#carry this little joy with me (⁠/⁠^⁠-⁠^⁠(⁠^⁠ ⁠^⁠*⁠)⁠/

[youzicha]

Thinking about that that "slop accelerationism" post, and also Scott's AI art Turing test.

I also hope AI text- and image-generation will help shake us loose from cheap bad art. For example, the fact that you can now generate perfectly rendered anime girls at the click of button kindof suggests that there was never much content in those drawings. Though maybe we didn't really need AI for that insight? It feels very similar to that shift in fashion that rejected Bouguereau-style laboriously-rendered pretty girls in favor of more sketchy brush work.

But will we really be so lucky that only things that we already suspected was slop will prove valueless?

As usual with AI, Douglas Hofstadter already thought about this a long time ago, in an essay from 2001. Back in 1979 he had written

Will a computer program ever write beautiful music? Speculation: Yes, but not soon. Music is a language of emotions, and until programs have emotions as complex as ours, there is no way a program will write anything beautiful. There can be "forgeries"—shallow imitations of the syntax of earlier music—but despite what one might think at first, there is much more to musical expression than can be captured in syntactical rules. There will be no new kinds of beauty turned up for a long time by computer music-composing programs. Let me carry this thought a little further. To think—and I have heard this suggested—that we might soon be able to command a preprogrammed mass-produced mail-order twenty-dollar desk-model "music box" to bring forth from its sterile [sic!] circuitry pieces which Chopin or Bach might have written had they lived longer is a grotesque and shameful misestimation of the depth of the human spirit. A "program" which could produce music as they did would have to wander around the world on its own, fighting its way through the maze of life and feeling every moment of it. It would have to understand the joy and loneliness of a chilly night wind, the longing for a cherished hand, the inaccessibility of a distant town, the heartbreak and regeneration after a human death. It would have to have known resignation and world-weariness, grief and despair, determination and victory, piety and awe. In it would have had to commingle such opposites as hope and fear, anguish and jubilation, serenity and suspense. Part and parcel of it would have to be a sense of grace, humor, rhythm, a sense of the unexpected and of course an exquisite awareness of the magic of fresh creation. Therein, and therein only, lie the sources of meaning in music.

I think this is helpful in pinning down what we would have liked to be true. Because in 1995, somebody wrote a program that generates music by applying simple syntactic rules to combine patterns from existing pieces, and it sounded really good! (In fact, it passed a kind of AI art turing test.) Oops!

The worry, then, is that we just found out that the computer has as complex emotions as us, and they aren't complex at all. It would be like adversarial examples for humans: the noise-like pattern added to the panda doesn't "represent" a gibbon, it's an artifact of the particular weights and topology of the image recognizer, and the resulting classification doesn't "mean" anything. Similarly, Arnulf Rainer wrote that when he reworked Wine-Crucifix, "the quality and truth of the picture only grew as it became darker and darker"—doesn't this sound a bit like gradient descent? Did he stumble on a pattern that triggers our "truth" detector, even though the pattern is merely a shallow stimulus made of copies of religious iconography that we imprinted on as kids?

One attempt to recover is to say Chopin really did write music based on the experience of fighting through the maze of life, and it's just that philistine consumers can't tell the difference between the real and the counterfeit. But this is not very helpful, it means that we were fooling ourselves, and the meaning that we imagined never existed.

More promising, maybe the program is a "plagiarism machine", which just copies the hard-won grief, despair, world-weariness &c that Chopin recorded? On its own it's not impressive that a program can output an image indistinguishable from Gauguin's, I can write such a program in a single line:

print("https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Gauguin,Paul-Still_Life_with_Profile_of_Laval-_Google_Art_Project.jpg")

I think this is the conclusion that Hofstadter leans towards: the value of Chopin and the other composers was to discover the "template" that can then be instantiated to make many beautiful music pieces. Kind of ironically, this seems to push us back to some very turn-of-the-20th-century notion of avant-garde art. Each particular painting that (say) Monet executed is of low value, and the actual valuable thing is the novel art style...

