Something I haven't really seen mentioned and I think people may want to bear in mind is that while artists are the most heavily impacted by AI visual medium scraping, it's not like the machine knows or cares to differentiate between original art and a photograph of your child.
AI visual media scrapers take everything, and that includes screengrabs, photographs, and memes. Selfies, pictures of your pets and children, pictures of your home, screengrabs of images posted to other sites -- all of the comic book imagery I've posted that I screengrabbed from digital comics, images of tweets (including the icons of peoples' faces in those tweets) and instas and screengrabs from tiktoks. I've posted x-ray images of my teeth. All of that will go into the machine.
That's why, at least I think, Midjourney wants Tumblr -- after Instagram we are potentially the most image-heavy social media site, and like Instagram we tag our content, which is metadata that the scraper can use.
So even if you aren't an artist, unless you want to Glaze every image of any kind that you post, you probably want to opt out of being scraped. I'm gonna go ahead and say we've probably already been scraped anyway, so I don't think there's a ton of point in taking down your tumblr or locking down specific images, but I mean...especially if it's stuff like pictures of children or say, a fundraising photo that involves your medical data, it maybe can't hurt.
If you do want to officially opt out, which may help if there's a class-action lawsuit later, you're going to want to go to the gear in the upper-right corner on the Tumblr desktop site, select each of your blogs from the list on the right-hand side, and scroll down to "Visibility". Select "Prevent third party sharing for [username]" to flip that bad boy on.
Per notes: for the app, go to your blog (the part of the app that shows what you post) and hit the gear in the upper right, then select "visibility" and it will be the last option. If you have not updated your app, it will not appear (confirmed by me, who cannot see it on my elderly version of the app).
You don't need to do it on both desktop and mobile -- either one will opt you out -- but on the app you may need to load each of your sideblogs in turn and then go back into the gear and opt out for that blog, like how you have to go into the settings for each sideblog on desktop and do it.
everyone go enable this immediately. it can be a bit hard to find because “visibility” is under blog settings instead of general settings or privacy. you have to do this individually for each separate side-blog
if you can’t find it on the app then the update probably hasn’t rolled out to you, and you’ll have to go through the web browser. what a truly wild way/time to implement this
The weatherman had said it would be hot. His voice had scratched through Valor’s radio between Theatre-Five productions as Valor crawled out from under the car in the driveway. The house loomed behind the car in such a way Valor was just waiting for it to destroy Valor.
Valor should have known he meant blistering. The sky was a pale blue endless void with a burning pin-prick for the sun. The birds stopped chirping days ago. There have been no signs of animals.
During the day, no neighbors would breach their homes for anything but work and grocery shopping had become an evening activity. This was as close to a world-ending apocalypse as Valor had ever been and hoped to ever be. The house was stifling as Valor lay in the master bedroom. The record player kept playing the same few songs over and over as the house ground around Valor. It was angry Valor was still inside it. Angry that Valor no longer left during the day. Valor would just wait, wait for something to go wrong. Valor would wait for the house to kill Valor. It was very clear that it wanted to.
Out in the front yard, the grass had turned a pale yellow and crunched underfoot. Small holes had appeared on the asphalt of the road from where the heat had been too much. Everything baked under the summer sun.
The blinds were closed tight and tinfoil had been taped to the glass in a vain attempt to keep out the heat. Fans ran constantly. Besides the single window unit, there was no air conditioning in the house.
The heat kept getting worse and the master bedroom always seemed the hottest. Valor fled down to the basement days ago. Even with the sun setting, it only dipped into the low eighties. It had been a record-breaking heatwave, the news report announced in a jolly, but dead tone.
One night, in the hot humid heat, the house shuddered around the Valor. The basement was no longer sufficient on its own, so Valor took the AC unit out of the bedroom window. It weighed more than Valor thought it would. Valor then dragged it around the front of the house to one of the basement windows. Below Valor's feet, dead grass had crunched loudly in the still night air. After an hour of sweating, Valor got it set up.
After that, Valor dragged an extra mattress down into the basement, foregoing anything but a single pillow and a top sheet. Valor had given up on the rest of the house. Valor would have left the house altogether, abandoned its anger and grief to spend this hellish time in a hotel, but the damn bird.
A three-year-old dove by the name of Agnes. One of the last remnants of Valor’s grandfather. One that arrived long after Valor had been banned from seeing him.
Before the heat rose to unmanageable levels the dove would be gone until sunset. The heatwave caused her to wander the house, cooing sadly. The house’s anger left the dove along. It was only interested in abusing Valor. After a while, Valor carried the small panting thing down the stairs. She had been the final thing that needed to be transported down. Valor and the dove had an uneasy alliance. The heat forced the bird inside. It forced Valor to move the dove’s items into the bedroom where the AC was.
In the end, Valor’s grandfather cared more about the dove than anything else. The damned thing must have known it too. It looked at Valor with a haughtiness only those favored by the rich and old can hold. Valor sets the dove down in her enclosure, not that it would stay there. Agnes left the second Valor was out of reach. Valor gave it a halfhearted glare.
