Part of the reason that Republicans are so desperately acting like they will never lose again is because they are deeply terrified that this is their last real chance to win. The big orange dipshit came in and gutted the party of everyone who wasn't a loyalist, which left it full of nasty little gremlins who have gaping voids where charisma and human decency is supposed to go.
They still hold a lot of power, but if we stop them this year the next presidential election may not be the Most Important One Of Your Life™, that's not a guarantee or anything, but if they don't win here and now their future looks grim, this dipshit is the only guy they have left and he's extremely diminished and has his brains leaking out of his ears at this point. We can beat him into the ground.
So that's what we're gonna fucking do. We're gonna break these fucking fash. They will crash upon us and we're gonna break their fucking necks. When they come for us they will lose because they're fucking losers and we have each other's backs which is something they fundamentally are incapable of comprehending.
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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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Jazz, for some reason or the other, becomes a wielder of a red lantern ring. After going on her rampage and getting her revenge, she realizes that the feeling of rage won't go away. Instead of letting the anger destroy her, she decided to do something else with it.
That's how we end up with a stand-off between Hal Jordan and the most powerful Red Lantern he's ever seen. Because...
"What... what did you just say?"
The young woman smiled gently at him. He would've been fooled by it if not for the burning rage carefully hidden... No, she wasn't hiding anything behind those turquoise eyes. It was taking everything she had to hold it back.
"I said that I would like to join The Justice League." Her voice was soft and velvety. Comforting in a way that sends chills up his spine.
"But you're a Red Lantern."
There was a beat of silence, she cocked her head to the side while looking at the blood-red ring on her finger.
"I don't know what that means, but I'm guessing it's got something to do with this ring?"
Hal didn't respond but she took it as confirmation. There was silence between them once more before Jasmine sighed and continued.
"I feel angry, more than angry. This rage that I've been holding inside for so long has reached its limits and is finally bubbling over. Everything that I loved is gone so killed what took it away from me. But... but I'm still SO FUCKING ANGRY!"
She was screaming now. Tears of rage and sadness rolled down her cheeks as violent red energy radiated from her being. Hal flew back. He didn't want to fight her but was ready to do so if it came to it.
Just as easily as she lost it she pulled herself together, wiping her tears away, returning to her previously calm demeanor. It freaked Hal out.
"I... I know that blind rage without direction leads to meaningless destruction. I don't want to hurt anybody. No... I don't want to hurt the wrong people. I'm asking you to guide me, to guide my rage in the right direction... Please."
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the fact that irving canonically survives through the end of asunder to be at wynne's funeral is so fucking funny to me. nothing but love and respect for MY unstoppable cockroach morally grey machiavellian mage dad!!! he's survived in his position through multiple attempted rites of annulment and blood mage plots popping up left right and center around him. the chantry keeps trying to stamp him out but his dodge game is simply out of this world, divine. civil wars, political machinations and minefields, chantry atrocities, this wily old motherfucker is dodging and weaving his way through it all, not-quite-no-hits-taken-running-it-but-honestly-close-enough-under-the-circumstances style. if solas does succeed in tearing down the veil I would fully believe that one of the like three people still alive at the end of it all would be a very weary 90 year old first enchanter irving going 'oh this shit again huh'. the maker has cursed him for his hubris and his paperwork is never finished (affectionate, it's fine he canonically loves paperwork)
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Dangerously yours
"If i betray you, i betray myself."
"If i betray him, i betray my country."
"My country is very dear to me."
"Dearer than i?"
"..."
"No, not dearer than you."
I saw an edit with this song and immediately thought of NoMae.💔
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I don't think a lot of people realize that lot of their advice to disabled people often boils down to "Get over it." they are trying to be helpful but their idea of helpful is "Just do the thing" because that's what they do. for them they just do things. It comes naturally to just do it.
They don't know how to bridge the gap between you and the task. For them the bridge is already pre-built and stable. For disabled people the bridge is run down, not well kept, it feels unsteady and is hard to get across without being slow and cautious - hell for some people there is no bridge and we need to build it ourselves but we don't have the bridge building tools and no one gives them to us.
"Just cross the bridge." They say before walking over their pre-built bridge. They never gave you the tools to build a bridge to cross.
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