Physically couldn't hold myself... I miss her, chat-
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i used to be so good at writing strong, thoroughly-researched, thoroughly-edited essays.
as a kid in hs, my teacher literally came up to me, holding my 40 page essay on the intersection of the European witch hunts and capitalism/exploitation/gender roles (it was supposed to be 7 pages...whoops) and went like "this is literally a master's-degree level thesis. what are you doing?? you could literally use this as your final dissertation in a master's program, what the fuck."
NOW??? NOW?? you'd think I'd be oh so skilled. but alas. i can barely piece together two ideas. adhd skill-regression is so so real. im SOBBING
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One of my favourite mundane weirdnesses about Edinburgh is that we set the big clock visible approaching the station to be 3 minutes fast to make sure people are on time for their trains. My Favourite mundane weirdness of Edinburgh is that we check this by firing a cannon.
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Reblog to give the person you reblogged this from a Croissant (🥐).
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OK this question has been bugging me all morning so y'all please let me know
bc ours did nd I never thought much of it as a kid but know I'm thinking about it and it feels kinda gross? so pls tell me if this experience was universal or not it will haunt me forever otherwise
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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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“My arms are too long” will undoubtedly go down as one of Doctor Who’s creepiest phrases, nevertheless this line is the one that haunts me:
There’s something about the casualness of how this line is spoken that’s so deeply sinister, and Tennant’s dead-eyed, subtly malicious stare is absolutely bone-chilling
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Alastor gets horny for romance and it's a real treat to witness
The weather gets colder and his behavior gets so much stranger... To others, anyway. You're well aware of this little routine Alastor goes through every year
You know immediately why Alastor is suddenly so much more interested in travelling with you. Normally, he'd simply ask where you were going and send you off easily, but now he's insisting that he goes to your work with you to "protect" you even though you have nothing to worry about
He feeds you like he's an Italian grandma. If he's not with you, he's in the kitchen making something for you, but if he is with you, he's dragging you to the kitchen to make something for you
He gets increasingly nitpicky about your diet and lifestyle. Generally he's a normal amount of annoying with everything you do, but it gets crazy when he's in rut
Suddenly he's insisting that you work too much and he needs to pamper you
He only allows you to eat food that he's made, which tends to be from scratch. How is he supposed to know who made these noodles? Who the hell laid these eggs? Fuck this, he's getting a chicken.
You have a chicken now... Fat Nuggets has a buddy :)
No fast food for you!! Alastor insists he knows a better recipe and will make you forget about the nasty greasy food
He's crazy because he's right, guys
Somehow he does make the food better and now you can't look at it the same anymore
This is only unfortunate when you want a yummy 3 a.m. snack
But now it's 7 a.m. and you may as well have just gone to bed
It's yummy, but is it worth it?
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Over the last 18 months... 125 to 153 to 195 👻
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