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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listen a friend suggested to me. a concept for a fic/au. that i do not know enough about qsmp to create so i am handing it here into the world in case someone DOES know enough and is inspired by this.
anyway so for those who aren't aware, iskall and tubbo have a vhsmp bit where iskall insists that he is tubbo's dad, a thing tubbo originally agreed to in order to get resources, lol. he is also son of captain sparklez by these means, but it's iskall who doesn't let the bit go; basically every interaction they've had on twitter since iskall refers to tubbo as "son", and even sometimes just like, randomly when iskall is otherwise talking about tubbo. it is my favorite silly family dynamic out there, i love it dearly.
the thing my friend suggested was: what if iskall finds out this means he has a granddaughter?
so my qsmp mutuals and followers PLEASE tell me what that would be like, as angsty or as silly as you'd like (i've heard Something is going down with tubbo on qsmp??? i think???), i just think this would be fantastic. i don't even know which egg tubbo has i lost track. or what that egg is like. i just. need this to exist in the world i can learn.
just. picture. iskall, bursting into tears: MUMBO I AM A GRANDFATHER. MUMBO I DO NOT KNOW HOW TO BE A GRANDFATHER. mumbo, a little panicked: i didn't know you were a father-father.
that's all,
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yeah F1 is cool but imagine a driver gets shunted and he bodily rips off his rear wing (Which fucking says "Race Against CRIME") as he's being swarmed by officials
And he just yeets it at the guy who shunted him
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is this old religion, are we calling it love?
{sweet movie, alisha dietzman / @gaphic / tiktok / @iamalivenow / on earth we're briefly gorgeous, ocean vuong / @manywinged / these violent delights, micah nemerever / the reader, bernhard schlink (trans. carol brown janeway) / hestitations outside the door, margaret atwood / a self-portrait in letters, anne sexton}
[ID: ten images of text together in a litstack
1: Confession: I will think of you forever
2: a post by gaphic: It’s only tragedy if you convince yourself, for even just a moment, that everything could be ok, despite knowing it won’t be. Tragedy lies in ‘so close, yet so far.’ It’s avoidable because it would only take a tiny alteration to prevent disaster, but human nature is in the way- not maliciously, not knowingly, despite trying so hard.
3: a tiktok comment and answer: Are they lovers? / Worse
4: a post by iamalivenow: gay sex won't fix this. it'll probably make this worse. that being said don't you want to see how much worse it can get?
5: Sometimes being offered tenderness feels like the very proof that you've been ruined.
6: tags from manywinged: #technically they know and understand each other better than anyone else alive #but they communicate that in the most fucked up insane unnecessarily complicated way and think thats normal
7: I don't think you've ever felt anything that didn't hurt you. / We've found each other, out of everyone else in the world. Does that hurt, too?
8: "I'm not used to being loved. I wouldn't know what to do."
9: Should we go into it together / If I go into it with you I will never come out
10: of course the love is there. / still, / still, / still.
end ID]
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this is such a raw line of dialogue you would think it would come from something like Warriors and you would be right because it does
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Oooh look at the Czech Figure Skating team using Good Omens music for their Ice Dancing! :), Gdansk 2023.
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awesome, so instead of a reprint like he was considering, joe murray's decided to just release his book as a free pdf/ebook!
i had a lot of trouble getting my hands on a copy (and i got extremely lucky to only pay $80 instead of the $200-$300 it usually goes for!) so this is awesome ❤
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