L’inizio della scuola si avvicina e tra le tante cose da fare dobbiamo anche etichettare tutto! Va bene, ma almeno facciamolo in modo simpatico e super personalizzato!!! Etichette per tutti i gusti!
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Stampi comodamente a casa o in qualsiasi stamperia solo quello che ti serve e risparmi la spedizione!!!
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why does it always gotta be "oh im a communist but not like those marxists leninists-" we had this debate. in the 1800s. in fact marx AND lenin wrote about it: you are either for some nebulous idea of communal living that gets you nowhere OR you realize that you have to start from the current material conditions, and organize, and the organization has to be centralized for it to work and you have to study a lot and also act in group because going to protests on your own is just perpetuating an individualist ideology. they were saying marx was outdated in 1915!! guess what happened two years later. like you can incorporate all you want from feminism and queer theory and even anarchy but at the end of it all. only one line of action can bring about revolution, has revolution as its objective and has in fact done so before. it's marxism leninism. you have just been conditioned to think it's outdated so you wouldn't use the only weapon that actually works! people cant afford to eat and the west's quest to maintain economic hegemony is pushing us into ww3 and you will not use the concepts of plusvalue, imperialism, and political party, why? because the ruling class told you identity politics are more modern?
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Some people find comfort in labels and some don't.
Some people enjoy using labels like bisexual, Homosexual, asexual, aromantic, pansexual, lesbian, etc.
And others prefer to just say they like women or they like men. They like both or none or like both but not romantically or not sexually or don't like anyone at all.
You don't need to have a label and you don't need to not have a label. It's what makes you comfortable that matters not what makes others comfortable.
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Punk Steve!
Steve who feels so fucking lost bc robin went off to college and the kids can drive themselves around and he’s lonely and doesn’t know what to do with himself.
So he takes to driving around aimlessly on the evenings, because that’s what he and Robin used to do.
And one night, he stumbles on this building, out in the middle of (mostly) nowhere. There are beat-up cars in the parking lot, and he can hear the music all the way on the road.
He doesn’t totally know what he’s doing when he pulls in, and he’s out of the car before he can really decide if this is a good idea or not.
He’s glad he was wearing something plain, a dark green t-shirt and jeans, because he’d stick out like a sore thumb in his usual attire here.
He’d never seen so much black clothing.
Everyone had on similar items, black pants, all ripped up. Some people had put patches on their clothes. He saw names like The Dead Kennedys, The Runaways, The Ramones, The Sex Pistols. He saw leather jackets, clothes covered in safety pins and spikes. Big dark boots with blue, or yellow, or purple laces.
The band was playing some crashing song, and it was so fucking loud that Steve could hardly pick out the words, let alone differentiate the sounds of each instrument.
But something about the way the crowd was moving, head-banging and slamming into each other. Everyone had huge smiles on their faces, even as they all smashed together.
He didn’t join in the first day, sue him if he was a little scared, but he just kept, coming back.
And he made friends. Friends his own age. Friends with piercings in their faces, who shared cheap apartments on the outskirts of town. And they called him a yuppie, but they gave him hand-me-down clothes and helped him diy his first leather jacket, one that had been hanging, sad and forgotten, in his closet since last July.
He would go to the little venue every weekend, smearing black make up around his eyes in the car on the way there. He got his nose pierced in the bathroom, three people crammed into the tiny space. (He’s fucking shocked he didn’t get an infection).
He made out with a boy against the back wall while some shitty band raged up front, slamming their instruments into the floor.
(He ended up in tears later that night, black eyeliner staining his cheeks, because the boy’s blue eyes reminded him of someone he was too heartbroken to think about.)
It was a weird coincidence that led him to this little sea of punk weirdos, and nobody, not even Steve, had expected him to get so deep into this counterculture, but he finally felt free, and himself, and happy, and he can’t remember a time in which he has ever felt more comfortable in his own skin.
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still musing on whether or not Pharah was intended to be autistic-coded in her PVE logs. Like it makes sense, autistic people tend to have a strong sense of justice that can sometimes lead to black and white thinking and morality (which Pharah very clearly struggles with). She’s just not a character I ever thought of as potentially being autistic. But things like the over-explaining in the logs, the ridiculous adherence to arbitrary rules, and the repeated complaints about loud noises bothering her makes me wonder if that’s what they were going for.
I mean I’d be all for it tbh. Personally I’ve since incorporated it into my interpretation of her character already lol
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