benthic angel
was writing about lake sturgeon for a class assignment and showed one of my friends what i'd written.. he then sent part of it back to me with line breaks to turn it into a poem! i just had to draw something for it :]
poem text under the readmore:
lake sturgeon don't know
that they're endangered. They don't know
anything - other than the muck
at the bottom
of the water column
and the occasional passing
touch of another.
really touched by how my friend turned my technical writing into poetry. i haven't tried to write creatively in months, so it's nice to see i've still got it- and nicer still that i could get so inspired by my friend, since i haven't made nature art in a little while, either :>!!
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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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an aromantic person is someone who (fill in the blank here) // april 10 2024
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quite the poet, quite the inspo
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isnt it amazing we live in a world where theres poetry. why is nobody else going insane about it
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The most evil celebratory kiss
[First] Prev <–-> Next
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Enough for Me
Enough for me to die on her earth
Be buried in her
To melt and vanish into her soil
Then sprout forth as a flower
Played with by a child from my country.
Enough for me to remain
In my country's embrace
To be in her close as a handful of dust
A spring of grass
A flower.
-- Fadwa Tuqan
I hope, in these days, to share poems or parts of writings of these wonderful people and that this will also encourage you to read and share poetry or small writings - both of writers and your own -.
WRITING IS ALSO A FORM OF PROTEST!
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yall i just KEEP doing back to mizu and taigen's wrestling scene in master eiji's forge and like i know that taigen literally got a boner from it BUT THE THING IS out of all the scenes these two have together, this scene actually has the least sexual tension ?!? cuz like the boner aside, this scene is actually very soft and emotions-driven rather than pure passion or lust.
arguably, a more passionate and sexually-charged scene would be their previous brawl in the snow with the chopsticks, which is tense and angry and also the scene that mizu thinks about when madame kaji talks about being honest with one's innermost desires.
but THIS scene in the forge? warm colours. their laughter and their smiles that both equally genuine. the WAY taigen looks at mizu in that scene, staring first at her lips, her smile, then looking into her eyes. and you can see by the framing of the scene and the look on his face that he is, for the first time, seeing her eyes as something beautiful rather than off-putting or frightening.
like before this point he's already come to not only respect mizu as a person and an equal but also admires her as an incredible swordsman and as someone who is kind and honourable* for having saved his life at the expense of her revenge quest. so as of the time of them tussling in the forge, taigen has already put aside his prejudices about mizu's blue eyes and no longer finds them as any cause for disgust. but in this scene he's not just indifferent about her eyes, but attracted too it.
and i'd also like to argue that his boner is not from the physical exertion or the act of wrestling itself, but from the intimacy of a playful spar, enjoying each other's easy company after having established a deep trust with each other (taigen endured torture for mizu and helped defend her from archers in the chasm while mizu saved his life from fowler's castle)
and all this while in the safety of mizu's childhood home while both of them are still recovering from near-death, amplifying their vulnerability with each other.
like when was the last time mizu cracked a genuine smile, let alone a laugh that's more than a little wry chuckle?? and for this to happen at such a low point in her life also speaks to the comfort this little friendly spar gives her.
because like, this is after she failed her mission to kill fowler. meanwhile her sword--the embodiment of her soul--is broken, and ringo who is her closest confidant is now angry at her and barely even looks at her. it just further lends to the inherent tenderness and intimacy in this scene. and i just. AHHHH i love them your honour....
* ALSO as a side note about taigen believing mizu to be honourable: he later realises that this assumption turns out to be quite false when she reveals that she'd not only allowed akemi to be taken away against her will but also has said nothing about fowler's impending attack on edo.
also i find it very interesting that out of the two revelations, taigen is less angered by mizu letting akemi being married off (he sighs angrily and marches off saying he has to go to edo to find akemi), but much more angered by mizu's refusal to save the shogun and the shogunate as a whole.
this is more proof that taigen's central principles are firmly rooted in the bushido and the concept of honour that comes with that. it's why he lashes out at mizu. because he'd believed mizu to be honourable and righteous, but was proven wrong. that's not to say that taigen is in the right for calling mizu a demon, not by any means. but i just find it a very interesting part of his character and it relates to his relationship and perception of mizu
also while rewatching the episode i found this very funny they just lyin there in the cart like this 🧍🏽♂️🧍🏽♂️
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I understand that literature nerd Jason Todd is kind of overblown in fanon compared to it's actual presence in canon (a few issues during his pre (and post?)crisis Robin tenure that highlight it) BUT consider that I think it's hilarious if the unhinged gun toting criminal has strong opinions on poetry
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1. Your father argued with your mother.
