#and i don't get how it's snobby to dislike A/I art for that reason. why do y'all think artists love when people dissect and examine their-

[hotsugarbyglassanimals]

even though i feel like i can confidently tell when a piece of art is generative A/I, i really don't feel inclined or really even justified calling someone out for it due to the precedent it sets - especially when artists who DO make their own pieces get caught in the crossfire for being inexperienced or making the choice to be more free-form when it comes to character design / consistency...

[ch4rryc0smos]

I WOULD RIP MYSELF APART / IF IT WAS GONNA HEAL YOUR SOUL ! — BREAK MY HEART | MATT HANSEN.

── .☘︎ ❝ M A R I O N V A L E N T I N E R O S E V E L T . ❞

𖦹 — xx | cancer | infj | british ⏳

appearance ; pale skin with freckles over shoulders and face, mole under the right corner of her bottom lip, forest green eyes, 5'11 [180 cm], athletic [or sleeper] build. barely noticeable scars on hands and knees, scars over most of her body, most visible on back. dimples when she smiles hard. dimples on her back when she stretches. ombre [brown-blonde] hair.

beliefs ; things happen for a reason. lingering on what is done does not change it. made of stardust, why do you let yourself burn out? you exist infinitely, in all things, do not forget yourself.

⋆ ─ life will love you, if only you love yourself first. it is there for you to live, so don't just exist. ⋆ ─ your heart is beautiful, even when you think it is not, it is fragile, and you must tend to it, tape those cracks back together, and live.

personality ; gentle, intuitive, charismatic, vigilant, observant, meticulous, calm, collected, diligent, loving, realist, nurturing.

positive traits ; compassionate, selfless, empathetic, kind, voice of reason, accountable, notices other's emotions & fluctuations in behaviour[s].

negative traits ; anxious, bottles up her emotions, skeptic [has trust issues], struggles with boundaries, overworks, cares too hard.

quirks ; fidgets all the time | stutters when nervous | bounces from heel to heel when waiting in queues | gets louder and faster when talking about passions | has an oral fixation | tilts her head when she's focusing.

likes ; nature, psychology, sociology, anthropology, freedom of speech, anarchy, deep conversations, late-night car rides, coffee, biology [many branches of it], museums, gardens, aquariums, deers, red pandas, art of living, art donaldson.

dislikes ; arthropods, heights, loud noises, narrow-mindedness, extreme temperatures, snobby people, arrogance, dishonesty, being under pressure, confrontation, disorganised places.

deepest secrets ; just wants to be someone's first choice, wants to be the person someone chooses to share their joy with first, wants to be seen for more than whatever is seen at first glance.

⋆ ─ she's always wanted the best for everyone around her, she thinks she owes them that, and tries to supplement a need that was never fulfilled for her. ⋆ ─ she hates big expensive parties, all thanks to her parents hosting them.

── .☘︎ ❝ B A C K S T O R Y . ❞

ORIGINALLY from manchester, u.k, marion rosevelt is born to two rich parents, with the world in their hands, and power in their hearts. she grows up, a spitting image of the perfect prodigy she is expected to be, she is born into the world and from the moment she learns how to walk, the expectations pile on her shoulders.

she grows up, studying in the most esteemed schools in london, having moved there early on so she could receive the best education. she was forced to attend parties, receptions, every event her parents could think of, she was not allowed to befriend just about anyone.

she spent a lifetime having her life nitpicked by the second. everything she'd ever know about herself seemed to be a lie. at least that's how it seemed until one faithful business dinner. sitting awkwardly in her seat, she stared ahead at her untouched plate. nothing about the adults piquing her interest until a daughter is mentioned. a young girl, much like herself.

she finally listens, learns about this tashi, who is promised to meet her the next time mr. duncan (she learnt is his name) visited. and he became the only adult to have ever kept a promise, with marion. so, the next summer, her life finally felt like flowers that blossomed in the spring and not the dried up leaves that scattered the pavements in autumn. she met tashi, tan skin, eyes filled with the same warmth her movements radiated.

for the first time, marion has a friend, a friend who actually likes her too. who she likes as well. it felt like a dream. even more so when tashi somehow convinced her father to take marion along to the u.s. wildly enough, she's never travelled anywhere else. and from going to the u.s for vacation, it turned to her father having a staple business there, to living there for months on end, if possible.

she moved schools many a times, never bothering to befriend people because she knew she'd get hurt when she did finally leave. but just one time, at fifteen, probably one of the worst years of her life, she made a mistake, of not ignoring her seatmate, who for once, wasn't tashi duncan, her best friend. instead it was, art donaldson. who somehow, someway, found his way into her guarded heart.

the rosevelts never liked him, but she did. it didn't last long though. she should've known, she bared her heart, and all that happened was that it broke. and tashi was there, to console her, but her parents thought her a fool.

she tried to not think of the blond boy that used to sit next to her in physics and biology, the one who'd share his food with her, the one who somehow was the only other person (other than tashi) to know when she wasn't feeling her best.

the years passed, and soon enough, she had graduated, simultaneously moving between the u.s and u.k. but then tashi wanted to move back to the u.s for university full time, or as she called it, college. she wanted to go to stanford, play tennis professionally soon. marion didn't want to be left alone again.

when she finally moves to the u.s full time, along with tashi. the last person she expects to run into is art donaldson.

