the extent that i would be at emo night at sneaky dees every single weekend is crazy. you would think i was canadian.
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thinking about this site + fact checking (with the disclaimer i'm talking about fact checking being hard, but you're still responsible for trying to not spread misinfo)
i have such a weird relationship to fact-checking on this website because in the past i was only on here to whine about my life so i didn't kill myself, so i wasn't really in the proper mindset to care if i was spreading (non-harmful) misinformation. it's cool if people told me i was, but also if you're following a blog where a teenager posts every 5 minutes that they want to die in detail, you should assume they don't have the energy to fact check everything they put on your dash... or even the bandwidth to care to be perfectly honest.
i also did used to have a mindset of automatically not trusting most things, but knowing that if i were going to put it in an essay or tell someone that information independent of the source, i would look into it more... so to me it wasn't the end of the world if i DID reblog misinfo; though of course looking back, i'm sure my reblog was one piece of a chain where lots of people who don't see it that way were misinformed -> more misinformation. (and of course, i'm sure memories are weird and i did probably end up losing track of what i did/didn't vet, and spread misinfo in conversation, or have it impact my beliefs in some way.)
misinformation is bad and ideally everyone would fact check, or at least try to, before hitting the silly little reblog button. being mentally ill or having other priorities doesn't exactly absolve you from spreading misinformation.
i just think like... some people are on here for social justice info and therefore their blog will have more of a reputation for correct information. other people are just here to reblog pretty pastel pictures and if they can reblog an article they thought would be helping people with a quick button tap, well-intentioned, they're probably not in the most critical mindset.
in that latter case i just wonder what the alternatives are for the well-meaning lower-effort crowd. i guess the solution is probably to just not reblog articles you're not sure about!! because even if you assume the ppl following you will think critically about it before putting it into their belief system, they'll be reblogging to people who may not.
personally i put a disclaimer on things i haven't read or fact checked, but i do still want to reblog to save them for later since they get lost if i use my drafts for that purpose.
and of course, having different expectations as a consumer knowing that you're on social media where none of us are claiming to be experts on a thing we're reblogging information about, does help. there are some blogs dedicated to fact checking or dedicated to their particular area of study so you can have more trust in them if your braincells are dwindling that day, even though no one's perfect.
idk. it really is such a weird time for social media to be this huge mix of different things. i do try not to reblog news stuff on here because for me tumblr is my shutting-my-brain-off website, so i do take that approach (not reblogging things i'm not in a mindset to look into). it just also then sucks that i absolve myself from the responsibility to current events by doing that to an extent; though i do try to look into these things elsewhere when i can.
it's weird and i guess there are levels to it, where you shouldn't be discouraged from trying to spread helpful information because one tiny fact may be flawed in it, as long as you can be certain most of it is fine ??? but to me i just wonder if my approach these days is a net positive or a net negative, and it would probably swing wildly back and forth if i did reblog every little article i saw w/o critical thought.
and i'm out of braincells to force any more thoughts on this out in a meaningful way.
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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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your daughter comes to you, pigtails downturned like a sad dog’s ears. you put your book away, frowning as she climbs up the couch and into your lap. you run your hand through her hair as she lays her head down on your thighs, “what’s wrong, darling?”
“why is daddy so tall?” she pauses, “is he a giraffe?”
“no, actually he’s godzilla.”
“what’s a godzilla?”
“an animal that no zoo wants to have.”
she nods but the soft pout is still present on her lips. it reminds you of the grumpy pout sukuna has every morning when you escape from the cage of his arms.
“why? did daddy do something?”
she shakes her head, playing with the messily tied ribbons of the pigtails her father made, “no. it’s just…he’s so tall and his legs are so tall and he walks so fast and i can’t keep up.”
“who?” sukuna enters the room, a towel on his shoulder.
“godzilla.” your daughter replies.
he throws you a confused look and you shake your head as if to say ‘don’t worry about it.’
“well, dinner’s ready.” he says slowly, putting his hands on his hips.
“she wants to tell you something, don’t you, honey?” you give your daughter an encouraging look and she takes a deep breath, stumbling down from the couch and putting her hands on her hips, doing what her dad taught her when she wants to be a ‘big girl’.
“we need to talk, daddy.”
“talk then.”
sukuna realises the hesitation around her and crouches down to her level, softening his voice. “something wrong?”
“you walk too fast. an-and sometimes i can’t keep up. i don’t want you to leave me behind.” her voice grows small and she looks up at him with her lip wobbling.
“oh.” sukuna’s brows knit together, “uh, i’m sorry. i’ll walk slower next time.”
“or you could stick a leash on her hand and drag her around.” you mutter and sukuna seems like he’s actually considering the solution, “you’re influencing me too much. i need to stay away from you.”
“we sleep in the same bed.” sukuna deadpans.
“pervert.”
he rolls his eyes. “i promise i won’t leave you behind anymore.” he says to his daughter and she nods, smiling toothily as she leads him over to her tea party.
the next day, you come home to your husband and daughter surrounded in bubble wrap and cardboard, “what’s all this?”
your daughter excitedly waves you over, “daddy got me roller skates!”
sukuna only shrugs when you look over at him, “i took your advice. without the leash though.”
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