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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sure you have "neurospicy accomodations" (stim toys and slime) at your group meeting but are masks required. is it wheelchair accessible? is the lighting harsh or flickering? is there a place to go if you're upset or overstimulated? is there a clear schedule? does anyone in the group speak sign language? could a nonverbal person participate? are there multiple options for activities? is there music? is it loud? is there food? how many options are there? are there common allergens in it? are they clearly labelled? are there flashing lights? can you attend virtually? are hallways and pathways clear? are there accessible bathrooms? do they have a sharps box? do they have space for someone to transfer from a wheelchair to a toilet? do they have space for a caregiver or support worker? are there enough places to sit down? is there enough space for everyone to be without crowding? can people opt-out of planned activities? et cetera...
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I know Percy's desperately trying to escape the godly world but not only do I think the gods aren't going to leave percy alone once he's in New Rome, I also think Percy's in the situation now where he can't refuse at all because like, if he was in the mortal world at a mortal college he at least would be able to try and be like "sorry I can't do a quest right now I've already used up my three excused absences this semester try again in the spring :/" but in New Rome? They will be like "Percy! It is an honor to be hand-selected for a quest. And by the gods no less! Stars above, you should be grateful! I don't know what your little greek camp has taught you but here in Rome, we respect the gods' requests. Your absence will be excused. Now go."
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Headcanon that, every year on their birthday, Kryptonians get new superpowers.
Clark doesn’t really keep track; That’s Bruce’s job, for the most part. This year? Mediumship.
me·di·um·ship
/the capacity, function, or profession of a spiritualistic medium/
“Communication with spirits,” Bruce has this habit of nicking his thumb with his teeth, pretty, hazel eyes glossy with thought. Clark doesn’t need supervision to see how beautiful he is when his mind’s at work. “Fascinating.”
“Yep,”
Clark watches Thomas Wayne’s ghost give him the glare of the century behind his son’s back.
The skin of his jawline is entirely ripped off, peeled by Joe Chill’s gun, like the news article said. Sincerely, the Wayne glare scares Clark more.
“Fascinating.”
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Another link to this post. Meet the parents style.
So, Danny and Jason have been fake dating for a while now, and ended up marrying each other solely for tax benefits. Also, they got cool ass fucking friendship rings that they just couldn't not wear everywhere and being married is convenient so...
Anywho, so Jason has met Danny's parents but Danny hasn't met Jason's parents. Danny knows that he has some ties with the vigilantee scene due to being a Crime Lord-he still doesn't know what to think of his parents connecting the dots immediately when they only met him once while it took him more than that while living with the guy.
He thinks Jason may have been an ex-vigilantee at some point before turning to crime.
Then Danny gets blinded by rich people aura when he finds out that his bestfriend is the long thought dead child of Bruce Wayne. Frankly, he's insulted.
You mean to tell him that his could've been buying ice cream from that high class place all this time!? He shook (literally he grabbed and shook him) that point into Jason, he doesn't care that Jason never told him he was rich but he could've at least bought some high class ice cream once in a while.
Jason who was busy solidifying his power as a crime lord, avoiding his family and making sure not to leak his identity at all: I'm a literal crime lord, and the only thing you care about is me not buying you ice cream?
Danny: YES!!!!
Jason: Dork.
Right anyways, so Jason takes Danny along to meet Bruce and his fam but did say as soon as he started being uncomfortable they're leaving. The batfam is a bit blindsided by Danny, because they thought Jason was bringing his partner but its good to also get a feel for Danny's personality.
Danny and Jason did what's normal for them when Danny starts getting comfortable around the manor full of things that cost waaay more than his rent. Like half-heartedly insulting each other, being snarky, leaning on each other and other such things.
The batfam start thinking that there's more there than they know of. So they start watching a bit closer and ask a few round about questions that fly over Danny and Jason's heads. They just forget they're married often, unless it's regarding taxes.
All of this sends the wrong message when they walk into the same room and, being nosy, one of the batfam comes up to the door and uh. They hear the bed moving quite a lot.
So.
Meanwhile, Jason is trying to wrestle with Danny because this man does not pick a lane. He'll either be the human octopus (who is cold as hell) Jason has ever seen, he'll try to kick him off the bed in his sleep as if Jason personally offended him in some way, or he'll sleep in some wacky position that interrupts Jason's sleep. The last one is tied to the other two, however.
So, Jason has to frequently wrestle this man into a proper position where they both manage to get some sleep and it wouldn't have been so bad if Danny wasn't a goddamn sleep fighter. He would know, he had to nurse a bruised jaw for a few weeks.
Why do they sleep together? Listen, when you're in an apartment with not a lot of money, you gotta cut costs where you can alright?
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First off, there's probably no way we're gonna leave this site, and we love its userbase dearly; however i still wanted to make a statement about recent events. I think by this point everyone's aware of the things involving Avery Predstrogen and the CEO photomatt consistently banning her and other trans women. My point being - I want to dedicate my platform today to trans women online. You are all wonderful and absolutely do NOT deserve the world trying to isolate you, silence you, and harass you. I love you!! Thank you all for making the internet a lovelier place!
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