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#is that a thing real people can do
baejax-the-great · 11 months
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cannot even explain the frustration of being 90% of the way through editing a chapter and having a fucking fever??? come out of nowhere?? and sap my brain of the ability to do *anything*
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andthebeanstalk · 1 year
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Today my therapist introduced me to a concept surrounding disability that she called "hLep".
Which is when you - in this case, you are a disabled person - ask someone for help ("I can't drink almond milk so can you get me some whole milk?", or "Please call Donna and ask her to pick up the car for me."), and they say yes, and then they do something that is not what you asked for but is what they think you should have asked for ("I know you said you wanted whole, but I got you skim milk because it's better for you!", "I didn't want to ruin Donna's day by asking her that, so I spent your money on an expensive towing service!") And then if you get annoyed at them for ignoring what you actually asked for - and often it has already happened repeatedly - they get angry because they "were just helping you! You should be grateful!!"
And my therapist pointed out that this is not "help", it's "hLep".
Sure, it looks like help; it kind of sounds like help too; and if it was adjusted just a little bit, it could be help. But it's not help. It's hLep.
At its best, it is patronizing and makes a person feel unvalued and un-listened-to. Always, it reinforces the false idea that disabled people can't be trusted with our own care. And at its worst, it results in disabled people losing our freedom and control over our lives, and also being unable to actually access what we need to survive.
So please, when a disabled person asks you for help on something, don't be a hLeper, be a helper! In other words: they know better than you what they need, and the best way you can honor the trust they've put in you is to believe that!
Also, I want to be very clear that the "getting angry at a disabled person's attempts to point out harmful behavior" part of this makes the whole thing WAY worse. Like it'd be one thing if my roommate bought me some passive-aggressive skim milk, but then they heard what I had to say, and they apologized and did better in the future - our relationship could bounce back from that. But it is very much another thing to have a crying shouting match with someone who is furious at you for saying something they did was ableist. Like, Christ, Jessica, remind me to never ask for your support ever again! You make me feel like if I asked you to call 911, you'd order a pizza because you know I'll feel better once I eat something!!
Edit: crediting my therapist by name with her permission - this term was coined by Nahime Aguirre Mtanous!
Edit again: I made an optional follow-up to this post after seeing the responses. Might help somebody. CW for me frankly talking about how dangerous hLep really is.
#hlep#original#mental health#my sympathies and empathies to anyone who has to rely on this kind of hlep to get what they need.#the people in my life who most need to see this post are my family but even if they did I sincerely doubt they would internalize it#i've tried to break thru to them so many times it makes my head hurt. so i am focusing on boundaries and on finding other forms of support#and this thing i learned today helps me validate those boundaries. the example with the milk was from my therapist.#the example with the towing company was a real thing that happened with my parents a few months ago while I was age 28. 28!#a full adult age! it is so infantilizing as a disabled adult to seek assistance and support from ableist parents.#they were real mad i was mad tho. and the spoons i spent trying to explain it were only the latest in a long line of#huge family-related spoon expenditures. distance and the ability to enforce boundaries helps. haven't talked to sisters for literally the#longest period of my whole life. people really believe that if they love you and try to help you they can do no wrong.#and those people are NOT great allies to the chronically sick folks in their lives.#you can adore someone and still fuck up and hurt them so bad. will your pride refuse to accept what you've done and lash out instead?#or will you have courage and be kind? will you learn and grow? all of us have prejudices and practices we are not yet aware of.#no one is pure. but will you be kind? will you be a good friend? will you grow? i hope i grow. i hope i always make the choice to grow.#i hope with every year i age i get better and better at making people feel the opposite of how my family's ableism has made me feel#i will see them seen and hear them heard and smile at their smiles. make them feel smart and held and strong.#just like i do now but even better! i am always learning better ways to be kind so i don't see why i would stop
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inkskinned · 1 year
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the thing is there's like, a point of oversaturation for everything, and it's why so many things get dropped after a few minutes. and we act like millennials or gen z kids "have short attention spans" but... that's not quite it. it's more like - we did like it. you just ruined it.
