I didn't get it

[louder than everyone] MAN I THINK IT DEPENDS!

Feeling physical exhaustion as a psychosomatic reaction to things that feel daunting or intimidating is such a ridiculously counterproductive thing to do. Like there's a situation that requires you to be alert and mentally present and paying attention, and your brain just goes "hey I don't wanna. I don't wanna be here. How about going unconscious instead. No fuck you we're warping out. Night night."

Like I would appreciate more information than just "hey there was something but no worry I already pulled the alarm. wdym you need to know what it was. no we don't. we don't have to deal with that, I already pulled a full emergency shutdown." Like bitch yes we fucking do. The fuck did you do that for.

let’s be real the pressure to use AI as an adult is exactly what they said the pressure the do drugs as a teenager would be like but the people that told us that caved immediately for the AI and definitely did not just say no

I’m sick of myself but I’m the only option

Something about the bastardization of the story time and time again proves that nobody in power really cares about the people who would resonate with King’s Carrie White. A girl so ugly and repulsive she’s been removed from her own story. The societal need for women and girls to be constantly perceived as attractive is what fuels a fair amount of her torment in the book, but that person isn’t even allowed to exist on the screen. We cannot empathize with her; it isn’t allowed. It’s fascinating to me.

I am so tired of short-attention-span, trim-the-fat culture. All writing advice these days is for how to write like Chuck Palahniuk. "Cut 'think', cut 'feel', cut 'wonder' - only action, only pushing forward, show and move and move and move." What if I could emulate this style, and still don't want to? What if I want to write like Henry James, with three paragraphs of introspective musings between each dialogue line? The music advice is, "make it shortform, make it Tik-Tok compatible, make it punchy, hit the refrain as soon as possible." What if I want that 10-minute prog rock piece? What if I want that symphony? What if I want it slow and luxurious and lazy? Movies. Series. Poetry. Bodies. Everything is "trimmed trimmed trimmed trimmed, stripped bare, you have three seconds to win me over, make it airport chic." I don't want to win you over, then, I guess. I want the fat left it. I want the pleasure and the indolence and the indulgence. Fuck this art-advice that's always "your art needs Ozempic."