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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………..OKAY listen I know this looks and sounds a bit weird but..like…just imagine ummm fantasy and medieval aesthetic but with robots? And like…there’s some kingdoms and wars….and knights, who’s supposed to fight evil.
And robo-demons and robo-dragons and robo-magic. You got the idea.
And in all this - Blurr is a knight who loves messing with questionable magic so one day he summons a demon. I mean. On purpose. To serve him and help him fight and stuff. He’s pretty good at forbidden dark magic and knows all he need to know to control this demon.
The thing he doesn’t know though - the creature he summoned was once a knight too. And much much more knowledgeable in dark magic than him~
Next ->
Tasty art
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You and Miguel trip over each others feet, drunkenly, landing on the softness of your cozy bed with your back gently bouncing amongst the thick warmth of your blanket and his towering, stocky frame looming over yours protectively...admirably.
His soft hues of hazelnut irises gaze down at you with such tender and allure. Briefly glances down to the plushness of your pretty, fully lips promptly back up to your glimmering, hazy eyes. Contemplation roaming through his foggy mind.
Your gentle and sweet giggles lure him out from his thinking, eyes focusing more intently into your gorgeous eyes. Sinking and basking in the sheer beauty that resonates from your reeling optics. A lazy, half witted smile weaving across his strong cheeks.
"¿Qué es tan gracioso, preciosa?" he chimes with the same smile, watching you softly roam your tinier hands all over his wide, firm chest. Leaving a trail of arising goosebumps beneath the thin layer of his black shirt that snugged ever so nicely around his bulked stature.
"Y-you Miggy...you're so funny" you emit a small hiccup, fingers still grazing over the soft, light fabric that atoned to his fit body ever so perfectly. Your wandering irises stilling into his directly, nipping back your bottom lip as your palms smoothly, gradually glide their way up and around the juncture of his strong jaw to the back of his neck. Easing in the closeness between the two of you.
He raise a thick brow in curiosity and interest, chuckling lightly as he hums to the light invitation your fingers were hinting at, at the back of his head. Twirling and curling ever so delicately and diligently in between the soften locks of deep mahogany.
"Am I now? do share, dulzura" he keeps his adoring, flaunting smile on his beautiful face. Watching you ever so intently and longingly with every motion you'd make, consuming the intoxicating feeling of your welcoming gentle touches.
You giggle once more, another loose hiccup reverberating through your throat. Your hands clasping more securely around his neck and pull him down to meet your warm, tender lips. Hardly ghosting over the shell of his right ear.
"I can s-see you fighting back the u-urge to kiss me Miguel..." you whisper ever so daintly, smoothly deep into the depths of his ringing ears. You feel his muscles tense under your touch, arising a more coy and playful smirk to tug amongst your heated cheeks.
His head tilts lightly, lips skimming over the flush of your flawless skin, suavely rakes both of his large hands up along the strut of your calling body.
"...Would you be against it, mi amor?" his voice tremored with such lowered bass, rasp like as he grazes your cute cheeks with a teasing touch of his warm lips. Grinning oh so cheekily against the supple flesh as he feels you writhe and squirm a bit beneath him.
Your hands weave more profusely into his curly, brunette hair. Fingers curling and combing through each soften strand, as you pull him more closer towards you.
"O-of course not dummy...that's w-what I've wanted all this time" you breathe out faintly, listening to the sudden hitch of his breath settle at the back of his throat. His dilated pupils following over to remeet your coyish, yearning gaze.
It didn't take him much convincing afterwards to have his hungry lips lap over your own with such dire need and desire. A mixture of dizzying passion and aching want, fueling his ignited action against your lips. Devouring every moan, whimper and breathy gasps that slipped off your trembling, candied lips.
Diligently, wallowing in the devoted and amorous kiss.
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