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#creative expression is free
null-entity · 24 days
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More 4K Head Turns
Model: Me.
Video/Camera Work: Me.
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uhbasicallyjustmilex · 4 months
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editing a 16,000 word chapter: a moodboard
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pythoria · 3 months
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hello everyone! a quick break from your scheduled art posting to talk about this incredible fic i think ever bloodweave enjoyer should read.
i know it'a already very popular, but imo it's a must-read. i could not praise this fic enough for what it is, the amazing ideas it brings to the table, the incredible execution of the timeloop trope. it's by far the fic i look forward to seeing in my inbox the most (not that other fics aren't absolutely gorgeous), because every chapter is just. a delight to read. it's got angst, fluff, and an amazing romance, but the plot is what really makes it stand out. it's tight, packed with great characterisation and has perfect pacing. please give it a shot if that sounds at all interesting to you. oh yeah, and did i mention that it's got art for every single chapter? yeah, read it. bask in its genius.
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mhaccunoval · 29 days
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why can i never just express the desire to commission my friends without random strangers jumping on that without qualm‼️‼️‼️
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solvicrafts · 7 months
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trick or treat!
both a treat and a trick because again no candy but yay for silly photos?
I THINK I've mentioned before that I have a Loki cutout? I got him back in... I wanna say 2013. And I decorate him for the holidays.
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ALSO HE IS VERY TALL AND I AM *VERY* SHORT
bask in this moment for it is the only one where I will ever upload anything remotely resembling a photo of myself lol
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sarahowritesostucky · 2 months
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Hi Sarah, have you seen this news?
https://techcrunch.com/2024/02/22/tumblr-ceo-publicly-spars-with-trans-user-over-account-ban-revealing-private-account-names-in-the-process/
This is the goddamn *CEO* abusing their power. If this type of user harassment culture exists at the top, no wonder you had a staff troll harassing you with zero recourse against their retaliation 😔
(And I understand if you don’t want to post this ask- but I just wanted to share the link with you in case you weren’t aware. The problem is very systemic it seems!)
Oh jeez. I never would've heard about that article otherwise, so thanks!
Yeah, I figure if someone on staff can decide to delete a blog they personally dislike for having fanfiction with a theme they personally disapprove of (16 year old character expressing sexuality), then Tumblr isn't a very pro-free speech site. It's pretty obvious that the ToS do not include fictional content (if they did, then why are all these stories with rape and murder allowed on the platform? lol) But they just don't have a workable system where abusive staff members can be held accountable.
I mean at least that transwoman lobbed a "threat." All I did was write fiction. And as far as I know, all the other accounts that I reported for sending me slurs and death-threat-filled anons were never penalized for their actions.
🙄
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emblazons · 10 months
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today marks 7 months since I made my first ever gifset and honestly if you would have told me then that it would take up this much of my time I would have laughed in your face.
I needed a proper creative outlet again apparently lmao
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litrallytyrus · 2 months
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I LOVE HAPPY ENDINGS I LOVE WHEN CHARACTERS GO THROUGH HARD THINGS AND THEN GET A NICE RESOLUTION I LOVE HAPPINESS AND CONTENTMENT AND RELAXATION AND BEAUTIFUL THINGS I LOVE WHEN PEOPLE GET TO CONTINUE TO LIVE THEIR LIVES WITH A NEW UNDERSTANDING OF THEMSELVES AND THE WORLD!!!!!!!!!!
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By: Graeme Wood
Published: Aug 15, 2022
Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini died in June 1989, just months after issuing a fatwa ordering the murder of Salman Rushdie and all others involved in the publication of his novel The Satanic Verses. Fatwas cannot be rescinded posthumously, which is why ever since then, this fatwa has hung in the air like a putrid smell, inhaled deeply for inspiration by devout followers of Khomeini and his successors. On Friday, a man stabbed Rushdie in upstate New York. The suspect is 24, from New Jersey, and reportedly an admirer of Iranian theocratic rule. “The news is not good,” Rushdie’s agent, Andrew Wylie, said in a statement. Rushdie took a hit to the liver and will likely lose an eye. By Saturday night, Rushdie was reportedly off his respirator and talking.
The honorable response is to say that we are all Rushdie now, and that America’s failure to protect him is a collective shame. In the face of this thuggery, Rushdie’s work should be read publicly, and his name thrown in the face of apologists for the regime that once ordered and offered to pay for his assassination. (In 1998, in an effort to normalize relations with the West, Iran canceled the hit but made clear that if some freelancer wanted to get him, Tehran would not be displeased.)
But we are not all Rushdie. And in fact the past couple decades have led me to wonder if some of us are more Khomeini than we’d like to admit.
In 1989, the reaction to the fatwa was split three ways: Some supported it; some opposed it; and some opposed it, to be sure, but still wanted everyone to know how bad Rushdie and his novel were. This last faction, Team To Be Sure, took the West to task for elevating this troublesome man and his insulting book, whose devilry could have been averted had others been more attuned to the sensibilities of the offended.
The fumes are still rising off of this last group. Former president Jimmy Carter was, at the time of the original fatwa, the most prominent American to suggest that the crime of murder should be balanced against Rushdie’s crime of blasphemy. The ayatollah’s death sentence “caused writers and public officials in Western nations to become almost exclusively preoccupied with the author’s rights,” Carter wrote in an op-ed for The New York Times. Well, yes. Carter did not only say that many Muslims were offended and wished violence on Rushdie; that was simply a matter of fact, reported frequently in the news pages. He took to the op-ed page to add his view that these fanatics had a point. “While Rushdie’s First Amendment freedoms are important,” he wrote, “we have tended to promote him and his book with little acknowledgment that it is a direct insult to those millions of Moslems whose sacred beliefs have been violated.” Never mind that millions of Muslims take no offense at all, and are insulted by the implication that they should.
Over the past two decades, our culture has been Carterized. We have conceded moral authority to howling mobs, and the louder the howls, the more we have agreed that the howls were worth heeding. The novelist Hanif Kureishi has said that “nobody would have the balls” to write The Satanic Verses today. More precisely, nobody would publish it, because sensitivity readers would notice the theological delicacy of the book’s title and plot. The ayatollahs have trained them well, and social-media disasters of recent years have reinforced the lesson: Don’t publish books that get you criticized, either by semiliterate fanatics on the other side of the world or by semiliterate fanatics on this one.
It is unfair to pick on Carter, because many who have less excuse for these atrocious opinions have agreed with him. These include professional writers. (Carter is a writer and poet, but his writing is more an unfortunate hobby than a real calling.) Like Carter, these writers have condemned murder, to be sure, but hastened to change the subject to the apparently equally urgent problem of the victims’ own sins.
In 2015, after jihadists killed eight members of the staff of Charlie Hebdo, PEN America, a venerable institution promoting the interests of writers and of free expression—and one that Salman Rushdie himself once led—presented the survivors with an award for their courage. Fanatics had warned them for years that they’d be killed for their cartoons, but they published anyway. After the slaughter, hundreds of PEN members, led by Teju Cole and Francine Prose, doubted whether they deserved an award, and objected in a sententious, scolding open letter. (I joined PEN that year, and where the application asked my reasons, I wrote “to cancel out the vote of Joyce Carol Oates,” another one of the signers.)
Today, with Rushdie sliced to ribbons in a hospital bed in Erie, it is impossible to read their letter without noticing how fully they surrendered to this cult of offense and took the side of those offended against those slain.
How awful that the Charlie Hebdo artists and writers were shot to death, the signers said. But should we really applaud them? “​​There is a critical difference between staunchly supporting expression that violates the acceptable,” they wrote, “and enthusiastically rewarding such expression.” They then proceeded to explain (after, to be sure, a statement that mass murder is not acceptable) that Charlie Hebdo’s ridiculing of the “marginalized, embattled, and victimized” was also not acceptable. In 1989, Team To Be Sure had betrayed its philistinism by reducing Rushdie’s novel, one of the greatest by a living writer, to an “insult.” PEN’s critics of Charlie Hebdo declared that its “cartoons of the Prophet must be seen as being intended to cause further humiliation and suffering.” The letter did not even attempt to criticize Charlie Hebdo on literary grounds.
