The math just adds up!

"love every trans woman you meet before it's too late" is a tumblr post that is very close to my heart because it was inspired by a friend of mine attempting suicide.

like a lot of people seem to assume it's about the banning and stuff and i mean like it can be. love the trans women in your life before the structures around them isolate them. love them before they feel like they're unloved. yk.

but like.

love every trans woman you meet before it's too late is particularly strong to me because it's literally about a friend of mine i thought it was too late for.

i was too scared of making her uncomfortable to let her know how much i love her and how wonderful it is to know her and how happy i am to have met her. and i thought she was gone.

love every trans woman you meet before it's too late is a reminder to me to always push past that discomfort. to always try to make the trans women in your life feel loved. because we so often feel unlovable.

even if you think your actions speak for themselves, push beyond your fears. tell them directly.

"i love you."

"you're a wonderful force in my life, you make me happy."

"i would miss you when you're gone."

"please come to me with your problems."

"i love you."

let the trans women in your life know exactly how much you care about them. let them know you love them. let them know they're your best friend. let them know you'll always be there for them.

they will doubt they're good enough they'll doubt they're loved they'll doubt everything that gives them value. but take them into your heart and make them feel it.

be their shoulder to cry on.

please don't ever let it be too late.

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.

lore accurate teen soukoku. the worsties ever

karlach my precious heart 🥺🤲🏼❤️‍🔥

"For a moment or two I could see nothing, as the shadow of a cloud obscured St. Mary’s Church and all around it. Then as the cloud passed I could see the ruins of the abbey coming into view; and as the edge of a narrow band of light as sharp as a sword-cut moved along, the church and the churchyard became gradually visible. Whatever my expectation was, it was not disappointed, for there, on our favourite seat, the silver light of the moon struck a half-reclining figure, snowy white."

Mina and Lucy in the kirkyard at Whitby, August 11th.

Prompt 235

“Mother, I have made a friend.” 

Now don’t get him wrong, Danny was delighted at the idea of Jordan making a friend, he really was. But the last three attempts had been borderline kidnappings, so he wasn’t entirely sure if he should be. Thankfully it doesn’t seem he’s kidnapped this one. Hopefully. 

Not that he wouldn’t be surprised if Dan managed to kidnap a tiny kryptonian, but the kid- Jon apparently- seemed happy enough to be there. Apparently his grandparents lived in the midwest too, and was happy enough to have someone to talk about it. 

Though um, maybe Danny should have checked to see if his parents knew where he’d gone, because he was not expecting a harried-looking superman to suddenly appear at his window. 

main 3 lov, even tho Himiko is a bat and can wear normal clothes she prefers to wear leafs like bugs to blend in easier her tooth scarf is cloth with rips in it that looks like teeth i think that's creative

Freeing myself from the shackles of an organized comic format to get this idea out of my head!! Also, just follow the numbers if the layout is too confusing otherwise, but basically I want Spectra to be Jazz's Nemesis so bad. It just makes sense.

SO: the hypothetical episode's showdown would be them battling, and no Danny, he's already got beef with a packers obsessed billionaire. Now, Spectra's got the high ground with overwhelming power, but she's sloppier and easily irritated because of it! Jazz then outsmarts her, getting her angry enough to make enough mistakes to be corned and canned by the thermos.

Also minor spelling error ugh, meant to put "no one could", not "no could".

I fully haven’t stopped thinking about Kipperlilly being pissed off at Fig’s german shepherding.

Offering lil doodles of them bc my eyes have been opened

The idea that uni protesters are "elitist ivy-league rich kids larping as revolutionaries" on Twitter and Reddit and even here is so fucking funny to me if you actually know anything about the student bodies at these unis. Take it from someone who's going to one of the biggest private unis in the US, 80% of the peers I know are either from the suburbs or an apartment somewhere in America, children of immigrants, or here on a student visa. I've heard about one-percenter students, but I've never met one in person. Like, don't get me wrong, the institution as a whole is still very privileged and white. I've talked with friends and classmates about feeling weird or dissonant being here and coming from such a different background. But in my art program, I see BIPOC, disabled, queer, lower-income students and faculty trying to deconstruct and tear that down and make space every day. So to take a cursory glance at a crowd of student protesters in coalitions that are led by BIPOC & 1st/2nd-gen immigrant students and HQ'd in ethnic housings and student organizations and say, "ah. children of the elite." Get real.

ultimate ceilings buddie edit. this is my magnum opus (also on youtube!)

Sunny and their crown friends (aka, their bodyguard, chauffeur and Accountant)

EDIT: @this-is-a-name-dont-worry Thank you for letting me know about their pronouns!! I wasn't aware :>!! Unfortunately I can't edit my tags to change some of it to they because I'm on mobile tho I'll use they/them for sunny more in the future!!