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#love is rare
scribblersobia 5 months
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The problem is I don't believe that I am worthy of a man's love. I mean who will love a woman like me? I am simple with a taste in the vintage world. I love books, old songs, and slow life. I don't try to fit in and I think I am too boring for a man's attention. I am not worthy of a man's modern day love. And, I don't even seek love because I know I will never find it. I love peace and I am living a peaceful life.
30/11/2023. 1:49AM
@scribblersobia
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arkadiastackie 2 years
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Do you remember this ? Well, I do. 馃ゲ
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why aren't there more mysteries that take place in nursing homes & retirement communities. i want to watch a group of deranged retirees-cum-amateur-detectives combine their powers of:
decades of life experience
boredom-fueled busybody shamelessness
access to the most gossipy next-door-neighbors in existence
"I am too old to be arrested and/or give a shit" attitude
and solve crimes. this should be an enormous subgenre.
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inkskinned 10 months
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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.
#every time someones like ''AI will replace u" im like. u will have to fucking KILL ME#there is no replacement here bc i am not filling a position. i am just writing#and the writing is what i need to be doing#writeblr#this probably doesn't make sense bc its sooo frustrating i rarely speak it the way i want to#edited for the typo wrote it and then was late to a meeting lol#i love u people who mention my typos genuinely bc i don't always catch them!!!! :) it is doing me a genuine favor!!!#my friend says i should tell you ''thank you beta editors'' but i don't know what that means#i made her promise it isn't a wolf fanfiction thing. so if it IS a wolf thing she is DEAD to me (just kidding i love her)#hey PS PS PS ??? if ur reading this thinking what it's saying is ''i am financially capable of losing this'' ur reading it wrong#i write for free. i always have. i have worked 5-7 jobs at once to make ends meet.#i did not grow up with access or money. i did not grow up with connections or like some kind of excuse#i grew up and worked my fucking ASS OFF. and i STILL!!! wrote!!! on the side!!! because i didn't know how not to!!!#i do not write for money!!!! i write because i fuckken NEED TO#i could be in the fucking desert i could be in the fuckken tundra i could be in total darkness#and i would still be writing pretentious angsty poetry about it#im not in any way saying it's a good thing. i'm not in any way implying that they're NOT tryna kill us#i'm saying. you could take away our jobs and we could go hungry and we could suffer#and from that suffering (if i know us) we'd still fuckin make art.#i would LOVE to be able to make money doing this! i never have been able to. but i don't NEED to. i will find a way to make my life work#even if it means being miserable#but i will not give up this thing. for the whole world.
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happytakes 8 months
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2023.08.19 | The world keeps talking about love; but true love is indeed rare.
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nerdpoe 4 months
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Alfred is getting up there in age. It's time for him to go see the Ghost King, and uphold his end of their deal.
He tells Bruce that he needs to return to England for a bit, to meet up with some old friends.
Gets the Manor prepared for life without him.
And as he's standing in his room, luggage packed and ready to go, Bruce knocks on the door.
"You don't have any plane tickets purchased," Bruce starts, looking concerned.
"Indeed, I have not."
"There's no correspondence between you or your friends to indicate a visitation."
"I suppose I should have expected your insatiable curiosity would lead to that breach of privacy," Alfred sighs, resting a hand on his luggage.
"...Where are you really going?"
Alfred doesn't answer. Bruce has dug enough, and perhaps he deserves a little confusion.
What Alfred does do is snap a small, glowing crystal. One that looked like Kryptonite, but was not.
A portal opens before him, and before Bruce can reach him, Alfred calmly steps through.
The portal shuts behind him.
He turns to face the Ghost King.
"A痰虤虄蜋蜏踏r潭蛢蛽e痰蜐虘挞 谈蛡蜖虧y潭虋炭虡坛o谭處蛬探蛨u痰虜蛨 谈虜號蛪r谈虆虁蛦蹋e谈虛虃蛼蛪a檀蜐虛袒d痰虊虖虊态y潭虝蛝蛡态?檀蛣蜅虁碳"
Alfred nods.
The Ghost King's face breaks out into a wide smile.
"I believe I have put together a menu that will satisfy you, My King."
~~~~~~
Two months later sees Alfred being given another crystal, and a portal opened for him back to the Manor.
Alfred steps through, a bounce in his step and not a speck of grey in his hair, looking for all the world like he's twenty again.
Now, how is he going to explain this to the very sleep-deprived looking Master Tim sitting on his bedroom floor, staring at him with unfocused eyes?
Or: Alfred made a deal with the Ghost King when he was twenty and dying in the remains of his ship, just after the Battle of Trafalgar in 1805. If he can cook food the King has never tasted before, and keep it up for two months, the King will put forward his case to the God of Time and rewind him to the point in his life three days before he was grievously wounded. Basically, he gets to go back to being a 20 year old. He staves it off for as long as he can, often getting quite elderly, before breaking that crystal and serving two months of full courses to the King of the Dead. He hasn't told anyone this.
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arobutchsab 4 months
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dykealloy 5 months
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god's favourite ragdoll princess and the most miserable girl in the world
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polarsirens 8 months
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馃
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batmanisagatewaydrug 7 months
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the realest man is Gotham is this random Blackgate guard who let Steph beat the everloving shit out of her dad for 10 full minutes no questions asked
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from Robin #16 (1995)
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super-un-stable 6 months
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Two cents. 1 failed evil experiment to another
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artofalassa 2 months
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This time... ... I will never let you go
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s1ushyz 3 months
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Ray is seriously so fucking breathtaking.
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choccy-milky 20 days
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MC doing what we all wished we could do (aka napping on the floor with ominis )馃槾馃挄
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beescake 5 months
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shit. two dudes
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dumblr 1 year
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When they give you updates on their day without you asking >>>
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