It takes nerve to describe artists and journalists who were recently shot in the face as having themselves caused “suffering.” To do this in one’s capacity as a PEN America member speaks to a larger faltering of the culture, in its confidence that the liberty of individuals is worth fighting and dying for. (I note that since the attempt on Rushdie's life, almost no one has advanced these arguments. I am not sure why successfully killing several cartoonists contemptuous of religion gets to be sure treatment, but trying to kill a novelist contemptuous of religion does not. In any case I welcome into the ranks of the sensible whoever wishes to join.)
V. S. Naipaul called Khomeini’s fatwa “a most extreme form of literary criticism”—a macabre joke that seemed at the time to come at Rushdie’s expense. Today it sounds just as macabre but hits a worthier target: those who muddle the distinction between offense and violence, and between a disagreement over ideas and a disagreement over whether your head should remain attached to your body.
Now that Rushdie’s head has been partially detached, and on American soil, I hope these distinctions will need no further elaboration, and that those who elided them will swallow their full helping of shame. Rushdie has survived long enough to see free expression debased in the name of free expression. Survive a bit longer, Salman, and we’ll see this cause restored to the status it deserves.
==
Rushdie was betrayed by people who not just should have known better, but did know better, but instead threw away their principles - and him under the bus - to, literally, save their own necks.
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megicianniacigem · 9 months
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I've taken a step back from writing and reposting what brings me happiness and contentment since I've been travelling to visit family. BUT!!! Expect for new content to be coming soon and for my exes series to continue 🌸
I really love the Tumblr platform as it's helped me release a lot of my daily anxiousness and has allowed me to be creative in an open space. I know my content is not consistently written works but reposts - yet I've always been a bit disordered.
Thank you for following me, liking my work or others work I find inspiring, and being part of the Tumblr community 🌸
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Do you think what Taylor said about women in their 30s in Ms Americana is kind of not true? Like I understand why she’d believe that, but now that she’s seen it didn’t apply to her at all, and there’s a number of female pop stars still killing it in their 30s/40s that we’ve perhaps moved on from that ageism? Now if only more artists could debut in their 30s/40s/any age, that would really banish ageism. And we’d see far less teen artists being exploited too.
No, I think it is still very true. In general, we as a society have a whole industry based around looking younger and hiding “imperfections” that’s targeted directly at women. A lot of female artists are where they are in their careers because of what they accomplished when they were younger, but aren’t where they were when they first started. Examples off the top of my head are JLO, Mariah, Christina and Madonna, and they are considered legends or icons, but there’s not much focus on their current work. I think it’s harder for a non-established middle-aged artist to break through in the industry, compared to a younger artist. Most of the reporting I see from the media is on newer artists that are younger. Age really shouldn’t be a factor in whether or not someone gets media coverage, it should only matter if they’re talented.
With social media and stan culture, I feel like the ageism and gender stuff has taken on a different form where women are pigeonholed into what they start out as. I’ve noticed that when artists try new pursuits outside of music, fans get really annoyed about it and are constantly asking them to return to making music. Another thing I’ve seen is people wondering if a female artist is going to retire to start/be with their family and the artist is usually like in their 30s because for some reason people feel like that is super “old.” People are speculating that Beyoncé is going to retire after she releases the last part of the Renaissance trilogy and she’s only 40, I haven’t seen anyone ask the same about her husband and he’s 52. Both have had extremely successful careers, but people are wondering about retirement for only one of them. It seems like people can’t imagine female artists balancing a career and a personal life, or balancing multiple ventures and I think that speaks to what Taylor was saying in the documentary about women having to change themselves, but making sure it’s somewhat familiar and doesn’t make the public uncomfortable.
