Stunt motorcyclists ghost who rides in the "cage of death" and he has johnny Stand in the middle as he climbs the bike along the walls, around and arounds, as the crowd oohs and ahhs. They call him The Ghost because he preforms literal death-defying stunts. People with even a hint less of the skill that he possesses, have tried to do the things that he has tried and have failed, devastatingly.
Soap who's a fire artist. He plays with scorching hot coals, that makes even the bravest of audiences shrink back from the splash of embers that spit from the coal cages when he stomps and turns, showing his craft. He's kitted out in thick pants and sleeves, the near constant rain of embers makes him look like some sort of hell spawned demon, so he adds horns to the uniform to complete the look.
Soap assists ghost with his stunts. To most they're terrifying, to soap its just another part of ghost that he loves.
Ghost keeps the coals warm for soap while he's performing, fills the coal cages, fixes soap's uniform. He thinks soap's art is mesmerizing.
There's so much more to this hut the writer's block is blocking. Also I would consider both of their vids to be a "tame" performance
i genuinely don't care how good a piece of ai generated art or writing looks on the surface. i don't care if it emulates brush strokes and metaphor in a way indistinguishable from those created by a person.
it is not the product of thoughtful creation. it offers no insights into the creator's life or viewpoint. it has no connection to a moment in time or a place or an attitude. it has no perspective. it has no value.
it's empty, it's hollow, and it exists only to generate clicks (and by extension, ad revenue.)
it's just another revolting symptom of the disease that is late stage capitalism, and it fucking sucks.
My 13 year old cousin came back from a date with her boyfriend and said, "I can't wait to grow up and spend sunday afternoons with him." At first, I wanted to laugh (after all they're just 13), but I remember being 13 and having the world in my hands. I remember getting excited to talk to someone about my dreams and wishes, and how happy these daydreams and fantasies made me. There's this innocence you can only have at 13 and the world rises and falls and crashes and burns every year... until you do not think about quiet sunday afternoons.
So I asked her about the date and heard her giggle about bubblegum flavored ice cream, and how much she loves this little life. I think she makes me love it too.
-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire