side note. im just upset now about how it feels like my work is no longer belonging to me. I dont get to choose what it is put into. it is now a comodity for whoever believes that they have a right to my work.
When I work in an art-based industry, what I produce will not be my own. It will be owned by another company who hired me. I could spend hours on it and pour my life force into what I create, but it could be held by the company and not released or released and removed from my ownership.
Now tumblr is the same. now every website is the same. You never have control of what you post forever. You never get to choose what happens to your online work. But now I know that what I post will go directly into the content meatgrinder that is AI technology. I will not get to choose this. I will not get to own my work any more. Even if I opt out, even if thousands of users opt out, not everybody will. Not everybody will know. Not everybody will want to. Not everybody will be bothered.
Theres a difference between individuals reposting my work onto pinterest and an entire blog being fed into AI. Theres a difference between a single human feeding artwork that isnt theirs into AI and an automatic process in which my data, my artwork, my life is being fed into AI. I will never own my own work again unless I keep it directly next to me and never share it.
Im debating pulling all of my work from this website.
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in an alternate universe, you meet older bf!simon through a friend- well, a friend’s brother.
your friend’s brother, johnny. he overhears you whinging to his sister about how fucking hard it is to find a place to live. so he tells you about this guy he serves with.
‘L.t’ he calls him.
since he and L.t are on deployment so often, there’s a tidy re-purposed council flat that’s often empty. johnny says he’ll chat L.t about your predicament and see what he thinks.
L.t allows you to live in his home- problem is he’s leaving on deployment literally tomorrow so you have to exchange agreements by text.
you’ve got money going into his account, some basic agreements about no parties, no partners, no smoking, and no mucking about.
L.t gives the key to johnny, who gives it to his sister, who gives it to you- opening the door to an almost pristine little home. not a thing out of place.
military precision.
so you move in and you’re shocked to find more than a flat pillow and plaid duvet cover. there’s 3-in-1 in the shower but easily replaced with your own products.
the pantry and fridge are bare but soon filled with your favourites. your undies are drying over the dining chairs and your blanket is draped across the couch.
you’ve got your own profile on the netflix and your toothbrush is in the holder. you’ve done what you were told.
“make yourself at home”
so much so that you almost forget deployment will end at some point, hard to remember when you don’t even have the faintest idea when that’ll be.
johnny said it could be weeks, maybe months. he didn’t tell you that it could be at any moment.
you think you hear the door in the deep of your sleep but your brain reassures you it’s in the back of your dream- you don’t even wake.
it’s actually the weight dropping beside you on the mattress and shuffling up to your back that gets you. it’s a miracle you don’t scream.
L.t lands a rough hand on your back, something about “calm down, s’only me”
only him? he who’s name you don’t even know?
as if he can read your mind, he’s following up with a grumbled “simon”
simon ‘sans-last name.’
before his breathing begins to even out.
your heart is beating out your chest- perfect stranger climbing into bed with you?
the voice in your head that always wants you to be polite reminds you that this is actually his house, after all.
he was also kind enough to let you stay, charging a rent way below going rate.
he had just been away serving this country, duty to protect and all.
and johnny knows him, vouched for him- sure johnny can be a bit of a perv but he’s harmless.
simon must be too, right?
you decide to settle back under the duvet, telling yourself it’s you that’s being weird. you need to be more grateful!
mans tired, if he wasn’t absolutely shattered he would’ve taken the couch.
right?
you’re almost entirely convinced until you feel a strong arm loop around your waist, pulling you back into something unbelievably hard.
harmless.
right.
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