the rise of AI art isn't surprising to us. for our entire lives, the attitude towards our skills has always been - that's not a real thing. it has been consistently, repeatedly devalued.
people treat art - all forms of it - as if it could exist by accident, by rote. they don't understand how much art is in the world. someone designed your home. someone designed the sign inside of your local grocery store. when you quote a character or line from something in media, that's a line a real person wrote.
"i could do that." sure, but you didn't. there's this joke where a plumber comes over to a house and twists a single knob. charges the guy 10k. the guy, furious, asks how the hell the bill is so high. the plumber says - "turning the knob was a dollar. the knowledge is the rest of the money."
the trouble is that nobody believes artists have knowledge. that we actively study. that we work hard, beyond doing our scales and occasionally writing a poem. the trouble is that unless you are already framed in a museum or have a book on a shelf or some kind of product, you aren't really an artist. hell, because of where i post my work, i'll never be considered a poet.
the thing that makes you an artist is choice. the thing that makes all art is choice. AI art is the fetid belief that art is instead an equation. that it must answer a specific question. Even with machine learning, AI cannot make a choice the way we can - because the choices we make have always been personal, complicated. our skills cannot be confined to "prompt and execution." what we are "solving" isn't just a system of numbers - it is how we process our entire existence. it isn't just "2 and 2 is 4", it's staring hard at the numbers and making the four into an alligator. it's rearranging the letters to say ow and it is the ugly drawing we make in the margin.
at some point, you will be able to write something by feeding my work into a machine. it will be perfectly legible and even might sound like me. but a machine doesn't understand why i do these things. it can be taught preferences, habits, statistical probability. it doesn't know why certain vowels sound good to me. it doesn't know the private rules i keep. it doesn't know how to keep evolving.
"but i want something to exist that doesn't exist yet." great. i'm glad you feel creative. go ahead and pay a fucking artist for it.
this is all saying something we all already knew. the sad fucking truth: we have to die to remind you. only when we're gone do we suddenly finally fucking mean something to you. artists are not replicable. we each genuinely have a skill, talent, and process that makes us unique. and there's actual quiet power in everything we do.
So. Dan is a combination of both Danny and Vlad. Which he has never had an issue with before, but this is just frustrating. It’s not like he can’t deal with the fact the combination of the obsessions forms a protect family one, and he can deal with it. It’s not like he has one anymore.
Which is where the gobsmacked annoyance came from- he was planning on destroying his sort-of past-self, showing this was inevitable. But his obsession, apparently like his old man, decided instead to latch onto the kid, definitely not helped by the fact the brat is like two years dead. If that, he can’t recall, all his ghostliness knows is that the brat is a fucking baby.
He was going to destroy him, he swore! That had been the plan! So how the fuck did he get to helping the brat and the brat’s Jazz packing bags to run away? How the fuck is he responsible parent material, because he is damn sure he definitely isn’t.
Damnit. He’s taking this half-grown clone daughter too. Fuck Vlad, he can rot in that thermos and the Fentons can stay trying to figure out why the portal is no longer working. Being the responsible one sucks though, he’d rather go back to destroying the world but killing the league a second time also sounds like too much work right now. Damnit again.
thoughts about time travel shenanigans where robin jason and bruce are thrust into the future and find themselves on a rooftop during a stormy night? because listen.
they both find themselves on this random rooftop in gotham, but they're not alone because right in front of them is batman of this year and a man wearing a red helmet. this wouldn't have raised much of a concern-- they probably could've just asked the future bruce what happened and how to get home-- except this batman is more violent than jay or bruce anticipated. they watch, stunned, as this batman repeatedly rains his heavy fist down on the other man's face, chest, ribs, and wherever else he can reach.
they watch as the man with the red helmet struggles weakly, consciousness slowly leaving him, before they catch sight of his face in the crack of his hood. both jay and bruce realize at the same time who it is-- that this is future jason despite the hard lines and large ragged body so different from jay's own.
the realization hits right there-- that bruce is beating down on jason more violently than batman has handled any villain.