That view isn't falsified yet, but it feels precarious. You could have said that AlphaGo was merely a plagiarism machine that selected good moves from historical human games, except then AlphaGo Zero proved that the humans were superfluous after all. Surely a couple of years from now somebody might train an image model on a set of photographs and movies excluding paintings, and it might reinvent impressionism from first principles, and then where will we be? Better start prepare a fallback-philosophy now.

[pineappleciders]

i fear there is little way to describe my recent experience in the bathroom. or potentially, there are far too many ways to the point i cannot collect my thoughts. it started out as a simple pee. i went to the restroom quite happily, having been playing a game and believing it would be a quick, simple trip. but i was proven wrong, as i usually am. it turned out to be a poop as well. though it wasn't a bad one, it was rather small and easy to pass, and wasn't too bad of a wipe either. however, i was foolish and became distracted watching a video on my phone while wiping. this tragically led to me placing far too many pieces of toilet paper in the toilet bowl without flushing. i soon realized my mistake and, like a fool once more, decided to hope for the best and flush. however, it did not go down. it's fine, i thought. i'll wait and try again. so i did, and it did not go down. hm, this is unfortunate, i think. so i grab the plunger, blissfully unaware to the hellhole i had began falling into, believing this was just your average clog of the toilet. but it wasn't. i soon remembered a fool in my household, which i later learned was my mother, had made the conscious decision to swap the plungers in the bathrooms. this is a problem because, the one that was in my current restroom is a good plumber. the other one is not. and so, i found myself fruitlessly shmacking the hard, useless plunger into the bowl time and time again. but it was no good. i was so determined, so full of hope that it would work as i had made it work before. but this clog was different. i began to grow more desperate as my arm was quickly becoming exhausted from the strain, and i switched to 2 arms, yet there was still no luck. at this point, i had begun sweating, the reality dawning on me that this would not go the way i had hoped. i remembered a trick i learned, about putting soap and hot water into the back of the toilet seat, which helps break the clog up. so i looked around for a cup, an item usually kept in the bathroom, to scoop water from the sink to the toilet. but there was no cup. i put a few squirts of soap in the bowl and waited, but with each flush the water grew higher and higher, reflecting my nerves. but a spark of something like hope flickers in me as i spot the sink drain stick made for unclogging sinks. it's a bit gross, but i'm running out of options, so i go for it. i feel as though it's working quite well, as i can see toilet paper being ripped, but with flush and flush again, it only worsens. i have been in the restroom for far too long now, mostly waiting for water to slowly go down, and at this point i'm sure the energy drink i left on my desk has gone lukewarm. i start to full on panic now, honestly on the verge of tears. i am tired from lack of sleep, very hungry, my back is in extreme pain, and i feel disgusting as a few bits of toilet water have splashed on me. i consider asking for help from my dad, however the thought of walking downstairs with shit stuck in between my asscheeks is extremely unappealing, so i carry on. i turn on the tub and start scooping hot water into the back of the toilet. it burns my hands, and i am now getting water everywhere, but i cannot stop as i begin feeling like a wild animal. i try and try and try but all of my efforts are wasted. and i fear i knew all along what i had to do, i was simply pushing it away out of pure fear. but i suck it up and wrap a towel around my waist and leave the bathroom, still not having wiped fully, and lumber to the other bathroom to grab the good plunger. and lo and behold, with only a few pumps the water is quickly sucked down. and i would have felt immense joy, if it weren't for my extreme annoyance with myself that i did not do it sooner. i am extremely traumatized and i don't think i'll be able to look at my toilet the same way for at least a few months. my dear friends and followers, i urge you to invest in a good plunger. one for every bathroom you have. a new, soft, flaccid plunger. it will betray you less than any man.

