#i love reading poetry

[inkskinned]

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.

[simplyjustagirlsblog]

franz kafka i love you

[lomlompurim]

respost separated from the og post bc I really liked this silly little thing I made

And a little extra of my own

little binghe has a goal in this life and it only gets worse once he mets sqq, no one dares to threaten his position as sqq's future wife, he literally was born to be his spouse!!

[femmeconomics]

i think it’s important everyone knows about the little roman girl who died at only five years and seven months old, and her grave reads "dum vixi, lusi" or "while i lived, i played"

[sweatermuppet]

What if I’m Simply a Dirty Earthworm? What If I’m a Dirty Man, What Then? What If I’m Nothing But a Sexless Worm? by Megan Borocki, published in Beaver Magazine

[Text ID: Do you still think of when I was small catching earthworms in my socks, face smashed in the mud, my soft fingertips digging for wet bodies to throw at my brother? I still miss your voice. Do you remember when you would hold my wrist above my head hissing grow into a clean woman? /End ID]

[newvision]

E.M. Forster, from Maurice

Euripides

Herakles - Euripides (Tr. Anne Carson)

[macaulaytwins]

“A Primer for the Small Weird Loves”, Richard Siken // The Sunshine Court, Nora Sakavic

[soracities]

Marina Tsvetaeva, excerpt from Poem of the End, Selected Poems (trans. Elaine Feinstein, with Angela Livingstone) [ID'd]

[oyster-valley]

nikita gill, a question that bleeds // noah kahan, stick season / simone de beauvoir, letters to sartre // ocean vuong, on earth we're briefly gorgeous // la la land // clementine von radics, in a dream you saw a way to survive // unattributed

[letterstoyourlove]

This claim, shared widely, reworded, and filtered into the media, is false.

Mahmoud Darwish did not date a Mossad agent. (Rita was not a Mossad spy) He did, however, in the 1960s, date a Jewish woman named Tamar Ben-Ami. The name Rita, which is often cited in these posts, is the pseudonym Darwish used to refer to her in his poetry. He was 22 and she was 16 ½. Ben-Ami was a member of the youth movement The Young Communist League of Israel.

Quickly, Darwish and Ben-Ami developed strong feelings for each other and, while they wrote and saw each other often, neither was eager to publicize their union. “I kept our relationship a secret. I didn’t open it up. I think it was because of Communism, because he was an Arab, I was a Jew,” said Ben-Ami.

In 1967, after the 6-day war, Ben-Ami joined the Israeli Navy as part of the naval band. Upon discovering this, Darwish wrote her the following:

“Tamari, this week I thought of you often. My thoughts made me feel bad. I could see only the criminal in you. I was forced to forget the sweet, beautiful aspects. Do those aspects exist? I hope they do.”

Darvish also wrote-

“I love you despite the nose of my tribe, my city, and the chains of customs. But I’m afraid if I sell everyone, you will sell me, and I’ll return with disappointments.”

A heartbroken Darwish then wrote –

“I felt like my homeland was occupied again.”

After their relationship was over, Darwish continued authoring poems revolving around this failed relationship, as he wrote,

“All roads lead to you, even those I took to forget you.”

He also wrote:

“Maybe it wasn’t important to you, Rita, but it was my heart!”

For her, he also wrote his famous poem, “Rita and the Rifle.”

Finally, he also wrote:

[andoutofharm]

the way patrick talks about the way pete thinks is so beautiful

[fromdarzaitoleeza]

Spring is here , the true beginning of the year , the season where my soul reborns and blooms .

I have made some progress in terms of the person I am becoming, truly in all my honesty all that i have done is to stop caring for everything that once used to matter , the less I care about anything in particular the less I am bothered and the happier i stay. And i really hope everyone here is doing well and I appreciate all the love that was sent.

The problem is I care a lot about everything and i don't even get the bare minimum in return and when i do get it it's too late, so much time has passed by then ,when it comes by then i do not want or need it because it's the not care that came out of love it came out of their guilts. And the longer i wait for it to come by -the more I learn why I don't need it anymore .

I am slowly learning to value myself ,trying to put myself in a position where I can agree that i too deserve all the good things and love even on the days when i have nothing to offer .

Idk guys I am just here to rant and to be stupid

Better late than never they say , I guess it's not too late for me either, I will start my life and live up to what I want & how I feel ,i don't have to care about anything else as long as I feel alive in my bones things will eventually flow, I will fall in love with myself little by little day after day.

I will choose myself instead of choosing others and I will fall in love with my solitude instead of bearing it with me , i don't care if I end up alone if I do end up all by myself I will be with someone who i know has a tendency not to give up .

Life is really short i just don't want to sit and watch it pass by , if I am lucky enough I will have 40 more springs to experience , I have clear boundaries and thoughts in my head now, eventually i will find peace through it I hope so.

Ramdan kareem to people who celebrate it here please remember gaza in your prayers and fastings

[thestuffedalligator]

Not to be dramatic, but if we were mutuals and you ever popped up in my notifications with a silly tag even once I've thought about you every day, even if we never spoke, and want to let you know that I wish nothing but the best for you forever.

[sstargrllll]

I ache for your eyes.

[angeloncewas]

If you're willing, with you I'd like to try

[ never love an anchor, the crane wives // love from a distance, richard siken // simply together, alina malykhina // strawberry wine, noah kahan // the world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire, ritika jyala // emma, jane austen // never alone, sharon cummings // poetry, mine ]

[writingtimelessthenovel]