Biitch I just referred to freshman year as "season 1" I need to go outside
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So we all know how Ezra gives Cee the gun back in the tent (moment to sob about this please).
But in the Streamer Girl scene, she’s not holding the gun anymore, just the map.
And when they arrive at the camp, that merc who greets them takes the gun OUT!! OF!!! EZRAS!!! HOLSTER!!!!
She gave him the gun back 😭😭😭😭
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So glad I don't have any friends...no one's gotta hear about my dark depression except me
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By The Way my gay ass is so not safe hereee ughhhhhhh womennnnnnnnn PLEASEEE THIS ONE GURL I SAW IN THE BUS WAS SOOO PRETTYYY AND TIREDDDD😭😭😭
also this ANOTHER GIRL SHE'S FROM ASSAM SHE'S SO GORJUSUSUUSUS. I complemented her dressing sense and she was like you give off pretty vibes and i love your jewellery 😭 i was like come here youu 😭(no i didn't say that)Also she asked me how my day was bruh bye it gave WIFEEYYYYY
also ohmygod this tomboyish girl is so qkhskahsodgkdhskdbdkwhwldwihekfjd she's so goddamn attractive and got such a dapper vibe bruh god WOMEN sjkahdkdksldjdk
another girl i saw bruh her outfit was so pretty and ah she's so gorgeous and soft and uff her hairrrr what an angel 😭
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My body is in a silly goofy mood and is in a red meat hating phase 🤪
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I got a total of 3 hours of sleep lastnight.
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pretty sure my husband has covid, but we live in a room now, so i guess i’m gonna get covid for the fourth time
yay.
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My coworker :) :) coming up to me :) :) unprompted :) :) to tell me that he can accept lgbt people but never for his children to be lgbt :) :) as if I would ever give him a good reaction to that bullshit :) :)
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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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it continues to be wild to me that if you say 'i don't think, ethically, you should bomb people flat even if they're bad guys' someone immediately says 'but the bad guys want to kill you' like bruh so do some of my coworkers. im a midwest jewish faggot, i can assume any chucklefuck with a red hat is an occupational hazard. but i think probably there's a more ethical way to deal with people that want to kill me than to bomb them and their whole city flat. and as the one person in the 'but they want to kill you' situation whose life apparently matters without question, i would like us to try some other stuff first. before we bomb all the bad guys flat.
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Hi I can’t get past Ezra’s motivation changing from getting himself off the moon whatever the cost to whomever to getting CEE off the moon no matter the cost to himself 🤮🤮
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Listen. I know we all read smut in public or in front of family completely straight faced. But not all of us can appreciate the absolute mortification that descends upon you when your thumb hovers over the words too long and that bitch Siri decides that means you want her to read that sentence out loud
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