[hell-drabbles]

Gabriel 4

Summary: It's always fun to look down upon you. You, his newest conversion, his newest creation bound to the ground while he flies in the skies above. Today, you drag him from the sky, and pin him under yourself.

(The Satan ficlet has grown to over 1000 words so it's going to take a biiiit. Have this Gabriel thingy in the meantime, where Gabriel gets put in his place by the Angelified Companion.)

Angels never let their feet touch the ground, no matter where they may be. Be it home in Heaven, or in the war-torn Hell, it is only natural that creatures such as they leave the ground to those that were born to crawl upon it. The earth, the floor itself does not deserve to have an angels bare soles walk upon it, let alone their shoes.

But, you were human once, no? So it's only natural that you walk upon the ground, while Gabriel flew in the skies above. That, and he knows those wings of yours simply don't work. They're not made to carry your ever shifting weight.

"Be sure to clean yourself once you're done. Heaven does not welcome even a single pebble of this place."

And, of course, it is in Gabriel's nature to remind you. Because every response always brings a reaction. And that always brings a smile to his face.

But, today, you didn't say anything, clearly distracted by the chaotic laughter of angels, and the screams of the slain devils. Not even a shred of annoyance.

You looked to him, floating right above your head.

"Make sure you match the state of my shoes."

You closed your eyes, slowly breathed in, then grabbed his ankle.

"You don't get to speak." You made his face eat gravel with a simple tug of your arm. You made him touch the ground. You took the strength that he gifted you, and use it to drive him lower than yourself.

An angels place has always been in the skies, where God lives, bodies kept eternally pure until the day He finally comes back and they can be granted release.

And yet, here he is, mouth dirtied with devil-tainted gravel. Through the pain, through the cracked ribs and rushing blood muffling his hearing, Gabriel's body was singing. It was shivering not with anger, but with fear, with joy.

This was not your mindless self. No, you have become lucid, and every part of him clenched as your clear voice echoed in his brain.

Ah… you really have become an entertaining parasite to him, huh?

Gabriel reached behind him, grabbed a deformed wing from your ankle, and tore it off, because doing nothing would imply submission. And Gabriel does not submit.

A growl emerged from the bottom of your lungs, drowning out all his senses with just your sound. Your breath flowed over him, heated up his shoulders, his ears, "For that," one hand gently caressed his highest left wing, "I'm eating your wing."

He bit so deeply into his tongue, his mouth overflowed with blood.

"Don't," Gabriel spat out despite the pain of the cage and chastity belt digging into him, "don't you dare!"

You paused, and the weight of you shifted. Your body radiated a heat that Gabriel could never ignore. Your shadow consumed him and your knee was finally off his spine.

"I know you want this," you whispered, a thin veneer of a threat within your voice, and ice flowed through his veins, "Every day you love pissing me off until I want to tear everything around me, brick by brick, feather by feather." Your hand pressed against the base of his spine, and Gabriel jolted when your fingers sneaked right under his shirt and traced up his back, his body breaking out into a sweat, "You want me to hurt you? Then I will. I'll show everyone, angels and devils alike, exactly how you like to be torn apart."

And with one sweep of your arm, his shirt was torn to shreds. Before he could growl out a command, you stuffed his mouth with those fabric strips, rolled up into balls. You held his jaw, just so he's unable to spit it out.

"I said, you don't get to say shit." Saliva rolled past the gag and it smeared against his skin and your hand. "Good little angels get to sing. You get to choke on your own spit."

The disgusting wind of Hell dared to touch his clammy back, dared to ruffle through the purity of his white wings. Gabriel wanted to scream, but he despised the way his body froze as soon as you touched the base of his uppermost left wing. He hated the way he can feel himself become feverish, hated the way the lucidity of his brain clouded over in a drunken haze when your tongue licked up his spine.

And Gabriel has never hated himself more then when he choked out a moan when your teeth lightly scraped his wing.

You sunk in, and all he could do was scream. He has never known pain and ecstasy such as this.

