nothing like waking up on a rainy morning, climbing into your cute, comfy hanging chair, grabbing a book and making some coffee, then sparking that blunt 🤩😮‍💨

You gotta hand it to Fig. All of the Bad Kids were given foils this season and they got to decide how much they wanted to engage with that part of the plot. Gorgug only interacted with Mary Ann in passing despite them both being on the Owlbears. Fabian noped out of chatting up Ivy once she crossed a line with Mazey. Riz was so busy that he truly had no time to engage with Kipperlilly even though she's obsessed with him. Kristen interacted a bit with Buddy but spent way more time verbally sparring with Kipperlilly. And Adaine was somewhat interested in Oisin but never overtly acted on it.

But Fig?

She's in Ruben's WALLS. She's in his DREAMS. She's faking her alter emo's death. She's got the Fantasy FBI after her. She's SO SO tiny. No one is doing it like Fig's doing it.

when they said in Dune that they needed spice for space travel i thought it was used as some sort of fuel but no apparently it's just because your pilot needs to be hight out of his mind to be able to safely navigate big ships into space

In light of increasing anti-trans and anti-abortion laws in the United States, I am once again humbly requesting you inform yourself about jury nullification, your ability as a juror to vote against convicting people being prosecuted under unjust laws. Nullification was instrumental in legalizing abortion in Canada - it informed jurors can use it to help protect healthcare workers and protesters in the US, too.

sanji-kun!!

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.

two people will go through similar things & learn to cope in different ways

print ♥︎ song

online harassment campaigns are genuinely terrifying and part of why they're terrifying is that they make you feel like you're going insane—especially if they're false, frame you maliciously on purpose or blow things wayy out of proportion—because like. asides from it feeling really fucking bad due to the aforementioned tide of toxic sludge coming your way all at once, you genuinely start to doubt your perception of reality because surely this isn't... right? surely people can tell this isn't real/there's no way this kind of reaction is warranted or deserved, right?

if any of your friends ever go through that the single most helpful thing you can do is reach out to them & be like "jesus christ these people are nuts, are you okay?" PLEASE do, even privately if you're afraid of being dragged in. they'll never thank you enough, it's a literal life raft for their sanity

on the agency of puppets

the machine.

a comic about being a 'creator' online.

creative notes:

Mikhail Bulgakov, The Master and Margarita (1967) Kafka Asagiri, Bungo Stray Dogs chapter 114.5 (2024)

I miss them T^T I miss the blue girlies

I love Brennan being shocked at Siobhan translating elvish as if she hasn't translated Latin on this show without blinking. Come on, man.

i wanna talk about this portrayal of sally jackson and how it feels notably younger than the 2010 movie or even the musical. obviously her age is never explicitly stated there or in the books, but mama was sitting on the fire escape in the rain listening to olivia rodrigo and thinking about her ex. she's giving big 30-something millennial energy and i think that's so important in the context of HER story as a young mother alone in the world just trying her best. i think percy paints her as this angelic, caring, gentle presence that can do no wrong but the pov shift in the show lets us see her rougher edges, the places where she wasn't always perfect. and maybe im reading too far into this but if you reframe her and percy's relationship within the context of her being that young, of them reaching this quasi-gillmore girls space of "you are my baby but you're also my best friend and all i have in this world" idk it just feels a lot deeper somehow, like they're giving sally more dimension and development earlier on and i'm so excited to see her arc progress in future seasons

posting this with absolutely no context