capitalism sees product A having moderate success, and then everything has to come out with their "own version" of product A (which is often exactly the same). and they dump extreme amounts of money and environmental waste into each horrible simulacrum they trot out each season.
now it's not just tiktokkers making videos; it's that instagram and even fucking tumblr both think you want live feeds and video-first programming. and it helps them, because videos are easier to sneak native ads into. the books coming out all have to have 78 buzzwords in them for SEO, or otherwise they don't get published. they are making a live-action remake of moana. i haven't googled it, but there's probably another marvel or starwars something coming out, no matter when you're reading this post.
and we are like "hi, this clone of project A completely misses the point of the original. it is soulless and colorless and miserable." and the company nods and says "yes totally. here is a different clone, but special." and we look at clone 2 and we say "nope, this one is still flat and bad, y'all" and they're like "no, totally, we hear you," and then they make another clone but this time it's, like, a joyless prequel. and by the time they've successfully rolled out "clone 89", the market is incredibly oversaturated, and the consumer is blamed because the company isn't turning a profit.
and like - take even something digital like the tumblr "live streaming" function i just mentioned. that has to take up server space and some amount of carbon footprint; just so this brokenass blue hellsite can roll out a feature that literally none of its userbase actually wants. the thing that's the kicker here: even something that doesn't have a physical production plant still impacts the environment.
and it all just feels like it's rolling out of control because like, you watch companies pour hundreds of thousands of dollars into a remake of a remake of something nobody wants anymore and you're like, not able to afford eggs anymore. and you tell the company that really what you want is a good story about survival and they say "okay so you mean a YA white protagonist has some kind of 'spicy' love triangle" and you're like - hey man i think you're misunderstanding the point of storytelling but they've already printed 76 versions of "city of blood and magic" and "queen of diamond rule" and spent literally millions of dollars on the movie "Candy Crush Killer: Coming to Eat You".
it's like being stuck in a room with a clown that keeps telling the same joke over and over but it's worse every time. and that would be fine but he keeps fucking charging you 6.99. and you keep being like "no, i know it made me laugh the first time, but that's because it was different and new" and the clown is just aggressively sitting there saying "well! plenty of people like my jokes! the reason you're bored of this is because maybe there's something wrong with you!"
#this was much longer i had to cut it down for legibility#but i do want to say i am aware this post doesnt touch on human rights violations as a result of fast fashion#that is because it deserves its own post with a completely different tone#i am an environmental educator#so that's what i know the most about. it wouldn't be appropriate of me to mention off-hand the real and legitimate suffering#that people are going through#without doing my research and providing real ways to help#this is a vent post about a thing i'm watching happen; not a call to action. it would be INCREDIBLY demeaning#to all those affected by the fast fashion industry to pretend that a post like this could speak to their suffering#unfortunately one of the horrible things about latestage capitalism as an activist is that SO many things are linked to this#and i WANT to talk about all of them but it would be a book in its own right. in fact there ARE books about each level of this#and i encourage you to seek them out and read them!!! i am not an expert on that i am just a person on tumblr doing my favorite activity#(complaining)#and it's like - this is the individual versus the industry problem again right because im blaming myself#for being an expert on environmental disaster (which is fucking important) but not knowing EVERYTHING about fast fashion#i'm blaming myself for not covering the many layers of this incredibly complicated problem im pointing out#rather than being like. yeah so actually the fault here lies with the billion dollar industries actually.#my failure to be able to condense an incredibly immense problem that is BOOK-LENGTH into a single text post that i post for free#is not in ANY fucking way the same amount of harm as. you know. the ACTUAL COMPANIES doing this ACTUAL THING for ACTUAL MONEY.#anyway im gonna go donate money while i'm thinking about it. maybe you can too. we can both just agree - well i fuckin tried didn't i#which is more than their CEOs can say
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satellites-halo · 7 months
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Sick of posts that say stuff like "all mobility aid users should weaponize their mobility aids"
