Semi-serious proposal: "A day in the life"

[Anglo-Saxon Philistine]

So I've noticed a lot of "But mister sir, how will socialism look like exactly?" threads recently. (If you are in fact a woman, please replace "mister sir" with "mister lady" in the preceding sentence. Or don't. Look, I'm trying to talk about something else.) And with the usual caveat about how foolish it is to plan for the socialist society while the bourgeoisie is still in power, I think this can be an interesting exercise, as long as it's not taken too seriously (so please don't stab someone in the liver because they want to place the tsentry above the commissariats or something). And it does help us understand both our own thought (what we want and what we're fighting for) and other people (what horrifyingly evil revisionists they are).

So, I thought, what better way is there to describe a future society than from the standpoint of an ordinary member of that society going about their daily life? Well, a lot of them. But shut up, this is the one the voices in my head suggested and if I don't listen to them bad things happen.

Therefore, I propose that those who are interested write a short piece describing how they envision the daily life of an average person in the socialist society. Trying, of course, to showcase the various differences between the modes of production - i.e. you wouldn't write about that one day Meguca MacExample spent doing nothing but flipping through the channels on the telly because she had a headache (being Meguca is suffering). But, you know, things like getting groceries, going to work, voting etc.

So, would anyone be interested in doing this pointless thing? You don't need to have any literary skills, as should be evidenced by this proposal, which seems to have been written by one 870 smashing his face into a keyboard and hoping the results make sense.

Just as a final warning, if this does not catch on I will suffocate myself using a lukewarm croissant. Possibly.

[Fourth Internationalist]

I would be, provided there are no serious deadlines (I am a HUGE procrastinator and often find myself "busy" when in reality I am just doing pointless stuff). Do you imagine this as like a short story? It would be interesting because it would show what whoever writes a certain story wants from a socialist life.

[Anglo-Saxon Philistine]

Yes, something like a short story, I imagine, with the emphasis being on plot rather than stylistic elements. And don't worry, I wasn't going to suggest a strict deadline anyway, I have a few monstrous books with titles like "Folded Diagram Method in Atomic Nuclei" to go through these days.

[Tim Cornelis]

A day in the life of Joe, inhabitant of a solid, but less advanced phase of communist society.

Joe wakes up alternating between 09:30 and circa 10:00. This because in this stage of communist development there is a 4 hour work day, and there are morning shifts at his teaching work, starting at 11:00, and midday shifts starting at 15:00. Joe's consistently well rested (Research has shown for teens at least that when they have to wake up earlier, they don't go to sleep later).
He teaches kids stuff in settings ranging from structured lessons, to semi-structured, to self-initiated by children or 'structureless'.

When working the midday shift he helps cook for the children -- loads of variety of course.
After work he may visit a public social hub type event in his neighbourhood and mingle with the other local singles, or picks up some food at a communal eating setting -- communal services are freely accessible. Or maybe he streams some TV, no commercials of course. Maybe he sits down behind the computer, giving input for his groceries, which can then subsequently pick up for some work points tomorrow. He never has to worry about finances, or not being able to pay for food or make due on rent. Housing was freely provided, although it had a waiting list.

Occasionally, he goes out with friends, but he's satisfied with the personal entertainment communism provides, him being a big fan of video games. Without profit motive or copyright, individual games can be integrated via modding. A realistic shooter (Arma XVI) in a realistic, life-size urban setting (GTA XVIII) can readily be combined without legal restraint. Consequently, the variation in video gaming is exhaustive.

Sometimes he strolls into the night by himself, looking at the cosily lit streets, staring at the stars, listening to artists playing on the street venue. Danger's never even on his mind.

Of course, he attends meetings from time to time, but he's not too concerned with this. Counter-intuitively, research has shown that the more empowered and enfranchised people feel, the less likely they are to use those tools of empowerment and enfranchisement (kibbutz participation in meetings was about 25% in ordinary meetings). He goes fairly often, to meet his neighbours, plan to clean up the street or neighbourhood, or when there's important issues to discuss -- but he doesn't attend all meetings by a long either.

Also, he sometimes takes trips to Mars.

[Os Cangaceiros]

The day would probably end with someone getting a bullet to the head in the basement of the Ministry of Justice, I'd imagine.

(After a cursory show trial...we're not savages.)

