"UNPROFESSIONAL"

me and omegle

As gen-AI becomes more normalized (Chappell Roan encouraging it, grifters on the rise, young artists using it), I wanna express how I will never turn to it because it fundamentally bores me to my core. There is no reason for me to want to use gen-AI because I will never want to give up my autonomy in creating art. I never want to become reliant on an inhuman object for expression, least of all if that object is created and controlled by tech companies. I draw not because I want a drawing but because I love the process of drawing. So even in a future where everyone’s accepted it, I’m never gonna sway on this.

Trade Networks in the Middle Ages, c. 1200

I am pleading once again for white liberals to read The New Jim Crow and see how racist policing and law enforcement is 1) bipartisan and 2) the key to how people of color (Black people specifically) are systemically, violently, and purposely kept in check in this country. Begging y'all to see that someone doesn't have to say a slur to be antiblack in the entirety of their belief system, that the status quo you live under is maintained by the suffering (both current and potential) of millions

David Lynch + the road at night

Blue Velvet (1986) Wild at Heart (1990) Lost Highway (1997) Mulholland Drive (2001) Twin Peaks: The Return (2017)

And then he gave him his horse and that horse was given to him and …

Chrétian de Troyes is legit the funniest medieval writer i’ve read so far??

Like. percival is all masquerading as a badass knight and then the moment he opens his mouth everyone can immediately tell that he’s an idiot. he won’t stop talking about his mom and it takes his mentor to give it to him straight to get him to stop. he’s called an idiot to his face.

And the whole time arthur is like, Kay i swear to god it’s ok for perceval to act like an idiot because no one knows who he is, but if you act like an idiot you make me look bad, so sit the fuck down.

LIKE??? THIS IS LITERATURE

Barn Owl by Gwen Harwood

Daybreak: the household slept.

I rose, blessed by the sun.

A horny fiend, I crept

out with my father's gun.

Let him dream of a child

obedient, angel-mind-

old no-sayer, robbed of power

by sleep. I knew my prize

who swooped home at this hour

with day-light riddled eyes

to his place on a high beam

in our old stables, to dream

light's useless time away.

I stood, holding my breath,

in urine-scented hay,

master of life and death,

a wisp-haired judge whose law

would punish beak and claw.

My first shot struck. He swayed,

ruined, beating his only

wing, as I watched, afraid

by the fallen gun, a lonely

child who believed death clean

and final, not this obscene

bundle of stuff that dropped,

and dribbled through the loose straw

tangling in bowels, and hopped

blindly closer. I saw

those eyes that did not see

mirror my cruelty

while the wrecked thing that could

not bear the light nor hide

hobbled in its own blood.

My father reached my side,

gave me the fallen gun.

'End what you have begun.'

I fired. The blank eyes shone

once into mine, and slept.

I leaned my head upon

my father's arm, and wept,

owl blind in early sun

for what I had begun.

Brother Gregor never spoke and often spooked the neophytes with his appearance, but he was a gentle soul and a phenomenal cook and knew more ways to prepare a fish than the abbot knew hymns

remember in sonic x when topaz on screen took rouge on a date, have her a gemed ring and then fell on the floor sobbing when they’d never see each other again like they really did that

plenty of sea in the fish or some shit like that idfk