[3gremlins]

actually kind of rude of them to give me an aquarium full of fade fish??? and not let me fill it with more fish (that i will absolutely forget to feed and have to restock from various merchants and/or upgrade with an auto feeder) XD

please bioware, let me pick up fade fishes from somewhere. and maybe a pet cat for my chambers to pet every time rook hangs out there. extra points for including little dynamic notes from/about my companions ala dragon age 2 that my rook can comment on.

2nd pt comments: i'm actually a little annoyed that the customization unlocks don't carry over b/c i really think they should and they don't seem tied to any class so there's no real joy in re-unlocking them since you don't get much new. likewise the codex entries- wish it just filled in the ones i'd missed instead of making me go find them again. (i see there's a mod already floating around for the appearance customization stuff, i might snag that for pt #2 tbh)

[walnutcookie]

good day fellow rodger fan, i rlly love your art it gives me whimsy and joy. do you have any headcanons ab him and glisten, perhaps toodles as well? (family dynamics my beloved actually) if not either way i think your stuff is still so rad.

AHHH THANK YOU SO MUCH !!!! <333 WEEPS TEARS OF JOY.... i do have some headcanons hehehe... in no particular order/organization heres some of my thoughts on them:

- Rodger is a sleepwalker. Very Embarrassed by it.

- Toodles really enjoys drawing !!! She likes to draw with the other toons a lot (especially glisten, but he usually just watches her and then treats her art like the mona lisa so she feels good about herself)

- rodgers reaction to any sort of physical affection is really funny because he doesnt know how to react. He wants to keep his awesome and mysterious persona but also he doesnt want to be rude or anything. does he reciprocate? does he try to get away before it happens??? does he say something or does he keep quiet? Usually it just results in him freezing up and going stiff

- also adding onto above he tends to be paranoid about peoples intentions. bro gets a hug from goob and freezes and hes thinking "is this an attempt to console me does he think im mentally unwell or is he trying to find my weaknesses so he can kill me"

- in general rodger can be a very paranoid person and starts panicking at the slightest threat but hes pretty good at stopping to think and clearing his head. Logically he knows goob wouldnt kill him and doesnt know his secrets but it is a thought that pops up in his head for a brief moment

- toodles is always very quick to jump in and try to help whenever someone is upset. She wants to help people as best she can so ofc she would but the problem is that shes never sure what to say to cheer people up :'] she tries parroting some of the things rodger has told her when she was sad but also from her experience it never works so she tries to distract people instead most of the time. it makes her feel really guilty whenever she doenst try to help or if she fails to make them feel any better

- Toodles is very close with teagan!! teagan is like her fun uncle :] they take care of toodles sometimes if rodger is busy (or cough missing). Tea parties galore!!!!

- glisten is romo-repulsed i know this in my heart ok. [i know ive drawn him doing romantic things i cant explain the nuances to this in a cohesive way im just projecting ontohim as a romo repulsed person in a relationship]

- Glisten is definitely introverted but not in the "ohh hes shy and hates people" way hes just drained when he talks to people even if he likes talking to people. He needs to take breaks from socializing a lot to recharge his social battery especially since hes always so worried about what people think of him but he also dies if hes alone too long

- toodles is actually VERY fascinated with bugs if theres an ant or a beetle or a roach or something in the facility shes gonna beg to keep it and make a house for it so she can "give it a better life" (glisten will not scream or freak out but there WILL be visible discomfort on his face and he will avoid that bug like the plague)

- rodger smokes cigarettes . He knows which employee(s) carry them around and will snatch one from their pocket at the right moment when nobody is looking... he tries covering his tracks and flushing everything down the toilet and covering up the smell but ofc he gets found out when theres a clog LOL.

