Uh-

just found out my cousin (who lives in England) is in the art department of a bunch of shows??? And she worked oN DOCTOR WHO? AND HAD LUNCH WITH DAVID TENNANT???? and she just told me so casually because she's interested in the art, not the show? I mean, excuse me? She worked on SHERLOCK???? FOR A WHOLE SEASON?? She worked on Peaky Blinders and Lord of the Rings and Game of Thrones??? And probably other things because she has a shitty memory and according to her everything is a blur?? AND AT ONE POINT SHE WAS LIKE: "oh and have you ever heard of Neil Gaiman?" And I was trying not to scream, because yes, of course I've heard of Neil, he's only my favorite author, I've only read like all of his books multiple times, and if you say you worked on Good Omens or the Sandman I'm going to lose it completely. So I said "yeah I've read a couple of his books," -you know, like a liar- "what about him?" and she goes "well I worked on one of his shows and he's brilliant i just can't remember which one" and i go "w-what do you mean he's brilliant? You're.. you're talking about his writing... his writing is brilliant, right?" And she cheerfully says "oh no I don't read books, I ment he was really nice and brilliant when I talked to him" and i go "WHAT DID YOU TALK ABOUT WHAT DID YOU TALK ABOUT" and she thinks for a moment and goes "oh! BRICKS" WHAT IN THE WORLD YES NO THAT MAKES SENSE YOU GET TO WORK AND TALK WITH NEIL FUCKING GAIMAN AND YOU TALK ABOUT BRICKS? NO THAT'S TOTALLY NORMAL I'M NOT MAD ".... it was what I was designing at the time, I needed to know what vibe the bricks should have. Anyway want to see the spinning fireplace I made for doctor who" WHAT THE FUCK.

@neil-gaiman do you remember any brick conversations by any chance

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.

I seriously need to stop making posts when I'm on the brink of insanity because now I have to write fanfiction about the Eiffel Tower and the Statue of Liberty being in love.

It's months after I first wrote this draft and I still haven't done it. I'm sorry but it's probably never gonna get done. I just watched too many unhinged fanfic tag fanfics and wanted to contribute to the madness.

GUYS WE HAVE A FAKED COROCORO PAGE

WE'RE SO FUCKING BACK

being aromantic is like. hey btw you're going to live a life that is the culmination of most of society's worst nightmares. sorry lol ✌️ but then you turn around and take a really good hard look at it and it turns out that living in that nightmare is fucking awesome and you get to wake up every day and take that fear that other people have and laugh and hold it close until it's a great joy for you instead. and being happy is a radical act that you define instead of someone else. and you're sexy as fuck that's just a fact of life i don't make the rules on that one

𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚢, 𝚍𝚘𝚐𝚐𝚢, 𝚌𝚘𝚠𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕, 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚙𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚠𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕, 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚍𝚘𝚐𝚐𝚢, 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚢, 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚘𝚗, 𝚕𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚑𝚘𝚐, 𝚛𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚘, 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚘𝚐𝚐𝚢, 𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚍, 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚕𝚎, 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛, 𝚕𝚘𝚝𝚞𝚜, 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚞𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚕𝚢, 𝚋𝚞𝚕𝚕, 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛, 𝚙𝚞𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚞𝚜𝚑, 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚘𝚙, 𝚛𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚎, 𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚌𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚜, 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚒𝚝 𝚋𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚖𝚢 𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚡 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚝, 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚐 𝚞𝚙, 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚜 𝚞𝚙, 𝚞𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗, 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚍, 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚛, 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛, 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎, 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚗, 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑, 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚎, 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝, 𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝙸 𝚍𝚒𝚎.

(gif cred: @itspapillonnoir)

You're the brave man? I am. But maybe you can call me dad.

OOOOOOOOO

The reason why causes like the fight against KOSA don't go anywhere is because you fuckers give up too quickly.

You see one advancement from that damned bill and drop your sword and say that it's over.

Wake the fuck up.

If we don't keep fighting, even if it's gone silent for a while, that shit's gonna go through without us even knowing. Fight tooth and nail. Show them that we can and will beat their asses if they don't straighten up. And don't just say we will. Actually do something if it does pass. They think we'll take this sitting down and will just lay there. We need to prove them wrong.

But if we don't get on their asses and lay down like cowards, they'll think they have power. You bitches who say "it was a good run" or "I can't do anything so we're fucked" are part of the problem.

KOSA and KOSA adjacent bills blatantly violate several amendments in the US constitution. People need to realize that.

And if you don't think you have a voice or can't stop it in any way, yes you can. Do research on your rights, don't just get your info from Tumblr or wherever else. Go on and search on your own. Especially if it's something you've seen and you're unsure if it's true.

Misinformation can murder a cause.

You can do things, you just need to find a group.

And don't just keep KOSA online. Tell people you know. Make them care. If they think it's a good idea, change their minds. Don't "agree to disagree."

And don't just not care because you've lost faith. You can still try. And if peace doesn't work, get physical. Get dirty. We've done it for causes like Palestine, we can do it for this.* (read the tags for my elaboration on that- i don't want people getting the wrong idea.)

Organize. Attack. Scream. Make them hear you. Because if we don't, they're gonna take full control.

i think we should round up every single "journalist" who writes articles in passive voice and uses vague language to obfuscate what is happening to palestinians so much so that you can barely understand what they're even saying and shove them into an extra large human sized hydraulic press machine

The shoe is a bad miracle. The shoe stands up by random chance. It’s a beautiful thing. A wonderful thing. Surrounded by the horrific incident around it. Jean Jacket is a beautiful creature. A beautiful animal. She causes uncontrollable death and destruction. The shoe stands up and Steven Yeun’s character stares at it because it’s there. Because it’s better than looking at his co-star being brutalized. Because it’s better than looking at a chimp he thought was his friend covered in another person’s blood. The shoe is a miracle in the middle of a horrific incident. Steven Yeun’s character waits for the “other shoe” to drop. It never does. Not until years and years and years later. Not until he believes himself special, and thinks of that shoe as some kind of blessing. He’s the chosen one. He wasn’t. He’s eaten, just like everyone else.

I'm in love with the slime man there I said it!!

i think it's very important that all of us know that the long elk is internally referred to as.

the snelk

there's this borderline hysterical laugh garak breaks into a couple of times during the early seasons that is so special to me. like. this man. this man is so high (constantly) and probably drunk (frequently) and he's at all times teetering on the very brink of despair that only pure spite, immense stubbornness, and getting to gaze at julian bashir's smiling face across the lunch table once a week is holding him back from tipping over. and then he has to deal with people like skrain dukat and gul toran on top of that and you can practically hear the cracks forming as he's barely holding on to whatever remains of his sanity by the skin of his teeth

Catnaps