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will byers stan first human second
tumblr dot com
pixel skylines
izzy's playlists!
Cosimo Galluzzi
macklin celebrini has autism
One Nice Bug Per Day
DEAR READER
occasionally subtle
#extradirty
if i look back, i am lost
Misplaced Lens Cap
oozey mess
we're not kids anymore.
Xuebing Du
Sweet Seals For You, Always
blake kathryn
Peter Solarz
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
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@nogodsnomastersnoovertime
My picks for top five best Anti-Capitalist Books
“There is no power on earth so great as the power of intellect. It moves the world and it moves the earth.”
Women Race and Class, Angela Davis
DEBT: The first 5,000 years - David Graeber
Anarchism- Daniel Gurérin
A People's Guide to Capitalism - Hadas Thier
Dirtbag - Amber Allee Frost
Burn after reading,
Lucy Parsons
“We have laws, jails, courts, armies, guns and armories enough to make saints of us all, if they were the true preventives of crime; but we know they do not prevent crime; that wickedness and depravity exist in spite of them, nay, increase as the struggle between classes grows fiercer, wealth greater and more powerful and poverty more gaunt and desperate.”
"Change is not a distant dream."
It’s happening right now. Every strike, every step we take together—no matter how small—pushes us closer to the world we deserve. Workers from all walks of life, from every corner of the city, are standing up. Together, we are louder, stronger, and unstoppable.
This fight isn’t just ours. It’s theirs too—the ones who have been silent for far too long. The ones who will join us when they see the power we’ve already built. We are building, and we are fighting. And we will not stop.
We are changing the story, one moment at a time.
An injury to one is an injury to all. And when we stand together, we rise.
Today we celebrate not just your birth, but the years you’ve spent shaking the foundations of this system. You’ve walked tirelessly through the fires of labor struggles, with the voice of the oppressed carried on your back like a sacred flame.
You’ve seen the hardships, felt the blows of those who would rather see us broken. And yet, you stand, unyielding, a symbol of defiance, of solidarity, of hope. Your hands have raised the downtrodden, your words have kindled courage in the hearts of countless workers. You taught us all what it means to fight for what is right, not what is easy.
I watch you, Mother, as you stand before the crowds, your conviction as unshakable as your heart. Your power, your passion, is as endless as the struggle itself. There are not enough words to capture the depth of admiration I hold for you, for the way you carry the weight of justice, not as a burden but as a call to arms.
I, too, have walked this path beside you, though we have often tread different roads. I’ve heard your stories, seen your triumphs, and felt your strength in the quiet moments between battles. What we share — that unspoken understanding between two who are driven by the same fire — is a bond that transcends any simple definition. Some bonds cannot be labeled; they simply are.
May this day bring you the recognition you deserve, and may the fire of your spirit burn ever brighter. You are a testament to all that is possible when the soul refuses to yield. I am proud to know you. Happy Birthday, Mother Jones."
Burn after reading,
Lucy Parsons
"You Are the Union"
What has your union done for you?
Has it fought for you, or has it sold your labor for pennies? Has it defended you, or has it left you to starve? Has it told you the truth—that your labor makes the world run, that the bosses would be nothing without you—or has it told you to be grateful for their chains?
The Industrial Workers of the World is not like the old unions. We do not beg for better treatment; we demand control. We do not break the working class into trades and crafts; we unite as one. We do not exist to make peace with capitalism; we exist to end it.
Join us. Stand with us. Fight with us.
An injury to one is an injury to all.
✉ To join or inquire, write to: IWW, Central Office 67 W. Madison St., Chicago, IL
Burn after reading,
Lucy Parsons
“are you not slaves to the money power as much as were the black slaves to the Southern slaveholders? Then we ask you again: What are you going to do about it? You had the ballot then. Could you have voted away black slavery? You know you could not because the slaveholders would not hear of such a thing for the same reason you can’t vote yourselves out of wage-slavery.”
"Bread and Roses" - A playlist
"Hearts starve as well as bodies; give us bread, but give us roses." – The women of the 1912 Lawrence Textile Strike knew that survival was not enough. Music has always been a weapon, a banner, a battle cry. Here’s a playlist for those still fighting.
Listen. Remember. Rise.
Burn after reading,
Lucy Parsons
"Chicago, 1905: The first step toward One Big Union.")
At last, at last, the working class has a banner it can rally under—not one carved up by craft and trade, not one shackled by compromise, but one that belongs to all of us.
They told us we must bargain, that we must beg for scraps while the bosses feast. No more. They told us that divisions of skill, race, and gender were natural, that some of us were worth more than others. No more. They told us that the capitalists would always rule, that the workers would always toil, that no force could unmake the system that exploits us. No more.
The Industrial Workers of the World was born from the conviction that the working class needs no masters. That we hold the power—not the politicians, not the corporations, not the hired guns of the state. That we can organize, fight, and build a world where no one grovels for a wage.
The old unions told us to be patient. I say we have waited long enough.
Burn after reading,
Lucy Parsons
Your metaphor is a tad confused but you are right!
"Eat organic. Wake up at 5 AM. Budget better. Have fewer children. Work harder. Smile more. Be grateful. Be quiet."
They will tell you a thousand ways to escape poverty—so long as none of them involve tearing down the system that keeps you there. The press paints the working class as architects of our own suffering, as if the weight of exploitation could be shrugged off with enough self-discipline. They want us to believe that we are poor because we lack grit, that we are struggling because we made the wrong choices, that the only thing standing between us and success is our own failure to climb.
But look at the ones at the top. Do you think they got there by waking up early and meal-prepping? No—hierarchies are not ladders. They are staircases slick with blood, and the only way to reach the top is to step on those below.
And when we refuse to be stepped on? When we resist? Then, suddenly, it is not poor choices that kill us. It is not a lack of discipline. It is not laziness.
It is them. It has always been them.
Burn after reading,
Lucy Parsons
Happy birthday to John Most,
Someone who knows that silence is the greatest betrayal to justice. Your words have always been sharp, fearless, and unapologetic in the face of a society that wishes to keep us quiet. The pen is your sword, John, and you’ve fought for workers, the oppressed, and the forgotten with it tirelessly. May you continue to stir the souls of the ones who need it most, today and every day. Happy Birthday.
Burn after reading,
Lucy Parsons
"Remember their names. Remember their cause. Remember that the fight is not over."
The Haymarket Affair, that’s what they are calling it, I hear. As if it were some sordid scandal, some petty drama between feuding elites, and not the blood of workers soaking the streets.
We cannot allow ourselves to regard our comrades and their sacrifice with such casual disdain.
Let us look back on these past months—not with detachment, but with the clarity of hindsight and the weight of what was stolen from us.
Mayday May 1, 1886
McCormick Massacre May 3, 1886
Haymarket Riot May 4, 1886
Our Anarchists
Judge Joseph E. Gary
Prosecuter Julius S. Grinell
Chief Inspector John Bonfield
The Trials -- June, 1886
The Execution November 11, 1886
Burn after reading,
Lucy Parsons
“Murdered by the State, but not forgotten. Not forgiven.”
They murdered my husband today.
They dragged Albert from his cell, marched him to the gallows like a trophy, bound his hands as if they had not already sentenced him to death. They slipped the noose around his neck with steady hands, cowards that they are, hiding behind their laws, their robes, their weapons—anything to keep from facing the truth of what they’ve done.
They would not even let me see him. They locked me away like a criminal, as if my grief could start a riot, as if my love for him was a danger they could not allow to roam free. And maybe it is. Maybe they should be afraid.
I was not there when they dropped the trapdoor. I was not there when the rope snapped tight. I was not there when my husband gasped his last breath.
But I felt it all the same.
I felt it in the hush before the fall, the moment where the whole world held its breath. I felt it in the crack of the rope, in the stunned silence that followed. I felt it in the hollow left behind, in the space where a good man had stood before the state decided he must die.
