#read the letters

[dreadfulsanity]

There's this TT account that makes those videos on how to spot AI and she had a great way of putting it:

Count the Fingers

Read the Letters

Count how many Things

Ask yourself How

Ask yourself Why

A.I. photos are flooding social media and contributing to an Internet where we can't believe what we see. Spotting A.I. 📷s is an important media literacy skill.

None of us have time to research every image we see. We just need people to notice BEFORE THEY LIKE OR SHARE that an image might be fake. If unsure, check it or don't share.

I've started drawing some comics explaining the basic of AI spot-checking and media literacy in the age of disinformation. Follow along here or on my Twitter.

[loveelizabeths]

love elizabeth s.

[foolsocracy]

this is actually so funny. imagining garth quipping and contributing to the conversation in his head cause he forgot the rest of the teen titans can't pick up on his telepathy

[polarsirens]

i am not at all caught up with fantasy high freshman and sophomore year but i’ve jumped into the middle of things and this today nearly made me bawl

life kinda sucks and i haven’t time to enjoy my comfort media but junior year’s been…. it’s really been a wonderful thing to have this to look forward to every week

[shisasan]

1 September, 1925 Letters to Véra by Vladimir Nabokov

[sfsolstice]

Anaïs Nin, in a letter to Henry Miller, d. March 9, 1932, from A Literate Passion: Letters of Anaïs Nin & Henry Miller, 1932-1953

[umblrspectrum]

the Solver of the Absolute Fabric, the Void, the Exponential End acting like an entitled toddler is the funniest thing

[simplyjustagirlsblog]

[skyrigel]

You're my home. You're my religion. And when you smile all heaven sparks with joy, my heart wants to crawl out of my ribs and be home with you.

[liquidstar]

[potato-lord-but-not]

obligatory Oscar post 🫶🫶

[carebeardean]

Charles has always left Edwin little notes slipped between the pages of his favorite books, in his science equipment, places he knows Edwin loves. Just silly things—post its that say “hi Edwin :)”. doodles of Edwin with his nose stuck in a book. reminders to stock up on wolfsbane. but.

Then, post canon, Edwin tentatively starts dating people. And it’s ridiculous, because Edwin’s right there, all the time, but Charles..misses him a bit. And his heads a mess, and he can’t sort out what the hell he’s feeling most of the time, and whenever he tries to say any of it out loud it comes out rubbish.

So. He writes down some of the shit he can’t say right, and because he’s a coward, hides them so he doesn’t have to see Edwin’s face when he reads them.

then Edwin starts writing back.

Neat lilac blue little envelopes appear in Charles coat pockets. In his bag. Once, in his shoe? Some nights, Edwin will clear his throat and mention something from a letter, offhand, like they’re just picking up conversation, and Charles can pretend they are. That they always have talked about the basement, the belt, the nameless fear that chokes him every time Edwin walks out the door with someone else on his arm.

Sometimes he can’t. The words get stuck in his throat. Edwin’s not mad, he’s maddeningly, stubbornly kind about it, which is worse.

Some nights they trade. A secret for a secret. Charles learns about the novels Edwin used to hide under his mattress, about all the lonely years before Charles got there. About Simon.

Meanwhile, Edwin is losing his mind, because Charles has accidentally stumbled onto what was a fucking courting ritual in his time. Love letters were something engaged couples treasured for years, kept and reread over and over. (Edwin does. keep them in a special box, will take one out and trace the words, tuck it in his breast pocket for courage).

Edwin would rather have to reattach a limb again than lose Charles trust, all the dark and beautiful things he shares with Edwin only. He knows—knows Charles doesn’t mean to make him fall more in love with him.

[loveelizabeths]

- 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚣𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚑 𝚜.

[fictionadventurer]

I love libraries.

I'm browsing the WWI shelves (as you do) and notice a very old book about the war. I glance at the first pages that talk about how one day the war will be over and we'll look at this place and not see any signs of the battlefield.

Then it hits me. And I check the publishing date.

This book was printed before the war's end. Not written. Printed. The physical object was created in 1918, while the war in question was raging and the end was as yet uncertain.

Now I'm standing on the other side of the apocalypse, with this physical link to that era in my hands. I'm living proof that the war did end and life did go on and we can all look at the end of the world as a long-ago memory.

Reading old books is cool enough, connecting our minds and hearts through the ideas of people who lived long ago, but there's something extra profound about holding a copy of the book that comes from the time that it was written. It's a physical link between the past and the present connecting me to those long-ago people. A piece of the past come into the future that gives me the chance to almost take the hand of some long-ago reader, to hold something they could have held, connecting not just mentally but physically to their era, a moment of connection across more than a century.

Excuse me while I go weep.

[bubblingsteam]

[shisasan]

26 September, 1880 Leo Tolstoy in his letter to Nikolai Strakhov