hey man, I can't do that! I need to bring my mobility aids into places that would deny me entrance for things like spikes and barbed wire! not every cripplepunk is a white skinny cane user, and having something deemed as a 'weapon' on some of us can be genuinely life threatening, even if it's a mobility aid! I don't want to have my rollator taken away from me and have to be searched bc I put some spikes on a seat cover or something!!! let cripplepunks express their punkness however is safe and comfortable for them, don't expect us all to be able to do the same things you can, because we all cant
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comradekatara · 9 months
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the avatar & the firelord – a decade later and still a coupla silly geese
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skumhuu · 2 months
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Proshipper = you're against censorship and harassment over fiction & curate your experience on the internet to have a healthy distance from things that make you uncomfortable
Antishipper = you're okay and even encourage harassment towards "freaks" and "weirdos" society deems acceptable to hurt
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sergle · 7 months
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I'm thinking abt that pretty fall leaves embroidery pattern post and about how like... it is categorically a repost, it's a reupload. right? a thing that is generally disliked. but because it's credited, it's genuinely boosting the artist in question. and it could ALWAYS be like this. reposting content could ALWAYS be a symbiotic relationship, but because sourcing back to the original creator of something is so uncommon, it's just easier to ask people not to repost it at all. and people still don't understand the difference. or they'll go to the effort of cropping out usernames/signatures to repost something, which is More Effort than literally crediting the creator of something you liked enough to want to repost. Like. I literally don't actually care if my own shit gets reposted, you have to understand. I just don't want it STOLEN. But "do not repost" is easier to write on my art than "you can repost this, but don't alter the image/remove my signature, don't you dare write 'credit goes to the artist' because that is not credit, please link back to my original post or someplace that you can actually find me. please use an actual link/url instead of writing a non-clickable link of my username, because making it text instead of a clickable link cuts the number of people who will go to the effort of visiting my own page in Half." All those aggregate themed accounts, those fuckin annoying as hell instagrams and facebook groups that are like "body positive art we love wamen 💕 hashtag feminism" and then MASS-STEAL plus sized art created by women, if pages like these that always go and steal my older self-portraits and other works... If they just put a link to my prints of those pieces in the text of those posts, or, fuck, my commission info page? I would literally be living on the moon right now. I would have a house on the moon
#there is actually nothing morally wrong with running an account that just reuploads ppl's artwork or their jokes or their cosplays#if you just put a VISIBLE LINK in the description of your post with proper credit then it would be beneficial for everyone#because you can get your little clout or whatever it is you want by putting a bunch of same-category content on a page#but nobody's getting fucked over because if your post blows up then people just get FUNNELED to the source#because it's placed so plainly where everyone can see it#and yeah it's better to retweet or reblog but#on the rare occasion that I see my shit reuploaded on tumblr WHICH IS WEIRD BC I MAKE MY OWN POSTS HERE but anyway#someone making their own post where they upload my stuff. and it's always the floral self portraits so let's say it's a post with all those#if I scroll to the bottom and it says like. Artwork by Serglesinner on Twitter <-- clickable link [Sergle's Prints] <-- clickable link#to my etsy#I'm like oh okay and all the anger leaves my body and I'm like ah I see. and I toss the rock aside#like oh okay so you actually care that a person made these pieces. Instead of posting the caption ''women <3'' or smth#like you've GOTTA die if you do that. but if you just link back#or if you go to the effort of writing like a description with a BLURB? like it's a damn museum. like a light paragraph of info#about what the art is and who made it and their links#I am literally sucking you in a strange and peculiar manner. that is extremely helpful#and maybe other artists don't want this AT ALL and they'd rather people not reupload even if it is credited#but I feeeeeeeeel. like 99% of the time this would solve the issue#reposters could genuinely be helping ppl. sometimes the repost gets more traction than the real thing#as long as it credits the creator then that's an okay thing to happen!#that can land somebody a sale! a commission order! a new fan! A JOB#A JOB!!!!!!!!!!#sergle.txt#I didn't write this eloquently AT ALL what the fuck ever barkbarkbarkbark
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camgoloud · 1 year
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colin: i’m gay
ted, radiating youth pastor energy: you know who else played for the other team?
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poorly-drawn-mdzs · 5 months
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Thank you all for voting in the poll to decide who was going to be the leader of the band! It turned out to be such a close race!
