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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These little fuckers are round gobies. They are a freshwater goby that's invasive in Michigan, and they're in the nearby lake. They're distinct from the four native species due to their fused pelvic fins (middle pic) and a big black dot at the rear of their front dorsal fin. Though some other gobies have spots on their fins, NO Michigan-native species has a fused pelvic fin. These guys are very aggressive feeders and are very good at outcompeting native gobies.
They're also extremely good at stealing bait off big hooks as people on the docks reel in their lines. In particular, the bastard in the bottom photo stole my bait two days ago, so I caught him and filleted him for Bug.
Today, after acquiring smaller hooks, I went back and got 16 more, and educated several other fishers about their invasive nature. I got two turned over to me by others, and caught 14 more myself.
One man wandered over and asked why I was catching them on purpose. It was too much trouble to explain my feelings about invasive species, so I just told him, one of them stole my bait two days ago. He stopped watching my bobber and boggled at me and goes:
"You're doing this for revenge?"
So now there's some guy in town that thinks I am exacting revenge upon fish kind for a single stolen worm.
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popping back in for a couple seconds, because I am obsessed with these two throwaway characters from the last new year's bit. I need to know more about this fancy overdramatic theater kid and IT nerdling's more-likely-than-you'd-think friendship.
(brb, building an entire mental headcanon around these random characters who will literally never appear again. they have a whole sitcom together...in my heart.)
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hey btw if you're in the USA at 2:20 p.m. ET on Wednesday, Oct. 4, they're testing the emergency broadcast system. your phone is probably going to make a really loud noise, even if it's on silent. there's a backup date on the 11th if they need to postpone it.
if you're not in a safe situation and have an extra phone, you should turn that phone completely off beforehand.
additionally, if you're like me, and are easily startled; i recommend treating it like a party. have a countdown or something. be surrounded by your loved ones. take the actions you personally need to take to make yourself safe.
i have already seen mockery towards any person who feels nervous about this. for the record, it completely, completely valid to have "emergency broadcast sounds" be an anxiety trigger. do not let other people make fun of you for that. emergency sounds are legitimately engineered to make us take action; those of us with high levels of anxiety and/or neurodivergence are already pre-disposed to have a Bad Time. sometimes it is best to acknowledge that the situation will be triggering for some, and to prepare for that; rather than just saying "well that's stupid, it's just a test."
"loud scary sound time" isn't like, my favorite thing, but we can at least try to prevent some additional anxiety by preparing for it. maybe get yourself a cake? noise cancelling headphones? the new hozier album? whatever helps. love u, hope you're okay. we are gonna ride it out together.
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Radioactive Hero (but not really) au
Danny moves to Gotham, hear him out! There's really good jobs there that pay through the nose and the cost of living is cheap!
Plus, the city is riddled with heroes and vilains! It's so easy to slip under the radar!
Unfortunately, there are so many civilian casualties. Like, all the time. Even in Metropolis!
So Danny, for his first year in Gotham, opens small portals to the Far Frozen and gets schooled on being a field medic. None of his powers can really be used for healing, but they can make people feel better. He just has to be careful to be as far removed from the Phantom moniker as possible, so he can't use any obvious powers.
He gets a bit of a reputation in Gotham; a small time hero of the people, for the people. A hero not invested in fighting, but in dragging civilians away from the danger. He doesn't even have a moniker; people are too busy arguing over the best one for him.
So while aliens are attacking both Metropolis and Gotham, Danny is out in full kit; a gas mask to hide his face, all black, repurposed kevlar from the vests the GCPD did not properly dispose of, no identifying markers.
But one of the clean up crews notices something insanely worrying; the geiger counter they have to point at alien spaceship parts? Yeah. Yeah, it's going off when they point it at the new small-time hero.
That hero's power is radioactivity. Holy shit. It's not at a level that will hurt people, but when he's dodging through fighting the level goes up.
The clean up crew concludes and shares via Twitter that the medic-hero is only a danger to others if he gets too stressed.
Word spreads fast, and pretty soon the absolute second Danny shows up on a scene, all fighting stops.
After all, no one wants to piss off the living Nuclear Bomb.
Basically, Danny's ghost-everything sets off Geiger counters, and now absolutely everyone is convinced that the medic-themed hero only refuses to fight because his meta power is just...being radioactive.
But he isn't.
So now, because it's the perfect cover and completely disassociated from Phantom, he has to play along and pretend like yes; that is his power.
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