[Quail]

I'll write something later/when I have time :)

[Illegalitarian]

I'm game

but waxing longingly for socialism always leaves me feeling empty inside when reality hits and i realize it's but a dream for now

[Ceallach_the_Witch]

it's so much funnier when libertarians do this though

[GiantMonkeyMan]

It was miserable when I woke but this was Britain and even a classless society couldn't control the weather. I was nearly tempted to just munch on some of yesterday's bread for breakfast but I wanted some fruit so slipped on my shoes and rushed into the rain and then into the communal greenhouse. My senses were immediately buffeted by that lush smell of plant life and the ceaseless patter of rain on the glass roof. A blanket of warmth settled around me from the greenhouse's moderated temperature and I set about picking various berries to go with my cereal. I left a few of the juiciest looking ones as I knew Janine from next door liked to give them to her daughter as a treat.

As I was leaving I noticed no-one had signed off on the rota that they had watered the plants yet. I sighed loudly, where no-one in particular could hear me, and figured I would get it done to save someone else the trouble. I quickly scrawled my signature on today's slot and then filled the cannister with water to sprinkle what plants needed it. Any dead leaves or fruit I collected and tossed in the composting heap before giving my hands a thorough wash. Finally I grabbed my plunder of fruit and rushed out into the rain and back towards my apartment for a well-deserved morning meal.

The rain didn't look like it was going to stop so I decided to settle down with that book I had been reading. It was amazing looking at some of the perspectives of writers of the past. I knew most people didn't read the old stuff anymore, preferring to share their own contemporary work through various readers' and writers' networks, but I had a soft spot for this type of thing. So much worry about careers and relationships; it was pretty alien to me but that's why I enjoyed it, I guess.

Before I could submerge into the world of the past, my phone started ringing. "Dan," I said, answering quickly, "What's up?"

"Hey man," Dan replied, "I need your help fixing something."

Dan was a car fanatic, it was his thing, but occasionally I helped him out. He spent most of his days fixing various peoples' vehicles or working on his own projects. Today though, with the weather... "Look Dan, it's shitty weather today and I can't be bothered to get wet getting to the garage. What's the thing you need help with?"

"I just need an extra pair of hands to fix this motor I'm working on. I helped you out when you wanted to set up the hall to show those movies," he reminded me.

He did as well. My passion was film, both the making of films and the watching of films, and a couple weeks ago me and a few others had organised an educational screening of some documentaries for the community. The kids at the school had even voted to skip their usual classes to come watch it and Dan had helped me set up the venue in preparation.

"Oh, alright. Give me an hour," I finally said.

"I'll have a cup of tea waiting," Dan replied, I could hear the grin on his face.

After dragging my feet to get ready, I rushed out into the rain towards the sheltered tram stop. I usually just rode one of the communal bikes to wherever I needed to go but there was no way I was risking getting more soaked than I needed to. The trams were automated and pretty regular. Every now and again there'd be some meeting discussing possible changes of routes to service different people more easily but the computer system had been designed to account for any discrepancies. I just think some folks liked designing big train sets like they were big children.

As if reading my mind, the tram that showed up had been painted and altered by some enterprising artistic individual to look like a spaceship, complete with flashing blue lights, and I couldn't help the amused chuckle that escaped me. It stopped automatically and I hopped on. I took a seat opposite an electronic notice board that was scrolling through posters for various community ventures and reminding me about various meetings. I already planned to go to a couple, mainly the ones to do with things I actually cared about, so I didn't pay much attention.

---------

I was going to continue this but couldn't be bothered. Essentially I wanted to show that most people did stuff, communally useful stuff as well, but it's all based not on strict regime of wage labour, instead rather a voluntary but planned fashion. 'I' was going to go to the communal garage where my mate Dan works and I would have shown a glimpse at requisitioning different parts needed to fix the car in a planned society as well. Then we were going to head to a community restaurant and help cook a large meal for everyone including some beer the local brewery had finished. Except I can't be bothered to write anymore. It's not very exciting stuff....

[Tim Cornelis]

No trips to Mars though?

[PC LOAD LETTER]

star trek

[Ethics Gradient, Traitor For All Ages]

"Hey Adel, can you hand me my screwdriver?"

"It's not your screwdriver Jeff, it belongs to the community."

"Ok fine, will you hand me the community's screwdriver that happens to be in the tool bag over there."

"No, Im taking a break."