#poorly drawn mdzs#better drawn mdzs#mdzs#madam lan#A-qing#Band AU#(Reminder that Madam Lan's design inspiration goes to Qourmet!)#Madam Lan may have been the winner per vote count but there were so many strong advocates for A-Qing!#I played around with a few versions of what the 'poll winner' art was going to be and ultimately decided I wanted them both.#As any good theater love knows though - The battle for leadership was a ruse. They *all* get a chance to be featured.#Cooperation was the real end goal! However I do think these two have the best frontman energy of the group.#Or at least 'crowd favourite' energy. I also really loved hearing what people thought their vocal styles would be like!#This was probably one of my favourite polls to do and I love drawing these characters a lot B*)#I'd love to spend a bit more time in this AU so count on me bringing it back.#One thing I keep feeling like I need to redeem myself on is Madam Lan's Translucent skirt. I have *not* done the concept justice yet.#It is such a crack-platonic ship but I want to think Madam Lan and A-Qing would enjoy each other's company.#Possibly also with JYL as well. They can be like mutually beneficial therapy dogs to each other.#Madam Lan never got to see her kids grow up into teenagers after all. She only had sons. Never daughters.#Even if she saw her kids once a month we do know she treated them with so much love and kindness.#She would bite the shit out of YZY for yelling at JYL. What a sight to see. A-Qing would also start biting (for fun).
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blueskittlesart · 1 month
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deeply refreshing to see someone critical of Swift who also like, genuinely likes her. Like i'm neutral to positive on her, but the online discourse has been absolutely rancid. flipping between "Taylor Swift has never done anything wrong ever and she's a fucking genius" and "Taylor Swift is the worst lyricist of all time and also a bad person" is exhausting, so thank you for like. nuance or something lmao
not to make it serious for a sec but i genuinely think that being able to like things that are bad is really important. like I think that it's an important skill to be able to look at something and see what you personally enjoy about it and then take a step back and acknowledge that objectively it's flawed. and to also be able to acknowledge that liking something isn't necessarily an identity or a moral stance. and i think that fandom space in general could really benefit from more people taking the time to learn how to do that. it's okay to like things that are bad
#people ask me sometimes why ill occasionally talk about something i like and then go 'but it's bad' and the answer is usually because it is#i love teen wolf. i love genshin impact. i love detective conan. and i fucking LOVE taylor swift. that doesnt mean theyre good#it just means i like them. and recognizing their flaws actually helps me better identify what i like about them!#it's like. in my mind bad > good is the x axis and i like it > i dont like it is the y axis yk. they're not mutually exclusive#tldr it's not that serious. we can all relax a little#irt taylor swift i do also think she has done some real harm to her fans in enabling them to deflect all criticism of her as misogyny#and i don't think it's fully the fault of these people who are parroting that response bc so much of her marketing has deliberately#reinforced this idea that to be a swiftie is to be a part of a sisterhood and that any attack on taylor is an attack on all of those women#who are in that in-group. when that's obviously not the case. but she's marketed herself as. for lack of a better term. 'girl music'#to the point where it makes her fans feel as though any criticism of the music or the woman responsible for it is an attack on their#personal experience of womanhood/girlhood/sisterhood/etc. and that's how you get all of thess bad-faith accusations of misogyny#i don't necessarily think this was her deliberate goal with her marketing tho because like. on first glance such a strong sense of communit#among fans sounds like a great thing. the friendship bracelets i got at the eras tour movie are really genuinely special to me.#but it does present a problem when your fans are unable to separate how they feel about the community and experience your music has fostere#from how they feel about you as a person. especially when you are a billionaire who absolutely CANNOT be above criticism in this economy#anyway. tldr i love taylor's music and i don't think swiftie hivemind is as deliberately malicious as it may seem#but it's obviously necessary to be able to take a step back and look objectively at what you're participating in.#anyway stream ttpd or don't idc <3#taylor swift
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faeriekit · 3 months
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Health and Hybrids (XIX)👽👻💚
[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]
PART ONE is here PART TWO is here PART THREE is here PART FOUR is here and PART FIVE is here PART SIX is here and PART SEVEN is here PART EIGHT is here PART NINE is here PART TEN is here PART ELEVEN is here PART TWELVE is here PART THIRTEEN is here PART FOURTEEN is here PART FIFTEEN is here PART SIXTEEN is here PART SEVENTEEN is here PART EIGHTEEN is here...nineteen...oy vey.
💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)
Where we last left off... THE BART RETURNS! The earth rejoices! 🥳🎉 Physical therapy can be fun, even if it usually isn't!
Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.
💚👻👽👻💚
Danny learns a few more words with practice.
Foda is simple. If Danny is hungry, he can ask for foda. It sounds exactly like food, and when he asks, they feed him.
…Or they up his IV. Which. Danny’s tongue might still feel sore and nasty, but the doctors and nurses and millions of minders don’t seem that mad when he sticks his tongue out at them. Sometimes they even laugh.
They don’t even sound all that mean.
It takes Danny a good chunk of waking time for him to realize that he…probably is hooked up to something he doesn’t want to think about, since all the efforts of lifting and moving him haven’t resulted in a single bathroom trip since he woke up here.
Firstly: horrible.
Secondly: his legs are super, absolutely, positively immobilized, and if someone doesn’t give him enough medication quickly enough after it wears off, Danny is very aware that something is deeply wrong with them.
So. Uh. That’s…gross.
He learns bealo just as quickly. He isn’t sure what bealo means, per se, but when he says it, they up his medication until Danny can pretend he doesn’t have any legs again.
God niht is goodnight, unless Danny is feeling snippy, and then it’s just niht.
…The one lady who minds him always says the whole thing, though. Even when Danny’s mean. Like the one time he threw his rocket at someone.
Or the time he started ignoring everyone when they tried to touch him.
…Or the one time he tried to freeze his IV bag, and put everyone on alert because if he’d been human, that would have seriously hurt him.
“Sorry,” Danny’d whispered, even if it wouldn’t mean anything to her.
She’d patted his hand and meant it. Danny’d had to dry his eyes with his wrist. “Eall es wel.”
Anyway.
Danny hates being in the freaking bed every hour of every day. So when his “sitting up” exercises turn into “hey, let’s try the wheelchair” practice, Danny gets so excited-slash-nervous that he kind of feels like he’s going to throw up all the liquids he’s been injected with.
None of the regular people try to lift him. Instead the lady does it herself, scooping Danny up in very strong arms, the golden cuffs on her wrists weirdly warm on Danny’s skin. When Danny’s settled, his legs sticking out real weird and his back kind of sore, he’s…out of bed.
He’s. He’s not in bed anymore.
And. Sure. It’s temporary, but it’s not the bed. Danny can wriggle, and he can sort of palm the wheels underneath him with the heels of his shaky hands, and he can see so much more of himself than he has in ages and ages.
For one. Both of his legs are in casts. That’s. Not good. He can’t feel it right now, but the sight of fully encased legs…
Well. If he can transform that won’t be a problem. If. If he has to escape. But it is…it’s super scary. He mostly remembers being captured, but the…the other people had been focusing more on his thoracic cavity and his face and head.
…So why are his legs so bad? Did something else happen?
(It did, didn’t it?)
(…Didn’t it??)
His hands shake, but there’s something to all that grip training, or else Danny wouldn’t be able to paw at his neckline to look down his own shirt. Or, well, his cloth nightie, anyway.
It’s good that he looks, since, well…his chest is glowing a solid green.
Whatever should probably be scar tissue. Uh. It…isn’t. There’re gouges down his chest and a crater where his heart should be that probably should be healing over, considering, you know, he’s not freaking dead at this exact second (mostly??), but. Instead of, like, healed flesh, or, say, his insides, there’s a transparent green…jelly… holding him together.
He can see how the green bounces with his heart beat.
...Danny drops the neckline of his gown. His breath comes in choking bursts, eyes pressed into his eye sockets—he feels sick.
He is sick. He has been sick.
The humans are keeping him here because he’s a freak of nature and he’s broken from head to toe and the Guys in White carved his flesh out of his body and opened him up like a can of cranberry sauce.
