Imagine waking up at 5am because your neighbor fucking barged into your room and woke you up so you don’t be late for university
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Lifehack: Have your house demons hide your wallet while you go out to get weed gummies. Proceed to not need wallet for a week. You'll have plenty of motivation to clean your room.
Downside?
Bursting awake in the middle of the night with the urge to find wallet and randomly pick up room till 5am.
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at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"
like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.
"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."
... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.
and i'd still keep writing.
i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.
i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley
"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"
and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.
it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.
you create because you're greedy.
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Protocol is actually just us Magnus Archives fans rapidly descending into s2-Jon-levels of paranoia. Granted, just like s2 Jon, we have reason to be paranoid, but it's still hilarious to see us all collectively scaling the walls of our enclosure while frothing at the mouth over our theories.
Jonny and Alex are playing us like a cheap harmonica and I'm so here for it
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please help i just had a dream where svsss was a dating sim. so, of course i tried pursuing shen qingqiu, but it ultimately backfired because suddenly he realized that he was in a dating visual novel?? and since i put myself as a guy, he just refused to show up to special in game events to avoid me interacting with him???
and obviously i was like "wtf why isn't he here?" when he didn't show up. then at some point i explored the area, and the screen suddenly zoomed in to show sqq talking to sqh (supposedly telling him all about the little situation). next thing i know, both of them are slowly turning their head to stare at the screen in pure and utter terror
also in some part of the dream, i think i did some liu qingge events or something and as his affection levels rose, he would continuously jump scare me by popping up out of nowhere and go, "its not like i like you or anything!!" while covered in blood and holding out a demonic beast head as if it were a box of treats
anyways, totally random question guys haha if i made an svsss visual novel dating sim would you guys play it. no reason in particular at all.
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Keep Him On a Leash
N) "Well done, Killer. As promised, you can spend the rest of the day with your little lover. Luckily, I ensured they were nearby and ready to receive you as soon as you finished your mission."
K) *sweetheart!
K) *(no no NO no what are you doing here? no RUN go LEAVE don't look at me no STOP)
N) "What's the matter? You should be grateful. Now they know exactly what you are. Isn't that what you wanted?"
-- Nightmare by jokublog
-- Killer by rahafwabas
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my friends & i have big thoughts about bob,,,
THUS! i draw our respective interpretations !!!! as you do
TOP DRAWN LAST NIGHT WHEREAS THE BOTTOM WAS DRAWN IN NOVEMBER '22! LOOK AT THAT
( ft @thedoodlecorner's " Vel " & @lemoneychicken's " Borpse " ~ )
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these days, the summer fan is on, and there is a little cricket in you. your mother would say you don't have ambition, but that's not quite true. you just had different priorities: for most of your life, the pain swallowed so much of your energy that picturing a future was almost impossible. it took so much just to render yourself here without evaporating - making goals always felt shallow, far-off.
at 17, maybe you would have wanted to be famous. maybe you would have wanted to kiss every woman and come home late at night and call the dawn to heel like a dog. to meet taylor swift and ask her to collaborate on poems and french-kiss in the rain. to wiggle your fingers at jealous ex-lovers while you lifted the hem of your ballgown and got out of limousines. a life of rooftops, spinning and glittering.
these days, it isn't that you're tired, but that you have learned the weight of carrying things. you have had the good times. you have laughed at the bottom of a pool. you have had your hands on the paring knife. you know the cost of it, like a carcinogen. these days, you want a life like a stone fruit. these days, you want a life that lays gently on your skin, rather than piercing through.
you are going to get a little condo with your friend. the two of you fantasize about basic things: how it will feel to cook in a friendly kitchen. the serenity of picking out wall paint colors. putting plants in the sunlit corner. you want a place that never rings in anger. where the only echo is jazz music. you want a peace like holding your head under the water.
ah. maybe your younger self would be devastated - you got boring?
she doesn't know yet. she has lived her entire life terrified, running. she has grown so accustomed to the threat that she has fallen in love with the scythe. she thinks passionate and violent are synonyms, that anything lovely has to come with a bad side. she thinks life has to break like a wave - that you need to swallow the ocean in order to stay above the foam. she doesn't know about the boat yet. she doesn't know about spending hours at home, quiet, your hands folded, finding peace. she doesn't know about weightlessness. she thinks everything good is everything sharp. that the pain is what makes something satisfying.
one day she will make cookies from scratch. one day when she breaks a plate, she will be the only one around, and nobody will start shouting. one day she will slip her fingers under the sand, and it will make sense to her. the life assembling in little shards: oh. i've been afraid of a quiet life at home because i've never had a quiet home to come to before.
the gentle world inside her, singing behind a door.
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