#editing? i don't know her

[bixels]

me too, luna.

[chalkrub]

dinosaur in a lab coat - would you trust her with operating the centrifuge

[clownowo]

been replaying the Portal series I think this is where its heading

[inkskinned]

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.

[casadegatos]

Favorite thing I wrote today, It's Hump Day Baby Edition:

today's prompt: one accomplishment

Down to his toes, down to his toenails, even, Shirl promised himself. This was the last time. The last time. The last time had been the last time, too. And the time before that. Shirl picked at a scab on the back of his hand and blocked out the stench of the other men. Other men who were as hollow looking as Shirl felt.

He didn’t know how many times Narcan worked on you. Some guys said after five times it didn’t work, then your O.D. would be permanent. Shirl didn’t want to find out. He pushed up from the cot, slid his bag out from under it, and nodded at Cuke as he started for the door. The Shining Light would let him stay another night, but the cool spring weather was inviting and there were guys worse off than him. His bag was lighter than he recalled it being when he checked in. Rummaging around inside, his fingers touched the leather binding of the book. At least Frost was safe. The metal canteen was missing, that was it.

A narrow look Cuke’s way. Cuke’s eyes slid toward a new guy, one Shirl hadn’t noticed. Under his cot, the canteen. Shirl shrugged his bag over one shoulder and made a circuit of the room, barely breaking his stride when he scooped the canteen up. Then he was outside.

Bright, optimistic rays of sun slanted through the branches over his bench. Shirl settled on one end, leaving the other open for anyone else who wanted to enjoy the park that day with him. It was a singular type of Spring day, every green hue possible, light pink buds just about to burst, some sparrows twittering. Shirl breathed in. He liked this, this was being alive. He could do this.

If he stayed here, read Frost, appreciated the sun, and didn’t think beyond that. He’d get hungry, but Shining Light gave him a packet of trail mix on the way out, so he could handle that. If he stayed here and It left him alone, he could do this.

Even though he had memorized the poems back in his classroom, all those years of teaching them to freshmen, he still liked to look at them on the page as he ran them through his mind. Sometimes he forgot a word here and there, but only sometimes. It. It didn’t like poetry. So Shirl kept his eyes on the page and in his mind the road diverged, the fences were mended, nature was green and gold. The order of the poems mattered, so he turned the pages carefully. He couldn’t skip any of them. If he did, It might find the opening. Make Shirl shiver and need. Next. Next. Next.

No one sat at the other end of the bench, not once. If they had, Shirl would have smiled and offered some of his trail mix to them. Talking to people, though. Shirl pushed It away. Thinking about people hurt. He turned another careful page. Darkening clouds fretted over the horizon and Shirl stuck out his tongue. No rain, he didn’t think. No. The empty bench was long enough for him to lay on, he knew because he’d slept on it before. Probably would tonight, the park was quiet.

Only a few dog walkers and stroller pushers had passed him the whole time he’d sat here. Shirl was invisible to them. That was good. His loneliness was his, he didn’t want to inflict it on anyone else. How he’d ended up here, he supposed. Protecting others from It. Drugs only did so much. Distance only did so much. Whatever tether he’d had before unraveled every time he used, but every time he used he could almost touch what it had been to feel…normal? To feel something. To not feel It.

Purple and orange streaks announced sunset, followed by a soft breeze. Shirl closed Frost and put it under his head as a pillow. He would be able to sleep. He’d made it through the day and he was alive.

[disaster-magician]

Imagine this takes place at the end of step 2 so they're close enough to joke around with each other lol

(Fake screenshots! These are fan made based on incorrect quotes and not in the game)

[wistfulwatcher]

emily prentiss + her waning tolerance of getting close to killers

[iristial]

[enduracarrotchips]

out of touch ...

[nanihirunkits]

Let me help get our house back, Yei. Let me help you. You can take all my savings. Take it, Yei.

WANDEE GOODDAY | EP10

[reddoll123]

Aisha/Layla, fairy of waves~

[marauders-bs]

"Jesus Christ," Evan muttered to himself. "Okay, who broke the lamp? Be honest, you five."

Kay Rosier-Crouch stood, eyes wide, beside her cousins Luna and Ascella and a broken lamp. Estrella and Cherie Potter-Black stood guiltily behind Kay as though the twins were attempting to hide.

"Honesty is the best policy," Lily tried when no one spoke up. "We won't be mad if you're honest."

"Oh, okay," Cherie said, looking relieved. "All the time?"

"All the time," James agreed, looking at his daughter.

"Uncle Barty taught me the word fuck because I asked him to," Ascella blurted from the corner.

Absolute, dead silence rung throughout the room. Evan knew Pandora had the most pissed off expression and really, really did not want to look.

"Aunt Andromeda is my favorite," Estrella said.

"Last year I snuck onto the Hogwarts Express to see Bianca and lied to you about it, and her dads knew."

Regulus looked like he was trying not to immediately Apparate to his brother's house in a fit of fury at Cherie's words.

"We use your Netflix account," Luna told Evan. "You should really change your password, you know."

"I don't even care who broke the lamp anymore," Pandora said. "I just need a drink."

Regulus stood up, sweeping Cherie into his arms. "Yeah, I'm going with you."

[waverlyyhaught]

Favorite Marta and Fina Moments - Part 108 Sueños de Libertad, Ep. 205

[luna-loveboop]

I want. Four to get appreciation. Because

Four gave a ton of unnoticed help when Twilight was injured

The fight with Wild was difficult, and I know we're all concerned about his negative view of the shadow crystal

But Four did something that no one else really thought of to help- He took care of Twi's stuff

From the beginning he told Twilight to not worry about them

So Four took care of pretty much everything but the others (that Sky and Wars handled)

He took care of Epona

Which is so very important- he took care of Twilight's horse. After her arrival at the stable Four followed up on her

And for Epona, a horse so attached to her human, having some company can help so much for reassurance

He took care of Twilight's stuff

He got Twi's shield- his bags and equipment, and organized it into one place

And he was worried. He obviously found the shadow crystal while handling Twi's stuff, but his negative reactions to it were out of concern.

Also- because of his placement in this scene

I'm fairly convinced Four was ready to start cooking before Wild showed up (since he's beside the counter with food supplies). At the very least he had the basket of fruit out for everyone -but he was literally standing with food behind him- he thought of everything

And he did housekeeping!

Wars payed for the inn, so Four took care of the inn

Realistically these boys were probably not too concerned with tidyness. Four got all of Twi's things on one table, and took care of the room they stayed in

Organizing tables and Twi's things, having food supplies ready, and opening the curtains- overall he was the one tidying up the inn

Four helped in a huge way! He took care of Twi's horse (Epona is so important), his equipment and shield and bag, as well as the other rooms in the inn

Four filled in all the little tasks that others didn't think of. He helped in ways that were needed, but not obvious

There's a lot of problems with the shadow crystal and with Wild, and I don't know what's gonna happen in the future

But don't forget this- don't forget that Four was one who stepped up in an almost unnoticeable way

Don't forget that when everyone was barely holding it together, Four visited Twilight's horse and took care of his things

No matter what develops in the future- this amount of care shown is important ya know?

.

Art and comic from Jojo @linkeduniverse au :)))

[gunstellations]

cuddle ball

[sentientsky]

Kristin Chang, "Churching"

on apotheosis. on rage that has nowhere to go