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Scenes from a breakup part II
I went to Portland with C. Before flying, I felt fine not contacting you. I thought I was healed. I thought I was moving on. But I am nostalgic and soft, and Portland makes me think of you and the sweeter moments we had together. I wanted to contact you, but I knew it wasn’t a good idea for me. I wanted to contact you so badly, my fingers twitched. I thought about running into you and what I would say. I saw cars that looked like yours and they would pass and I would worry you’d seen me. That you’d be mad. Or sad. Or worse, passive. Numb. I didn’t want you to be numb. I wanted you to feel the extent of your feelings. I wanted you to be free. The trip was really lovely all in all, and it helped me process more. And I am grateful to C. I will always be grateful to C for supporting me through all of this. She makes me believe in true friendship. 
I posted some writing to my Instagram story and you saw it. I alluded to the idea that we were incompatible, which you absolutely know is true. You were the one who flagged it! I was willing to ignore it! To ignore all of my needs! To sacrifice so much of myself. Maybe that’s why you don’t see it, because I was so willing to shrink myself for you. You texted me to “check in”. We had a somewhat difficult exchange where I tried to be gentle and honest about my experience and you didn’t take it well. It was really hard for me to say anything to you, truthfully. To advocate for myself and speak my needs. It is still an uncomfortable practice. You sent me a flippant message, unwilling to express your experience or take on our ending and I could feel the malice in your words even if, to an onlooker they appeared benign. Later that day I was high and I saw you’d chosen to text me after all. I burst into tears because I thought the message was nice. Of course, I wasn’t entirely lucid. In my lucidity I could see how different our perspectives really were. How little responsibility you wanted to take for how you made me feel. 
I was on a third-ish date. It was a birthday party on a roof with strangers, which I always find fun. I brought my friend M with me. We were having fun and then my date offered me shrooms. I am normally quite intentional with substances, but this evening I had a sort of “fuck-it-all” attitude about things and figured a small amount wouldn’t hurt. I ended up having a full-on trip that started in a room full of strangers. It freaked me out. I lay on my dates’ bed with him and it was clear we were mentally in very different places. He was present in the room and I was off somewhere seeing wild visuals with my eyes closed, trying to figure out how to leave. At one point he held me very tightly against his chest and put his mouth on my nose. He made a popping noise that I found quite unpleasant. He expressed how much he liked me and I expressed how much I needed to go home. So he waited with me and I got into a Lyft. The entire time I was in the Lyft, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. About how much I missed you and needed to speak to you. I knew you’d know how to save me. So I called you and you were obviously very surprised but willing to help me. But your phone was low on battery and you had to drive home from somewhere far away so you couldn’t stay with me. You said you’d call me when you got home and sent me tips and music recommendations which was nice of you. I was extremely apologetic about reaching out because I knew I had violated an unspoken boundary. My trip was unproductive and existential. I was reckoning with the fact that I was ultimately alone and nobody could actually save me or make me feel saved. I waited until 3 AM for you to call me and eventually you texted me that we could talk but that you needed to “text the boys” first. This broke me. This tore me apart. Why did you say that? Why did you have to remind me I wasn’t your first priority? When I needed you? Why was that necessary? We talked on the phone for about an hour and caught up. It was clear to me after that call that you hadn’t really changed. What was I to expect from you really? But it surprised me when you told me you had been feeling mean, because I could tell, but I didn’t really expect it from you. And that gave me the clarity I needed to move on because I knew then that I couldn’t hold out for you. When we ended, you were so concerned about hurting me or saying something you couldn’t take back. And I realized after we spoke that I can have deep empathy and compassion for you. For your life struggles. For your pain. And I can also draw a boundary that protects myself, because I don’t deserve meanness or cruelty. I never did. I don’t deserve to feel small and I don’t want to allow that for myself anymore. You always said, “you deserve so much more than what you allow for yourself”, and after that night I understood how true that statement was.
