Anyone else just get sucker punched all over again every couple of months by the sudden memory of "Protectors of each other's what we'll be" from Friend, or is that just me
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>open 4chan
>very homophobic and racist website
>full of femboys, malewives and every minority u can imagine
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Thinking about how Baba does the sexy hollywood action girl thing where he jumps on a guys shoulders and uses his thighs to throw them over...
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the worst part about being an adult is thay its no longer socially acceptable to just roll down a really big hill and then run back up it and roll back down again. "oh is this a syphilis metaphor" passerby would ask. "is this for a tick tock". no i just wanna come home covered in dirt and scratches and bask in the the solace of childlike mirth
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top five men?
like in a row? or do i get breaks
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I couldn't get the idea of Alastor holding Husk like that one ferret gif during his lament in the finale out of my head.
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i was telling my girlfriend about herobrine to explain a joke i made & gave her a link to a creepypasta article on it, she asks me "is creepypasta bad?" apparently her parents told her years ago that "creepypasta is bad" so she never went looking for it again
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Pt I good omens but i've never watched it
i've never seen good omens but it's all over my tumblr dash so this is what I've gathered can someone please confirm if i've got it right
there's a demon named crowley
there's a biblically inaccurate angel named aziraphale but like it's very sexy when the demon calls him 'angel'
the demon and angel have been married for 6000 years and they still keep looking at each other all sappily
Neil Gaiman is somehow involved, I think he's the writer but also he's on tumblr (uh, @neil-gaiman) and people keep questioning if he's real
is neil gaiman like a fandom inside joke why is everyone asking if he's real
there actors are called michael and david and amazon prime thought they were the same
there is a bookstore and crowley is sad
they kiss and it is very nice and desperate and crowley says we could have been us. i have no context for this. someone is going to heaven i think.
there is a god, i'm not sure if they're good or evil though
the demon wears sunglasses
it's a comedy but for some reason everyone's crying after whatever the last season was, are you guys okay
things are on fire
they are very gay
there was a book and at one point they switch bodies
more fire and crowley screaming
they are called ineffable husbands i dont know what that means
they fight crime or they do crime or they fight crime by doing crime i really cannot remember which
gay
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my roommate who is like. the most straight laced cis dude ever. just came into the living room and said "the masculine urge to get pregnant." then stood there for a second before leaving silently.
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NYT article abt goncharov has comments like 'what is the purpose of this film's existence these kids are just lying' motherfucker how do you think our ancestors survived. how do you think folklore formed. culture. music. art. PURPOSE????? do you think everything must be commodified? sold? weighed to be valued? has the rot in your soul spread so far you cannot find value in anything not spoken in numbers??? it's FUN. THAT'S WHY. THE PURPOSE IS THE ACT, THE MESSAGE IS THE MEDIUM, THE SYMBOL IS THE STORY. it brings people joy for its mere existence and that IS the point. existence is its purpose alone
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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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