plainloon

[plainloon]

'Ai makes art accessible.'

Art is accessible. you just lack the patience (& the passion) to make it.

it doesn't make sense because, if you refuse to 'waste time' learning how to make the things you want to see,

what are you planning to spend your life on, exactly?

[plainloon]

Hey, you reblogged that AI post and I was surprised to see something so mean on your blog. "If you cant write unassisted, fuck you, youre a disgrace to the community." Is that really something you want on your blog?

Just in case this isn't a spam message:

Posting AI-generated content to a platform intended to be an archive for writers is not appropriate use of the platform. On a platform intended for human creation, it is rude and inappropriate to clog search results with AI-produced content which often plagiarizes the work of human authors.

Use of generative AI is also horrible for our environment, leading to massive waste of fossil fuel energy and water. We should not be doing damage to our planet for the sake of generating (robot-produced, often plagiarized) fiction, especially when the joy of fiction comes from the creation and emotion of real people.

Rather than giving a prompt to a generative AI, people should consider attempting to write their own work, or asking another writer from the fandom if they would be interested in writing it. Anyone who is capable of typing a prompt into ChatGPT is capable of writing a story. The first attempts may not be amazing, but that is true of any skill, and anyone can improve with time and practice - and while ChatGPT may give you big returns in your time, it doesn't give you practice, growth, or creativity, which is where the joy of writing should come from.

[plainloon]

[plainloon]

"After great pain, a formal feeling comes -- ..."

by Emily Dickinson

After great pain, a formal feeling comes -- The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs -- The stiff Heart questions ‘was it He, that bore,’ And ‘Yesterday, or Centuries before’? The Feet, mechanical, go round -- A Wooden way Of Ground, or Air, or Ought -- Regardless grown, A Quartz contentment, like a stone -- This is the Hour of Lead -- Remembered, if outlived, As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow -- First -- Chill -- then Stupor -- then the letting go --

[plainloon]

chat, how many aurra points did i lose when i made a breakup playlist for my bsf when she was trying to get over a guy

and said playlist was filled with songs i used to listen to when i was jealous of her stupid boy 'cause i felt like i was losing her to him.

[plainloon]

no frostbites

we both walk to school every morning.

in the winter, i wear something with pockets

make sure to keep my hands tucked in all the way

i know you'd be by the gate, waiting.

breath clouding the air,

rubbing your hands together with a shiver

as i hold them for you, squeezing tight

i pretend to be annoyed when i say

''you know, if you zip up your jacket you'd still look alright ''

you roll your eyes brush off what i say

and leave that jacket open anyway.

but you let me hold you all the way to your class

kissing my cheek as we pass

''have a lovely morning '' you whisper to me in a hurry

but it's already so sweet,

as sweet as can be.

and although I was born in the cold season,

you seem to believe i carry the spring in my palms for some reason.

'i have warm hands' is now a myth that i live by.

and i'd walk another thousand frozen miles

play my part, to feel you close and see you smile.

then i'll brave the chill and walk another mile.

[plainloon]

do you think you could find better?

when the Man ruined the earth to the point of no return and started looking into space for a place to replace it, do you think he too thought he could find better?

the sun has always been a star amongst many others and yet, only one of them brings the morning with it.

yes, i do.

[plainloon]

timeless muse

every pen and paper I've ever held knows of her.

I've exhausted every memory, every piece ,every image,

i am sure.

and still, i somehow find myself finding more to write about so long after.

[plainloon]

i have this thing -love i think- i hold for you

a suitcase full of it

it's so large, how long have i been carrying it

i look at my heart accusingly

‘i'll need to set this somewhere, eventually.’

it answers with it's usual litany

‘i don't have enough space for it’

‘i don't

have

enough for it’

‘i don't

have ’

‘i

do

n

't

...’

and so i put it where I put the things i don't have space for

by my feet of course .

and it's not good enough for you,

nor for anyone.

so you can use your own to walk away.

cause what's done is done.

....

[plainloon]

Your 20s are for lusting after furniture you can’t afford actually

[plainloon]

the terrible ache of wanting to be realized for what you write.

[plainloon]

do you see the depth in me?

when your eyes glaze over, go unfocused, is it because you're looking deeper or is it because you're looking right behind me.

am i made of water to you or is it glass you're looking through?

[plainloon]

[plainloon]

Ama Codjoe, from Bluest Nude: Poems; “Bluest Nude”

[Text ID: “I crave. I want to be seen clearly or not at all.”]

[plainloon]

[plainloon]

if cowboys make better lovers then pirates make better friends.

[plainloon]

The cave, the men.

the image of an image,

all the way down the ladder

closer to a lie, relying on feable senses and whatever they might gather.

'least that's what the alegory says;

when the words find their meanings, when the self finds it's pieces

and when touch and sight no longer matter.

you'll find that the mind can always become a bit wiser.

it always has more to offer.

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