the bruce of the past feels it before he sees it-- his jay flinching away from him and his tiny hand ripping away from his cape in fear. bruce looks down at his son, his child, and sees the absolute terror in his eyes. after all, why wouldn't jay be so upset? didn't bruce promise never to lay a hand on him like so many adults in his young life already have? didn't bruce swear, crouched down in front of his little boy and gently holding his hands, that he would keep him safe now?
and yet as they stare at each other with horror-filled eyes, the jason of this time finally loses consciousness as his bruce drags him away by the cracks of his helmet, bloody knuckles pressed over his swollen eyelids.
bruce distantly remembers the way jay had shyly called him dad just two days ago. now, he stares as his sweet boy takes a trembling step back, tears threatening to spill down his wide eyes. bruce doesn't think he's hated himself more.
we're in such a strange era where men will just casually wax poetic for several paragraphs in mainstream media outlets about how john and paul were in love with each other but no one dares to explore the real questions (were they having gay sex? when were they having gay sex? what kind of gay sex were they having?) mate you're a journalist, do your job
Do you ever think about how there totally could have been an old classmate of Phoenix Wright and Miles Edgeworth in the audience during like turnabout sister or turnabout samurai. Do you think they would realize? Like “hey, were those the guys in my class in like fourth grade? I kinda remember them. Wonder if they remember each other. But it was so long ago, I doubt they would even care.” Meanwhile Edgeworth and Phoenix are undergoing the most insane mental battles where both of them are going “I recognize my best friend across the courtroom and I desperately want to be close with them again.” And “god he is so god damn annoying I wish he would die already.”
the thing is, if the unsullied really believed they were free, she would not have an army of 8,000. like, we are talking 8,000 individual human beings with 8,000 different backstories, personalities, hopes and dreams…
especially considering how traumatic their training is, there must be a (significant) number who would gladly leave fighting behind forever—if truly given the chance.
we know their training doesn’t really strip them of all individuality. some of them choose to reclaim their original names or make up new ones. in the past, when sold in too-small groups, their training would fade and they’d assimilate to whatever group they found themselves with. they do things like overindulging in food, stopping by a tavern for a drink, seeking out intimacy with women. in short, despite their traumatic pasts, they are still humans with human desires and motivations.
if they really believed they were free, some percentage would want to return home, some to travel to places they have always wanted to see, some to settle down, find love, raise families. some may be in love already and dream of a future together. some must have family who are also enslaved—like missandei—and dream of finding and freeing them.
but we’re supposed to believe that, given a choice to do absolutely anything they wanted with the rest of their lives, every last one of them chose to *checks notes* keep doing the same thing they were doing when enslaved? all of them? really? All Of Them?
unless, of course, they didn’t actually have a choice…
arthur (prince of camelot) still has to study under a tutor bc yknow uther wants him to be very intelligent before becoming king or something bc its super important idk idc anyways merlin is doing chores in his chambers while arthur is squinting at a book and merlin eventually caves and asks him what he’s reading and arthur gruffly explains that its a collection of stories from greece that make absolutely no sense so merlin asks him to read them outloud to him. arthur of course teases him and calls him an idiot and asks how he could possibly help but does as he’s asked and reads the stories to merlin as he does his chores. merlin (being crushed under the weight of destiny and tormented by the prophecies that kilgharrah spews) understands the stories almost immediately and gets all excited and starts rambling about them with arthur. arthur is glad to have someone who understands so he can give something that reflects a hint of understanding to his tutor who accepts it and moves onto the next unit of education.
the thing is, arthur finds more stories in camelot’s library and brings them up to his room to read them aloud to merlin under the guise of completing his studies but really he just wants to watch as merlin’s eyes gleam when he understands whats happening and listen to him ramble on and on about them bc he’s gay. the stories stick with merlin though and he realizes that they’re cautionary tales, that the heroes who were told too much of their future doomed themself to fulfill them - that them fighting the prophecies led to their completion. merlin takes it to heart and gives a big “fuck you” to kilgharrah before forging his own fate and helping morgana with her magic and handing out an olive branch to mordred and now everyone can live happily and peacefully in an albion teeming with magic.
I know that you can technically cobble together explanations as to why in-universe, but I will never not be extremely annoyed that Filoni's Super Special OC beat Darth Maul in a one-on-one fight when she hadn't even finished her padawan training, and Maul was one of the best warriors in the series. Like. It's so stupid. I hate it.