I’m actually excited about Space Gay Communism

The possibility of Fully Automated Luxury Gay Space Communism is not only palpable but also pretty exciting.

It’s the 30h of July of 2018, as you might have read above. I’m currently sitting in my dining room, all alone, in the silent company of my obese cat, and other progressive clichés. I’ve got a confession to make: In spite of an unpublished history of anti-collectivist activism, I am not only not troubled but actually looking forward to the success of the left’s latest and most interesting proposal: the establishment of a Homonormative Dictatorship of the Proletariat in the United States of America. It sounds like it’d be a lot of fun.

I can picture it, and it’s quite a relief from the sight of my cat cleaning his genitals with his mouth (he’s quite a contortionist, the little guy)- However, I picture the triumph of the — Brooklyn Collective (? I don’t know their name, is there even a communist party in America?

My mother grew up in Cuba, and both her and my father, a disenchanted Marxist who the latest scholarship would label as “skinny fat”, lived in Cuba, and know of the atrocious power structures and lacking distributive systems of communist dictatorships, but a gender-critical, collectivized, and fully-automated government of the many, queer, and magically rich fills my heart with joy.

What we could achieve as a race, if we abandoned the constraints of greed, and opened our beings to a new tomorrow, in a brand new world that’s like a gigantic Bergdorf Goodmans from which no one is excluded. How great we could be!

The human race should be born again genderless, following a Utopia that has failed time and time again due to the same forces that fuel capitalism, but that could work if implemented by genderqueer folks.

I picture myself, entering my palace in Mars, dressed like a short, stock and racially ambiguous Jeffree Star, greeting my martian lover of three State-Funded tits with a kiss on the cheek, and my heart is filled with joy. No hungry kids on the martian streets, no meth, no alienating capital, just bisexuals (or “pansexuals”, if our communes don’t hold a rule against pretentiousness), living happily, levitating and producing technology for the benefit of humanity. Finally, for the benefit of us all. The day is getting closer, I guess. Let’s suppose.

I spent the last thirty minutes mouth-to-mouth with Luigi Bosca, so anything seems possible. The future is glistening. Now I can’t read what I’m writing anymore, for I see my manifesto blurred through the veil of tears.

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