── .☘︎ ❝ C U R R E N T . ❞

ONLY second best to someone like tashi, marion rosevelt takes the world by storm. from her first year at stanford, she's been the one to look up to academically, the one to be. she came from the u.k, and she has the u.s wrapped around her little finger, they say. but they don't know the truth. tashi does, and she scoffs every time her best friend gets catcalled.

of the many things marion might've expected while studying at stanford, the last would've been to run into art donaldson again. something about seeing him in statistics, and noticing him walking with this other guy she'd learnt from tashi is called patrick zweig, it tugs at her heart strings.

she tries to put it off, every time in class when their eyes meet, when tashi takes her to tennis games, when she's cheering on her best friend. and the one time she noticed he was cheering on her too. marion doesn't know how to feel. especially about the way patrick keeps on grinning at art, about tashi. marion's best friend. the looks don't feel right.

and she vows that the next time she sees him do that, she'll punch him back into his place. she hopes she won't have to see him again, but then tashi has a party, she's been sponsored by adidas, and for some reason, despite knowing that marion values her scores and her peace, she forces her to accompany her.

the boys (art and patrick) approach tashi, marion's noticed them staring, they'd been doing it the whole night. she scowls every time. she leaves her best friend alone for just a second to get a refill, and when she's back, tashi's gone off somewhere, and when she finds her, she's talking to art and the guy he's always with for some reason. it's like art and patrick are connected at the hip.

marion builds up the courage and finally approaches the back of the mop of strawberry blond hair. she taps on his shoulder. he turns back, and her heart is suddenly stuck in her throat, but she ignores it and smiles at tashi, averting her gaze.

that night, she has to accompany tashi, and the boys to the beach. her best friend practically has them dancing around her finger, hearts in their eyes. something about the way art looks as he smokes and grins, while marion is sitting away on the sand, further away. the way she looks away every time his blue eyes meet hers, she can't bear to keep on looking.

she doesn't want to stay a second longer, but then tashi agrees to come over when the two ask for her number, and marion doesn't trust the dorms that aren't theirs. so she walks her best friend to their door, leans on the wall beside her and tries not to laugh when she hears all the scrambling, the yells of 'oh shit!' and a few things dropping.

and then the door swings open, two breathless boys, a brunette and a blond, staring, lips parted, at her best friend. she tries to shrink into the wall. thankfully for her, they don't seem to notice. she doesn't know what tashi does in there, but she doesn't leave, she stays.

waits.

her best friend walks out, grinning, lips red. marion eyes her up and down. tashi mentions art, blond boy, whatever. tells marion that she knows her eyes have been on him since the first time she noticed him around campus.

marion doesn't say anything, she isn't forced to, not until she visits art's games with tashi, finding out that the latter had made some bet with the boys, and now she's going out with patrick. that leaves marion in an awkward position, lots of time alone, with art.

but something about their silence feels natural, something about him is so alluring, all these years later, well, three. but still, ever the charming.

apparently, all of this is in tashi's plans, that's what marion finds out one night, but she can't care to complain, not when she's with him.

not when she can have him for more than a just a few fleeting moments. when her arms can hold him, and he lets her.

she can learn to have him around again, and she will.

── .☘︎ appears in selcouth [complete], scent of summer [complete].

★ ; finally another s/i post, thought i could push out two, but i BARELY managed this one, not even kidding, one of my friends watched me make practically the whole thing, you can ask them. this is mad, i'm telling you, but anyway, meet marion <3 i love her.

ch4rryc0smos © 2024

[broke-on-books]

May I ask about your beef with T.S. Elliott? I don't know much about him, but I'm curious as to your opinions on him.

Um well I don't like Eliot for many reasons (I wrote a whole blog post on this for school haha) so I'll try to make it quick but it really breaks down to three subjects for me

1. His personal life

2. His actual body of work

3. His reception and legacy

In terms of personal life, he of course really sucked, like (this is from memory so there may be mistakes) he institutionalized his wife and didn't visit her for a decade (and she died in the institution), he also was publically antisemitic, and very, very good friends (like besties) with Ezra Pound, the poet whose most famous poem is his 800 page lament on the fall of Mussolini and spent all of wwii betraying his country and making + promoting axis propaganda, so that's just like a whole can of worms there to unpack.

With his like actual work stuff, this is probably where I give him the most leeway bc he has a few lines that genuinely go really fucking hard. Like there are some lines where I 100% understand why he is a behemoth in the world of poetry. Like "this is the way the world ends. Not with a bang but a whimper" and "do I dare disturb the universe? In a minute there is time for decision and revisions which a minute can reverse" and "I will show you fear in a handful of dust" all go so hard. They do. This is true. But the rest of his work is just really nonsensical to me (and I've read his most famous pieces many times) and requires heavy academic investment to try and understand. I'm talking like intense knowledge of classical and medieval works, at least 3 languages besides English, etc.

Like there's more deciphering involved than actual poetry (I think in the book for the Waste Land there literally is more end notes than poem. And that poem is Long). And like this feeds into the third point I have which is the reception of his stuff and how I hate that T S Eliot is put up as like "total genius, greatest of all time, PINNACLE of poetry" by some people. Because I very think it starts falling into an elitist attitude of "getting" Eliot and seeing like deciphering these pieces as some sort of accomplishment on its own in a way that doesn't feel genuine to me.

Like there's just something off there about the vibes to me. That for some people they care more abt "understanding" Eliot then engaging w the themes of the poems themselves and then just brag about reading Eliot a lot (and likely Pound too and much of the imagist movement) in a way that again I just don't like.

And I think doing this and lifting Eliot up so high when his poetry is in the style it is actually hurt poetry a bit as an art form because like. It is what poetry haters accuse poetry of being like it's inaccessible, complicated, hard to read, and people get snobby about it. And I think people see that and get the wrong idea or confirm wrong ideas they had about poetry as a whole from his work which breaks me heart.

TLDR Eliot has a couple lines I think are absolute fire, but I dislike most of work. I don't like the imprint him and his reputation have had in regard to poetry, and I think he was a horrible human being.

& Every once and a while I'll read some of his more popular poems to check that they're still bad and pay a visit to the one line I like hidden within 60 bad ones