yall last week i had a phone interview and the recruiter said she was going to schedule me for a 2nd interview over zoom. i never got any follow up emails from her for the interview details and she wont respond to my emails or return my calls and interviews were supposed to be this week. i am loosing my mind
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my sexuality is not the most interesting or important thing about me my sexuality is not the most interesting or important thing about me my sexuality is not the most interesting or important thing about me my sexuality is not the most interesting or important thing about me my sexuality is not the most interesting or important thing about me my sexuality is not the most interesting or important thing about me my sexuality is not the most interesting or important thing about me my sexuality is not the most interesting or important thing about me my sexuality is not the most interesting or important thing about me my sexuality is not the most interesting or important thing about me my sexuality is not the most interesting or important thing about me my sexuality is not the most interesting or important thing about me my sexuality is not the most interesting or important thing about me my sexuality is not the most interesting or important thing about me my sexuality is not the most interesting
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the urge to buy a bunch of graphic tees on depop is strong but the lack of money in my bank account is stopping me
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im so desperate for money rn does anyone wanna hire me to be their personal paper filer or something i love doing inventory / sorting papers
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I think I need to go outside and read but also I need to shit shower pick up weed idk
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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.
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I truly, TRULY do not know how to say this, because the fact that I have to say it makes me feel like I am losing my grip on reality. But no, in the post-capitalistic anarchist utopia, I will not be relying on “autistic minecraft girlies” to be building inspectors because - and this may shock you - one of those occupations takes years of education in how to read and interpret hundreds of thousands of lines of regulations based on complicated math and physics that were the result of decades of tragedy and death, and the other one involves playing a children’s video game.
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”Crowww stop being so emotional over every minuscule Sephiroth detail alre—” I REFUSE.
I just can’t believe they added this detail of him being struck by Nibelheim’s natural beauty. He had never seen anywhere so picturesque before.
And it was his hometown. He didn’t even know that he was smitten with the beauty of his own hometown.
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was rewatching fabian’s baron moment on account of it being the most delicious piece of pvp in my recent memory and ally beardsley’s growth as a player just shone through so brightly and with such clarity. after dusting off their shock they immediately asked about the nemesis ward, had enough knowledge about fellow pcs stocked to remember adaine’s ac with such like frustrated confidence and certainty, suggested to siobhan to dimension door out of adaine’s room, like. they came into this making a character with 4 dex. and now the dice deity offered to roll a check to sense if adaine was in danger. making decisions, asking questions, getting invested in the story, trying so hard with the tools they have to save characters from danger; ally beardsley is an incredible d&d player.
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How does it feel to have those three make it this far in the sexyman vote
I want to see Error and Fresh go neck and neck, that would be the best thing in my entire life ever
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swear to god if I read another motherfucking fic where these vampires pause to get the lube I am going to have a fucking mental breakdown and chew holes in the walls. i have had it up to here. this is an intervention. this is a come-to-jesus moment. what are you doing. are you thinking about your choices. why are you making them have sex like they're humans instead of weird fucked-up vampire sex. look into my eyes. can you please consider your worldbuilding choices and make ones that are less excruciatingly boring. look at me. you're being the softest beigest pillow if you make them use human lube. i'm serious. i will die on this hill.
fight me in the comments if you disagree or you feel huffy about this, i don't care. come at me, bro, i own the night.
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