2. Your mother argued with your brother
3. Your brother argued with your father.
4. It was almost always cold.
5. That is all you remember.
"Nineteen eighty-something" from Multiple Choice by Alejandro Zambra
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EVIL MARK, EVIL MARK, EVIL MARK!!! I want to be coherent about this season but please picture me foaming at the mouth and running on the walls. S2 being what if Mark's just like his Dad? Insanity. I love this show. Anyways, AU where an Evil!Mark tries to make Our!Mark worse, and Our!Mark tries to make the other better. Something something confronting your idea of the worst version of oneself. Plus, tweaked black and yellow costume because I saw it and immediately went murder hornet lookin' ass and knew I had to draw it. Evil ass Mark. Horrible. I think he should be dragged kicking and screaming into redemption.
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I will not be great / but I'm grateful to get through / the feeling came late / I'm still glad I met you
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"it's so embarrassing you like that popular thing" "oh ew that geeky/strange thing is so cringe lol" "oh it's kind of weird you get excited about that harmless shit"
dude i love how ironic and jaded you are and that's so cool and sexy of you. and i am so so glad to tell you - you won!! we all had a meeting and we decided that you won, and we are writing your name on the inside of a burger king crown. the marker smeared, sorry, but we knew any form of real effort is ugly to you. but anyway. congrats! you are officially the coolest, most ironic, most jaded person in-the-world-right-now. we would throw you a party but you would think it was totally boring - and besides, we're weird so we wouldn't have been coming. we would have brought our love of beetles and of baking and of little canapes. we would have brought our artsy videogames and pages of writing. we would have written a poem with you, our hands covered in ink, and spread out a canvas to dance on, the night so lurid and pink.
but do not worry. we will not throw the party. we will just get you a ringlight and that crown i mentioned. it is a nice crown, except for where one of us dropped it.
the vote was a really hard one because we had so many cool ironic people to pick off the shelves. all of you have hands that rot fruit, how strange is that - you can't look at something without destroying it for other people. you like it when you can squeeze a person into a pinpoint - all us small ones scampering our little feet around our ugly joys. the vote was also a hard one because we kept our voices down because you don't like it when we talk too loud. you were on your phone at the time, talking to people other than us. you are a ghoul of every moment - half in, half out, you resent us for being here without shame or embarrassment.
so good news! we have invented an island for people like you. you get to go there and speak into the air things like if you still like watching harmless twitch streamers in 2023 you're fucking boring. you will say things like liveplay podcasts are fucking ugly and it's kind of awkward they try to make everything gay. on the island we made you, all of your words will have weight. they will form in the air like icicles, large white behemoth letters that will crumple in anvils around your feet. maybe we will send someone there once in a while to sweep, but honestly you might be there for a while, alone, waiting. we are busy being outside looking for mushrooms and flapping our hands and humming. we are busy kicking our little heels while we watch cringey tv. we are busy - sorry! as an apology, we have pre-filled the island with every bland, mediocre, unscented thing we could find. the island has the texture of american cheese. the island has an ocean that never gets angry. the island is perfect for you, trust me. you will be so happy there - as happy as you can be, ironically.
we want to say we are sorry for doing harmless things that you find annoying, childish, or unappealing - but we are not sorry. we thought we could help you, because we don't mind laughing at ourselves, but it turns out you are allergic to color and noise and atmosphere, so this is the best that we can do for now. we are all making a big shirt that says i voted in the ironic monarchy. we got you one that is just a fast fashion buttondown. i am so excited for you and this island and the big life you have won. you have a cool jaded grey life and miles of irony to roam. i love you! be well.
now leave us alone.
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i am the ocean; the earth; whatever dies for you
pedro salinas tr. by ruth katz crispin, the voice I owe to you / patty dickson pieczka, autumn / louise glück, marathon / dulce maría loynaz tr. by james o'connor, absolute solitude / vladimir nabokov, in a letter to his wife véra / c.t. salazar, headless john the baptist hitchhiking / sara shagufta tr. by sascha aurora akhtar, how solitary is the moon / vladimir nabokov, ada, or ardor / alice notley, the black trailer
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