I started to have dreams about you where you disrespected me. I felt so much anger towards some of the things you’d said or blown off. I felt frustrated that I hadn’t defended myself. Really, I was sad that I didn’t speak up for myself. But I was also furious. How dare you blame my reactivity in our relationship on my inner child wounds, as though you didn’t know you were kicking them up. As though it doesn’t take two to tango. How dare you complain about me to your friends right in front of me. How dare you suggest my boundaries are unreasonable. How dare you not take responsibility. So I really felt my anger this time. I wrote everything down I wished I could say to you. I screamed. I cried. And then I burnt it. I released it all. And I felt better after that.
The dreams changed. They weren’t about betrayal or your nonchalance with mistreating me. They were soft. They were gentle. They were about being held and hugged and kissed. And comfort. And I still miss those parts most of all. The fleeting tenderness. I started going to slow yoga classes and focusing on opening my heart again. I am realizing now that part of opening my heart again is understanding that the tenderness I seek, the comfort, the love, all of that lives within me. I can access that well whenever I need to. I don’t need to depend on anyone else to feel worthy of love, because I am love. It is not outside of me. I lay in bed and I realized I had reached a culminating point. Tears streamed down my face and a sense of peace came over me. I’m sure the grief will return in some shape or form. I still have shadows to address, but I knew that the fact that I’d started to focus on good things again, on the sweetest parts of me and you meant I was moving on in a new way. Giving myself permission to feel everything had opened a door to my future. A pathway out of bitterness. A pathway back to myself. 
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tiffany-frost · 2 years
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🎶The Prints and The Fall🎶
My feet full of mud, walked across this beautiful hanging bridge. Knowing that it would keep me still and hold me dear until I reached the end. Little did I know that those knots would break yet my hands still tried to hold on as I’m on the verge of falling. A crow came and looked into my eyes. My lips smiled and my tears dropped. Then I asked, “would you still help me though you see how heavy I am?”. I felt light when I walked across this bridge, yet I realized I’m not when I began holding on to something I know wouldn’t last. I guess I was wrong from the beginning. The crow did not answer and continues to gaze at me, with his sad, regretful eyes. The crow then left and flew away as far as he can. As I’m about to ask “why,” my hand trembled and my grip dwindled. I fell hard with my eyes closed until my back was stung by thorns of these fresh, black roses. I vanished into thin air and was left to wander alone. No one sees me anymore, though I see them all and those footprints of mine left in that bridge that was supposed to hold me tight, that I once believed would bring me to the other side. ✨🖤
~Tiffany Frost~
(10/04/22)
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whitmanrc · 1 year
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Thinking.
I’m thinking of you,
and the simplest things stir inside of my heart.
You were completely my everything.
But – maybe I made too much of a world for you inside of my head.
You were my friend when I had no one.
You were my muse when I listened to your mouth speak beautiful soliloquies.
Out of everything I’ve ever held dear to my heart, I truly put you on that pedestal. 
And maybe that’s where the demons were created.
You became my everlasting nightmare; the monster hiding under my bed.
The words uttered like flesh being scraped down to bone. 
I am thinking of then, and what I know now.
And I know who you truly are. 
I know you. 
I wish I didn’t.
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coelpts · 1 year
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not to burst ur bubble but check the notes on the ai protest post-- the tweets abt the models being affected were faked
ah, beetles. guess it happens to the best of us.
i went ahead and did a quick browse on the post itself, looks like the notes all confirm it. but also, i do want to repeat a sentiment i saw in the replies in regards to this matter, because i do vibe with it;
if these genart caps are fake (which they probably are), that's like...a weird ass flex to make, ain't it? like that's a bit silly no matter what side you're doing this on. either aigen bros are just loud and proud pretending to admit 'yep, this model totally scrapes images that aren't under creative commons in real time and we're actively mining artists creative talent, lol' or it's non-ai folks trying to drum up a fake result to...fool aigen people and make them stop? that seems like it won't work.
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