- There was also suspicion when toodles started pretend-smoking and saying she was doing the thing that rodger did but most everyone else just assumed it was toodles being a silly little kid

okie dokieee thats all ill do for now !!! Thank you so much for this ask GAUH im so happy people are interested in my hcs for them n stuff 🥹

[sinnabee]

You do moons ass Mondays right

so do suns ass Sundays

your wish is my command, anon

everyone say hello to sun ass sunday. but of course, as the rule goes... suns out? guns out. >:3c

i will be barring the castle doors and fortifying my defenses in preparation for the uprising, but no, i am not sorry for this

[that-butch-archivist]

At last, I achieve victory .... the almighty Book Wall. Unfortunately I'm still gonna need another bookshelf. You know how it is.

[arthur-lesters-pinky-finger]

Finally got to listen to the new episode! I don't have too much to say about this episode other than the fact that I have this weird little soft spot for the trope where characters are drunk/affected in some way and they're just sad. Like, my man was high on fairy mushrooms for 2 minutes and immediately sobbed about his parents and I love it because his mask falls off, and he doesn't even realize it.

Arthur is the hopeful one, he trusts in fate, in his humanity. He follows whatever path brings him to the light. He follows the light his daughter brought him, because being a father brought him that joy and hope and he's always dipping in that supply of brightness she brought him.

But he's also carrying this heavy shit with him, and yes he talks about it, but he's never really let on how much it affects him now, other than the poem he wrote about his parents, which he told John in Larson's mansion. He doesn't hide it, but it feels like he's sort of pushing it down, focusing on whatever good he can find (John, Oscar, Faroe) to ignore the deep dark hope his parents left.

And what's the one other time we saw him drunk? What's the first thing he asks Yellow when he's drunk in that bar? To read him a story. God I love Arthur so much- the second he can't control his thoughts, they all come flooding in and it's like he cannot stop himself from thinking of his parents anymore. He cannot stop himself from feeling, from realizing all the things he doesn't let himself think about.

I love Arthur<3

[kittenfangirl20]

*Adam loved his little Charlie so much, he would carry her everywhere with his loyal Lucifer by his side, it became a common sight, it wasn’t common for an angel to be born naturally so she was treated with love and joy by the other angels*

Adam: She is such a pretty little girl who will know nothing but love.

*Lucifer and Adam were in that room they now shared in fact the nameplate now said Adam and Lucifer instead of just Adam, Adam and Lucifer started to sing for their baby girl feeling so much love for the little girl, Lucifer also loved Adam’s voice, he always wanted to hear his Adam sing, when they were done singing Charlie looked up at Adam and smiled*

Charlie: Mama.

Adam: Luci, she said her first word, she called me mama.

*Lucifer gently caressed Adam’s face, he was so happy for him and he felt so much love for Adam and their little baby, Charlie also looked at Lucifer*

Charlie: Dada.

Adam: She said your name too, she is so cute.

@things-arent-what-they-seem66

Lieutenant Lucifer Au

Lucifer was waiting outside of Sera's office, apparently there was something she wanted to task him with. He had no idea what it would be.

Sera opened her door: Oh good, Luicfer come on in.

He got up and went inside. There was a man with large golden wings, soft brown hair and golden eyes that shined brightly.

Sera: This is Adam, the first man and father of humanity.

Adam put up a peace sign with his fingers: Hey, how's it going?

Lucifer heard about the first humans and Eden, he never got the chance to see the garden before Samuel ruined everything.

Sera: I am untrusting you to show him around heaven and keep him safe.

Lucifer frowned, so he was basically a glorified babysitter? Wonderful.

*though he couldn’t help but notice how attractive Adam was, in fact he was way more attractive than any of the angels of Heaven, Lucifer wondered why God had wanted to create a being like humans, but it wasn’t his job to question God*

Lucifer: What would you like to see first.

Adam: I am kind of hungry, I never got to eat much after being thrown out of Eden and I heard Heaven has lots of good foods I want to try.

*there was something just so endearing about Adam that he couldn’t deny him*

Lucifer: Of course, follow me.

