#it read like poetry

[kiyrian]

From the Myriad Celestia Trailer

The Destruction

At the universe's core lies a flame

It burns ever so intensely

Till entire galaxies are incinerated

For the sole purpose of embracing a splendid destruction

At the end of all reality

The Hunt

In the first 10 000 years the hunters struggle for survival

In the second 10 000 years the hunters fight out of anger

The third 10 000 years the hunt becomes a purpose of itself

The Erudition

If the truth of the universe is cruel and stale

Would you still yearn for the answer?

The knowledge seeker is impassive

For their core has been cold and unwavering since its birth

As cold as the end of the Path they seek

The Abundance

She feels sad

For eternal life did not let her accumulate infinite wisdom

Instead, those she had once cherished

Faded into obscurity over time, never to return

The Nihility

All progress forward the void

All resist the void

All will become the void...

The Preservation

The philosophers gaze up at the sky

Contemplating civilization's ultimate goal: "Build a wall"

The resounding echo rings within their heads "Build a wall"

The Harmony

Behold! A perfect home

No sorrows, no disobedience

No longings unfulfilled, no memories of agony

How enviable

[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.

[zuzu-draws]

Just a pair of friendly sorcerers out on a stroll~

[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!!

[psyduckz]

hc that in the early evening hours, before any of the employees get there, norris softly reads out poetry in the dark

[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"

[the-meme-monarch]

deltarune as posts i’ve seen around tumblr PART THREE

part one

part two

part three you are here

part four

part five

part six

part seven

[ghostpajamas]

pretending

[orpheuslament]

Little International Waltz, after Federico García Lorca, Dante Émile

[welcometogrouchland]

I understand that literature nerd Jason Todd is kind of overblown in fanon compared to it's actual presence in canon (a few issues during his pre (and post?)crisis Robin tenure that highlight it) BUT consider that I think it's hilarious if the unhinged gun toting criminal has strong opinions on poetry

[withdenim]

So uh. How about that time skip huh. (Corvus composing and performing the best track in the show was so hot of him btw if you care)

[lxvenderjewel]

stars

why do you look at me like i hung the stars?

it’s much more likely that it was you

sparkling even in smothering dark

even i could shine if i was next to you

we’re like the moon and sun

i’m only there because you are too

but you don’t need me to be yourself

and when i’m the moon, i rarely get to see you

we’re like light and a black hole

you glow in so many shades of blue

but of course, i suck it all up

and leave you without a clue

why do you look at me like i hung the stars?

don’t you know i hung them for you?

[smokefalls]

Our mouths meet in small disasters. / You taste of all the people you’ve already / been.

Vandana Khanna, "Sita's First Kiss with Suburban Landscape" from Burning Like Her Own Planet

[liorlen]

Pyr y’n gwna ni byrhoedled? / Digawn llawryded, / kywestwch a bed.

[lucidloving]

Joan Didion, "On Keeping a Notebook" // Last Words of a Shooting Star— Mitski // Richard Siken, "Portrait of Fryderyk in Shifting Light" // Julian Randall, "On the Night I Consider Coming Out to My Parents" // Helena Bonham Carter // @heavensghost

[andoutofharm]

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