He presses his hands to his chest, to his stomach, just trying to breathe for long enough that he doesn’t throw up his oatmeal and occasional juice and IV nutrition onto the pristine floor of his sickroom. The people around him all make sympathetic noises that don’t help because he doesn’t know what they mean.
And then he feels something weird.
Not all the sensation in his fingers are back. It’s easier for him to feel impediments than it is to feel textures—something that blocks him from moving, rather than anything sensory-specific. He can usually tell when he touches fabric, because when he moves too far, it pulls tight around his hand. He can tell when he’s on something solid when his hand fails to go through it.
There is something solid sticking out of him.
Danny’s heartbeat quickens. It’s not. It’s. There’s something in him.
And it’s not—it’s so solid. When Danny brushes his hands against it, he can feel his skin and his flesh move with it, trying not to dislodge the thing embedded in him. It pulls at his skin. He doesn’t know what it is.
His fingers tremble as he tries to brush over the object through his gown, trying to figure out its shape from faulty touch alone. It’s like waking up to find himself jammed with needles all over again.
People are talking around them. Danny doesn’t try to listen in. He’s scared. He’s so scared. Something’s happened to him, and he didn’t even notice.
Some of it is—hard. There’s a crinkling sound when he moves. Danny manages to pull his gown neckline back again to catch something of a glimpse, and all he sees is plastic.
He doesn’t know what it is.
He doesn’t know who to ask. He can’t understand anyone and he doesn’t know if he trusts them.
They put something in him. There’s something embedded in him.
He thinks he’s going to cry.
Something touches his arm—Danny flinches. His core tightens with stress as he puts a metaphorical hand on the button, ready to run and hide at any notice.
It’s the lady. He knows her.
No, he doesn’t. He doesn’t know her at all. He can’t talk to her in any way that matters. She’s not a doctor. He doesn’t know why she’s here, or why she’s keeping him here.
She’s nice. She fed him. But is that all it takes to trick him? To make him compliant? Pliable?
She stops touching him when he gets scared, her eyes worried. She kneels—closer than Danny would like, probably, but she keeps her hands to herself. Danny’s heart races faster, out of order, starting and stopping and starting again like a bad engine.
“Eow eart wel?” she asks from his left arm rest, a common question, so softly. Danny doesn’t know what it means. “Eall es wel. Ænlic eow, ænlic me. Bruce bræð wið me?”
She takes a big, deep, breath. Her hand rises slightly over her chest, following an exaggerated movement. Don’t panic. Breathe. Breathe like me. One, two, three.
Danny’s breaths are more choked. More panicked.
But when she breathes, he breathes with her—even with every stutter in between.
“Hwæt es woh[O3] ?” the lady asks, so gently it’s almost a whisper. Her pointer finger hovers over his body, but doesn’t touch—and eventually, Danny figures out she probably wants to know where he’s hurting.
But he’s not hurting. He’s scared. There’s something inside him, and he isn’t sure what it is. He presses the heel of his hand to the object. He feels something rigid refuse to bend inside his flesh.
There’s something of recognition in the woman’s face. “Inne cwic tima,” she says, more certain of answers outside the room, and darts away,
Danny wants to bounce his bound leg. He feels awful when anyone is in the room with him, considering how little of them he knows, but, somehow, it’s so much worse when he’s actually alone.
When she comes back, there’s a second person who walks through the double doors with her, in blue scrubs with ducks on them. They wave to Danny.
Danny…blinks. He feels numb. It’s kind of a problem.
They take it in stride, though; in their hands is a blank board and a chunky marker. The cap comes off, the new person scribbles for a minute or so, and then turns the board around so that Danny can see.
It’s a…person. A rudimentary outline person, sure, with some visible bones and organs to fill in the person-shaped outline. Danny can recognize most of them from anatomy class, although those memories are more…personal, now. A little more painful.
The person taps on the board. The person points to Danny.
Danny frowns.
The person turns the board back around and makes some Pew, Pew, Pew! sounds with their mouth, occasionally opening and closing their hand over the board to match the noise. There’s some more scribbling. When the board turns back around, there’s a violent smudge of marker on top of the drawn person’s drawn intestines.
