no damn cat, no damn cradle

Oouuuhhhhh you are not majestic but you are having so much fun

does ringo starr still have the elf stones or did he return them to the silverwood? i know there was a pressure campaign a few years back

obligatory I'm Not An Elf but the pressure campaign always struck me as well-intentioned but misguided - like at a certain point it veered somewhat into an overzealous application of cultural appropriation without recognizing the context in which he came into possession of the elf stones. *generally* if I come across a human with an elven artifact then I'm side-eyeing that shit hard, but Ringo was very deliberately gifted the elf stones in a gesture of goodwill and cultural exchange (plus gratitude for everything he did!!!). I know 2016 was a different time altogether but idk I think about that a lot.

does anyone else feel like we need to raise the standard for writing quality across all mediums like right now

that's why i don't write on medium. this culture of pressure to write well completely shuts me down. i really don't like it when writing tries to be too eloquent, when essays sound self-conscious, as if they know they're good. i don't think we need prettier writing. we need soul. we need living writing. the kind that makes you feel there’s a whole world behind the choice of those words. especially in a world where AI exists. in the past, technical skill was rare. now it isn't. so technical skill alone can't be the thing that makes writing memorable anymore. the thing that separates writing i love from writing i forget isn’t polish. it’s noise. messiness. when the writing is full of quirks, strange idiomatic expressions, personal experiences and unpredictable style. and again, this is just me. i can’t maintain my soul if my attention is on being good. the moment i start trying to sound like a good writer, i stop sounding like myself.

exhibit A

So like an hour ago I just lear🪨︵︵ned that— what the fuck was that. Someone just skipped a rock across my post did you see that

sits on my own blog like it’s the edge of a lake wistfully

skips a stone over a few posts

nip over to troy, bit of rough and tumble, big horse, bish bash bosh, back home to ithaca. simple as