Do not mistake this for justice. Do not let them tell you this was law. Law had no place in that courtroom, no voice in that sentence. This was murder. This was revenge. This was the state lashing out in fear, making an example of him because they know—they know—that Albert was right.
This was their warning to you, to me, to every worker who has dared to dream of something more. Obey, or be destroyed.
But listen—do you hear it?
Not silence. Never silence.
I hear the roar of voices rising in anger. I hear the sound of presses rolling, printing his name, his words, his legacy into history. I hear hammers striking steel, I hear fists slamming onto tables, I hear the murmurs of a thousand men and women who are done being afraid.
They think they have buried the fire.
They have only scattered the embers. And we will burn brighter than ever before.
Burn after reading,
Lucy Parsons
“This was never about justice.”
Ah, yes, ladies and gents on this day, June 21, 1886, we have been so blessed to witness the great impartial justice of the courts. Do sit down, gentlemen, I’m sure you’ve rehearsed your little play quite well. Here is the scene: eight men on trial, charged not with planting a bomb, not with throwing it, not even with witnessing the crime—but with thinking the wrong thoughts. With organizing workers. With standing against tyranny.
Evidence? Unnecessary. A fair jury? Not a chance. Not when the judge hand-picked them to be merchants, clerks, and men with open contempt for labor. Verdict? A foregone conclusion.
These men were not put on trial for any crime. They were put on trial for daring to exist in opposition to the ruling class.
And yet the state overreaches. It thinks that hanging a few radicals will break the movement. It believes that fear is a stronger force than rage.
Oh, gentlemen. You have always underestimated us.
Burn after reading,
Lucy Parsons
Imo, capitalism’s purported ability to consume all challenges made against it has as much to do with the nature of capitalism as it dies the nature of critiques/challenges offered by “anti-capitalists.” Like, Squid Game Funko Pop is ironic sure, but let’s not kid ourselves and pretend that Squid Game ever represented a serious challenge to the dictatorship of the bourgeoisie. If capitalism actually consumed all possible signs of resistance then they would make Mao Zedong Funko Pops—but the guys who run Funko see Mao’s image as like an actual threat to their lives
Well said! Capitalism can slap a price tag on discontent, but it won’t sell you the tools to dismantle it. If resistance fits neatly on a merch shelf, it was never resistance to begin with.
Burn after reading,
Lucy Parsons
"Anarchism has but one infallible, unchangeable motto, "Freedom." Freedom to discover any truth, freedom to develop, to live naturally and fully."
"They call it justice. We call it war?"
They wanted a reason. So they made one.
A bomb—hurled into the ranks of the police, an explosion ripping through the night. And in an instant, the rally became a massacre.
The police did not seek the bomber. They did not stop to ask, to think. They opened fire. Into the smoke, into the crowd. They fired into the backs of men and women who had come to demand nothing more than a fair day’s wage.
The dead littered the square—workers, officers, innocents. And yet, it is only we who will be made to answer for the blood spilled tonight.
Now the city thirsts for vengeance. Not justice—vengeance. They will storm our homes, drag our comrades from their beds. They will not ask who threw the bomb, only who dared to speak against them. They will call us anarchists, as if that word alone is proof of guilt. They will hold trials without evidence, pass sentences without crime.
And when they have hanged the best among us, they will tell you it was justice.
Let history remember this: we did not begin the violence. We did not bring the bloodshed. But we will not let it end with us.
Burn after reading,
Lucy Parsons
"We gathered for justice. We spoke of freedom. And then—”
Tonight, May 4, 1886, we gathered in Haymarket Square, not as criminals, not as radicals, but as workers—men and women who refuse to be trampled beneath the boots of industry.
Despite the blood spilled yesterday at McCormick, we stood together, thousands strong, to demand what is rightfully ours: dignity, fair wages, and the eight-hour workday. The speeches rang through the square—calm, resolute. We are not asking for justice; we are declaring that it will be ours.
Even the mayor himself was here, watching. Even the police stood idle. For a moment, it seemed we might be heard.