The person takes their covered pinky finger and erases a little neat circle of marker in the intestines, mostly favoring one side. They draw a little arrow from the hole to the general outside-of-the-person blank area. Then another circle, with a thicker circle inside.
Danny recognizes the object jutting out of him. Oh. This is how he got it.
The person—probably a doctor, Danny guesses, or the surgeon who did this to him—do these people even need credentials, actually?—hands the board over to the lady. They hold out ten outstretched fingers, marker under their arm, and make a show of counting every one of the outstretched fingers with the opposite hand. Then they take the board back.
And then, when they write on the board, Danny can actually understand what they say.
Or, well, it’s numbers! The numbers are the same as his—the line and a circle is clearly meant to be a ten, and the little x is a multiplication symbol— they draw a 10, as clearly and a brightly as it could be against a stark white board, and add a little x 7, probably to indicate a week; the result is ten suns times seven, or seventy suns.
Danny feels his heart bounce in his chest. Danny would bet a whole lot of money that the number is meant to be seventy days. There is an end point. It’s not that Danny is free to be subjected to random anatomical whims—there’s a goal here. This was purposeful.
The little circle-within a circle gets erased. The hole is scribbled through as if it was never there, and the person makes a weaving gesture with the marker that Danny is certain is meant to be sewing.
Tears prick at his eyes. The lady gets close by him again, but Danny lets her. His hands aren’t good enough for wiping tears the way he wants to, yet. Help and company are good.
She gives him a tissue from Danny's bedside table. He takes it with a whisper of a grip.
“Seventy?” Danny rasps, tearful. Hopeful. Terrified of hope. He practically jams the tissue into his eye sockets.
The lady’s eyes go wide. “Seventy,” she repeats, marveling.
It’s enough. Nothing is perfect, but it’s enough. And if Danny's allowed to spend so long in front of the space window that he falls asleep in his wheelchair, well. It's not like he was in charge of where they went.
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medicalunprofessional · 6 months
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the phoenix
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inkskinned · 1 year
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the rise of AI art isn't surprising to us. for our entire lives, the attitude towards our skills has always been - that's not a real thing. it has been consistently, repeatedly devalued.
people treat art - all forms of it - as if it could exist by accident, by rote. they don't understand how much art is in the world. someone designed your home. someone designed the sign inside of your local grocery store. when you quote a character or line from something in media, that's a line a real person wrote.
"i could do that." sure, but you didn't. there's this joke where a plumber comes over to a house and twists a single knob. charges the guy 10k. the guy, furious, asks how the hell the bill is so high. the plumber says - "turning the knob was a dollar. the knowledge is the rest of the money."
the trouble is that nobody believes artists have knowledge. that we actively study. that we work hard, beyond doing our scales and occasionally writing a poem. the trouble is that unless you are already framed in a museum or have a book on a shelf or some kind of product, you aren't really an artist. hell, because of where i post my work, i'll never be considered a poet.
the thing that makes you an artist is choice. the thing that makes all art is choice. AI art is the fetid belief that art is instead an equation. that it must answer a specific question. Even with machine learning, AI cannot make a choice the way we can - because the choices we make have always been personal, complicated. our skills cannot be confined to "prompt and execution." what we are "solving" isn't just a system of numbers - it is how we process our entire existence. it isn't just "2 and 2 is 4", it's staring hard at the numbers and making the four into an alligator. it's rearranging the letters to say ow and it is the ugly drawing we make in the margin.
at some point, you will be able to write something by feeding my work into a machine. it will be perfectly legible and even might sound like me. but a machine doesn't understand why i do these things. it can be taught preferences, habits, statistical probability. it doesn't know why certain vowels sound good to me. it doesn't know the private rules i keep. it doesn't know how to keep evolving.
"but i want something to exist that doesn't exist yet." great. i'm glad you feel creative. go ahead and pay a fucking artist for it.
this is all saying something we all already knew. the sad fucking truth: we have to die to remind you. only when we're gone do we suddenly finally fucking mean something to you. artists are not replicable. we each genuinely have a skill, talent, and process that makes us unique. and there's actual quiet power in everything we do.
