Pantopia Reading Nook 📰🚩
Am I sending too much content (articles, essays, publications etc)?
Since around a third of voters feel like I'm sending too much stuff, I'll try to filter the content a bit more before sending it here (it will not be a huge change, consider it an adjustment). This week tho I've already planned to send some long videos, but then I'll stop for a while (2 long videos, one of which will be published today and a documentary next week). We'll see how it goes. Thank you for your feedback and have a good day ❤️
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Visualizing Bezos's wealth.
This is not the product of Bezos's hard work or meritocracy, but mainly of luck, reckless corporate practices, of owning various monopolies and the actual work of hundreds of thousands of people who are given the barest minimum just to survive.
source
This is not the product of Bezos's hard work or meritocracy, but mainly of luck, reckless corporate practices, of owning various monopolies and the actual work of hundreds of thousands of people who are given the barest minimum just to survive.
source
socialists like Richard Wolff have argued that we should redirect our attention away from the structure of the wider economy and to define socialism as a matter of workplace relations. Wolff tells us that socialism is “less a matter of state versus private workplaces, or state planning versus private markets, and more a matter of democratic versus autocratic workplace organization. A new economy based on worker co-ops will find its own democratic way of structuring relationships among co-ops and society as a whole.”
[I'm not sharing this articles because I necessarily agree with it, but I think it has some interesting takes]
https://jacobinmag.com/2020/05/planned-economy-public-ownership-corporate-management
[I'm not sharing this articles because I necessarily agree with it, but I think it has some interesting takes]
https://jacobinmag.com/2020/05/planned-economy-public-ownership-corporate-management
Jacobinmag
What Socialists Can Take From Corporate Strategic Management
How might we imagine a transition to a socialist economy? There are clues in unlikely places: the management practices of some private corporations, which have been developing planned economies in miniature.
And then, I think about war
by Linda Backiel
Trees no longer holding their arms up to heaven
block the road, intersecting the wrong planes.
The rain does not wash, but slices wind-driven knives
into everything permeable. The dark, a heavy cloak, wires,
lifeless serpents slithering through the rubble. Some of this
gets fixed. Too little, too slowly. We protest. We are tired of
no refrigerator, no stove, no light to switch on; the house feels
dead. Ninety days. Some days, the sun rises, the moon shines,
water flows. Relief. Almost normal. But then it crashes again,
the balloon of normalcy. The lights are gone, the house
newly dead.
We are tired of this. The disaster.
It repeats itself. Each time,
the panic comes a little faster,
we sink deeper into it.
Trauma, stress, syndrome.
I think I am learning to understand.
And then, I think about war.
About how there will be no blue tarps for the houses,
no one to complain to
about the broken everything, how the stink is not just
the uncollected garbage,
but the unburied, unburiable dead.
All these years I thought I knew. We protested.
We chanted: Not in our name. But
we were far away,
or it was far away,
the war we were making, the roofless dark
where no life could hide.
The nights rolled one into another
the terror spread, oil on waters lit by flame after flame.
Some lose limbs and some lose life and
each time the panic comes faster, strikes deeper and
we thought we knew,
but we were far away, chanting
Not in our name.
#poetry source
by Linda Backiel
Trees no longer holding their arms up to heaven
block the road, intersecting the wrong planes.
The rain does not wash, but slices wind-driven knives
into everything permeable. The dark, a heavy cloak, wires,
lifeless serpents slithering through the rubble. Some of this
gets fixed. Too little, too slowly. We protest. We are tired of
no refrigerator, no stove, no light to switch on; the house feels
dead. Ninety days. Some days, the sun rises, the moon shines,
water flows. Relief. Almost normal. But then it crashes again,
the balloon of normalcy. The lights are gone, the house
newly dead.
We are tired of this. The disaster.
It repeats itself. Each time,
the panic comes a little faster,
we sink deeper into it.
Trauma, stress, syndrome.
I think I am learning to understand.
And then, I think about war.
About how there will be no blue tarps for the houses,
no one to complain to
about the broken everything, how the stink is not just
the uncollected garbage,
but the unburied, unburiable dead.
All these years I thought I knew. We protested.
We chanted: Not in our name. But
we were far away,
or it was far away,
the war we were making, the roofless dark
where no life could hide.
The nights rolled one into another
the terror spread, oil on waters lit by flame after flame.
Some lose limbs and some lose life and
each time the panic comes faster, strikes deeper and
we thought we knew,
but we were far away, chanting
Not in our name.
#poetry source
Monthly Review
Monthly Review | And then, I think about war
A new poem by Linda Backiel.