*they walked through Heaven as Adam looked around in awe, he has never seen anything like this, he first lived in a garden and then he lived in a simple home with his family, now he was living in a golden city that he was told was paradise, Adam drooled a little when he saw all the different types of food and he wanted to try everything*

Adam: I shouldn’t eat too much.

*Lucifer looked over at Adam, he knew that Adam could still gain weight up in Heaven, but he didn’t think that others should judge him for wanting to try good food and he would still be very attractive if he got chubby*

Lucifer: You should enjoy whatever you want to.

Adam: Thank you.

*Lucifer gave Adam a plate and started to give him suggestions over what he should try first*

@things-arent-what-they-seem66

[skippygoldfish]

another big stowaway goldfish popped up at my job FUUUUUUCK!! this time from us harvesting all the fish. its safe for now in a sorting tank with some sunfish and another mystery carp. i know its technically no more special than the other fish but i dont wanna feed it to a bass 💔 i wish i had a pond so i could yoink all the stowaways SO BAD!!!!!!

firmly grasp it ☝️

[sunnibits]

god. something about samfro is so…

[fileckz]

took Faith out today while disc golfin. i think she enjoyed her adventure

[axolotlworld]

The turn Lavos gets trolled in the 2019 Smogon classic tournament recreated with the text from the resulting forum post

[habitual-creatures]

New favorite gif. Lmao.

[castieldelamancha]

In another life...

The world isn't ending, their world isn't haunted by shawdows and nightmares.

Dean wonders sometimes, how would it all be...

In another life.

With the right timing.

He could have reached out his hand across the table and take Cas' with it, all those times he thought about it, intertwine their fingers together, given him the reassuring touches and loving words he clearly needed.

In another life...

This thing, this story between them, wouldn't be impossible, complicated, unreachable, hopeless.

Dean wonders sometimes, how would it all be...

To know his touch isn't a curse, one that gets those he loves hurt or dead.

Maybe in another life...

He could be himself, fully, unapologetically, bravely and freely.

Not here, never here. It's never the right time for him, for them, for anybody.

He envies the other Dean, the one with the other life, with the bravery and the freedom to be himself.

That Dean looked Cas in the eye and when he was told about how loved he was he could tell Cas about his own love, the one that fills his heart to the brim, make him understand how loved he was in return.

But not here, because Cas left, because Dean was too scared to say it out loud.

Together.

They surely are together, just in another life.

It must be something gentle and wild, all at the same time, passionate and quiet, everything at once, it must be safe and scary, the good kind of scary, because he wouldn't jump into the unknown alone, but with Cas besides him. It must be lovely and easy, hopeful and bright.

So wonderful.

.

It is.

Dean finds out.

It's all those things and so many more, he can't find his words anymore, it's so vast none of them would make it any justice anyway.

It's not another life, this is them...

Cas is back.

Dean reaches across the table, he joins their hands, anytime he feels like it. Cas is back, solid and real, right there, and Dean can intertwine their fingers together, he can say all he couldn't before and he sees it in Cas' eyes, he sees it in Cas' smile, it's all he needed to hear, all along. Who knew four words could be so powerful?

I love you too.

This is them...

Together.

He is himself now, he forgets about the other life and about that other Dean and that other Cas, he wishes them well. He doesn't envy them anymore, he has it all too, his love, all around him, inside of him, bright as the biggest star in his galaxy, and his bravery and his freedom.

[girlspecimen]

i keep thinking about this guy who came into my work today and he wasn’t really like conventionally attractive but he had the most adorable features ive ever seen on an adult. his face and his body looked soft and round and he had giant brown eyes like a calf. clearest shiniest skin i’ve ever seen on a man and shy pouty lips and his cheeks were like naturally very ruddy he looked almost cherubic. was very soft spoken and thanked me profusely; tipped me 5 dollars after i talked him up. he was such a doll-like person, from appearances at least — truly the highlight of an otherwise incredibly shitty day. i’d keep him in my purse like a sonny angel figurine