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puppyeared · 4 months
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mascot
#this isnt vent dw!!! i dont smoke either i was just kinda going for some sort of vibe#i know its usually played for laughs or like. dark humor whenever ppl draw mascots without their heads and u can see the actor#but i always found it fascinating and a little sobering. ever since i was a kid ive always been hyperaware of ppl in costumes#like. even if i tried to block it out id be thinking the whole time 'its not real. theres a person in that suit who gets paid to do this'#it used to be an uncomfortable nagging feeling but now its like. oh yeah theres someone with a whole life story doing this. idk#i think when i tell ppl im not conscious of my body its like. im not dysphoric or experience dissociation but. at the same time#it feels like my physical body doesnt fully outwardly represent me..?? like some sort of costume#i like to phrase it as being a giant hairless mecha and inside theres a very tiny puppy piloting the damn thing#and the other thing is. when i draw my sona i dont really see it as what i /wish/ i looked like or how i want people to see me#its like being in a costume and just. fucking around with some sort of barrier between myself and others#plus mascots arent allowed to talk and i dont really. engage with other ppl in public spaces that it kinda feels like ad lib#i share a lot abt my life but ironically im also a private person..... i guess it just gives me some sort of control over my identity#my art#myart#my oc#sona#mascot#furry#??? is this furry art????#twinkle#puppysona#edit: had to outline it bc i just realized it looks really weird on dark mode -_-
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greencarnation · 4 months
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i liked barbie but acting like greta and margot not getting nominated is the biggest feminist issue of our times is so silly. 2 mothers are killed per hour in gaza. women are using tent scraps as sanitary products. women are getting c-sections without anesthesia. fuck off with your white feminism and award shows
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ghouljams · 4 months
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you know what, as Angels self-proclaimed cool aunt, i am going to do a very controversial thing and say hurt. her. i want to see Keegan destroyed and sobbing. i want keegan not being able to look at their kids for more than a few seconds because they look like her. i want him finding drawings that the little monster made of their family and just breaking down again. give. me. the. angst. (pretty please)
Well. I've been wanting to write this for a while, but I'll keep it short.
tw miscarriage
You think you're a good pregnant person. It was rough the first go round, mostly because you were doing it on your own, but now you have Keegan around. He's around all the time, you can't turn a corner without him being there. You can't lift anything or grab for things off shelves, you can't go to the store alone, and Keegan follows you to work with the little monster in tow. It's actually sort of sweet saying goodbye to your little family outside your office every morning. You kiss both of them and wave goodbye, knowing they'll be there to pick you up when you get off.
It's a neat little routine you fall into. You feel good, healthy and happy. Keegan's started getting up early, getting Ainsley ready for the day and making breakfast. He kisses your cheek every chance he gets, settles his hand against your stomach, pulls you into his lap to feed you, he's more affectionate, more attentive than he's ever been. You'd be a fool not to give into his care. You know what it's like to be on your own, so this time you're taking full advantage of him.
Your toddler climbs into bed between you and Keegan for stories before bed, and cuddles close against your side. When their eyes are heavy and Keegan finally scoops them up into his arms to cart off to bed they reach for you, wrap their arms around your neck and whisper a good night to you. Your heart swells with happiness as you kiss their cheek. Your baby. You're holding off on telling them the good news until you can show them a proper ultrasound. It'll make them happy seeing a picture.
You really shouldn't be so happy, you're only a few weeks in, not even showing yet. It's Keegan, you think, his excitement is infectious and you've never seen him so happy. It takes everything in you not to smile every time he looks at you, every time he touches you. It takes everything not to giggle and grab for him every time you remember that you're having a baby with the man you love.
Keegan wakes you up at the first scent of blood. Spotting, then a brilliant horrible red. Your stomach drops, then the cramps hit and you don't have time to mourn because it hurts. It hurts and there's no amount of tears you can cry into Keegan's shoulder that make it stop hurting. Keegan's lips press against your temple, his arms tight around you as he calls 999. You hold on just as tightly, your body shaking with an emotion you can't put name to.
It wasn't far along, you try to tell yourself, I didn't even know them.
It doesn't help.
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