reminder of what the hammer and sickle look like

- empty milsurp spam cans double as buckets and buckets are HELLA useful

- spam can lid can be a plate or decorative piece

- feel free to add more

gnarlhess:

We all believe we have experienced joy. Every single one of us believes we have been happy at least once in our lives.

Only this experience of joy has always been passive. We happen to enjoy ourselves. We cannot ‘desire’ joy just as we cannot oblige joy to present itself when we want it to.

All this separation between ourselves and joy depends on our being ‘separate’ from ourselves, divided in two by the process of exploitation.

We work all the year round to have the ‘joy’ of holidays. When these come round we feel ‘obliged’ to ‘enjoy’ the fact that we are on holiday. A form of torture like any other. The same goes for Sundays. A dreadful day. The rarefaction of the illusion of free time shows us the emptiness of the mercantile spectacle we are living in.

The same empty gaze alights on the half empty glass, the TV screen, the football match, the heroin dose, the cinema screen, traffic jams, neon lights, prefabricated homes that have completed the killing of the landscape.

To seek ‘joy’ in the depths of any of the various “recitals’ of the capitalist spectacle would be pure madness. But that is exactly what capital wants. The experience of free time programmed by our exploiters is lethal. It makes you want to go to work. To apparent life one ends up preferring certain death.

No real joy can reach us from the rational mechanism of capitalist exploitation. Joy does not have fixed rules to catalogue it. Even so, we must be able to desire joy. Otherwise we would be lost.

The search for joy is therefore an act of will, a firm refusal of the fixed conditions of capital and its values. The first of these refusals is that of work as a value. The search for joy can only come about through the search for play.

alfredo bonanno, armed joy

vivianvivisection:

prince-malice:

xusedtoberussianx:

aspecialprovidence:

{That bitch made me so mad… I swear… It’s not that hard to be polite to someone, even if you’re not interested in them on a romantic level. UGgggg you guys have no idea how passionate I am about that.

I’D TAKE SOME POPCORN FROM YOU LITTLE STEVE

#this #sit the fuck down I’m about to give you some frickity fracking life advice #don’t be a cunt. # you never know who’ s gonna turn into a star-spangled sex god. 

SEX GOD OR NOT, DON’T BE A CUNT. HE WASN’T TRYING ANYTHING. HE WASN’T MAKING A MOVE ON YOU. HE WAS OFFERING YOU POPCORN, A COMPLETELY FRIENDLY GESTURE. HE TOOK THE TIME TO THINK “HEY, THIS PRETTY LADY PROBABLY WOULD LIKE SOME POPCORN, GOLLY, POPCORN SURE IS SWELL. I OUGHT TO SHARE” BE CONSIDERATE OF THOSE WHO CONSIDER YOU, AND GOD DAMN, JUST BE CONSIDERATE IN GENERAL.

Ah yes, judge some woman you don’t know for not accepting popcorn from some random dude.


Yeah, just accept random food & drink from strange men, or else you’re a BITCH

great, good job. that’s the path to victim-blaming.

i’m just gonna shove my hand at this woman and be in her personal space from behind while creepily mouthbreathing on the back of her neck but it’s socially acceptable because it’s disguised as a polite offer

holy shit fuck all fandoms