The house was old, nearing its 120th birthday. Something carved into the east wall of the master bedroom reminded Valor each morning. Valor had a slight feeling the house only tolerated Valor. It was in the way the house creaked underfoot. The way doors used to stick and light bulbs used to burn too quickly. It was in the way Valor always stubbed a toe. The House was worse right after Valor’s grandfather died and Valor moved in, grief and rage, Valor thought. Then the house hated Valor. Hated everything Valor did.
Nights were filled with the sound of every inch of the old place creaking and the sound of doors slamming. Valor ignored it. Valor spent the days following the house’s tantrum fixing all the little broken things. Keeping the dove healthy. Valor knew it was the blood relation to the house’s first owner and the creator that kept Valor somewhere close to safe. Even in the basement everything creaked and whined.
Valor felt the splinter slide into the palm of Valor’s hand. Valor did not curse. Valor did not acknowledge it. Valor removed the hand from the stair railing. Valor stepped into the bathroom and grab the pair of tweezers. With ease, Valor pulled out the splinter and placed it on the counter. The house would want it back.
Worse than the dove was the backyard. When Valor was young and was still allowed to visit, Valor’s parents demand that the backyard would always be off-limits.
Valor’s grandfather would try to coax Valor out into it. He had called it the Holt, whatever the hell that meant. Valor had never been able to disobey direct commands from Mother and Father. Valor had only viewed it through windows and an open door. It was more than just a garden in every sense of the word. It sat on almost all three acres of the plot. Sprawling out and up against the towering stone walls.
Unlike the neighbor’s backyards, it was still alive. It was thriving. Bees buzz and hummingbirds zoom about.
Green grass and vibrant flowers looked back at Valor. Rising above the dense foliage was a single fruit tree in the center of the living green mass. Valor should not be able to see it so clearly. Valor should be able to see it from the front yard, Valor can not.
It filled Valor with a sense of dread. Ground cover plants crept over the stone patio towards Valor’s uncovered feet. The Holt waited. Waited in a way Valor could not understand. Underneath the ground was an intricate system of pipes to deliver water to the plant life. In the months, over a year, that Valor had been existing within the property, the pipes had never broken. Nor had a water bill arrived for the Holt. It was still a fear that held Valor at night when sleep came. Nightmares of broken pipes and debt-making bills in blood-red ink on bone-white paper playing on a loop.
Valor twisted the spigot and the hose connected to the pipes tightened as water rushed through. Racing down and into the garden. Valor heard the animals rejoice from the water being sent into the property.
Tapping on the backdoor caused Valor to turn. Fluttering against the glass was Anges. Valor creaked the door open enough to speak. The dove settled on the counter. Head twitching impatiently.
“It's still hot out and I’m not staying long.” Valor’s voice was rough and it hurts in Valor’s throat. “If you don't come back after I call the second time, you can spend the night out here.” Valor had muttered. The door swung open and the dove went flying out. Valor stepped back inside to scoop up a cup of shelled peanuts for the squirrels and chipmunks that come to bother Valor.
Valor settled onto the warm cement on the ground, it soothed the ache in Valor’s body, on Valor’s skin. The sound of peanuts rattling in the plastic cup brought forth tiny bodies emerging from the foliage and a thrumming of tiny feet in the undergrowth. On the edge of the pavement, they begin to line up. With a practiced flick, a peanut skitters to the first in line. They don't get close to Valor. Always keep a certain distance. The animals liked Valor a bit more than the house. Not much. If it weren’t for the food, they would be a menace too. They were before Valor figured out how to keep them at bay.
The garden was more complicated. The Holt had never done anything. It never hid Valor’s things in places like the house. It never threw things against the windows like the animals. It just sat. It sat and waited. Valor didn’t know what it wanted. Valor was at a loss of what pleased the mass or what angered it.
So Valor watered it twice a day. Once before bed and right after waking up. Twenty-five minutes, just like Grandfather did. This seemed to keep it content. Nothing seemed to be dying. Not that Valor would have known. The instructions left had been clear. Valor was not allowed in unless invited. That was a terrifying thought. That Valor could be invited.
The last peanuts had land and then the animals left. Valor stood up. Bushy tails scrambled over the dried-up pond, past the empty bird feeders, and back into the dark undergrowth.
“Agnes! Agnes! It’s time to come back.” Valor called out. Voice cracking out halfway. Valor carefully avoided the word home. Whatever this was, it was not Valor’s home. Valor wasn’t sure if it was still a house, or something so full of anger and grief pretending to be a house. Valor wasn’t even sure it was Agnes’s home. Valor didn’t know why the dove bothered to come back. Valor didn't care for the dove the way Valor’s grandfather did. Valor didn't know what the dove used to get. The instructions didn't say anything. Valor had to scrape together the bird’s diet and treats from old dairies and the internet. Valor’s jaw tenses. The ache in Valor’s chest had begun to rise again. Tears building up. The urge to rip the skin from bone and other things rises to the surface. Valor takes a breath. “Agnes! Come back!” Valor wouldn’t leave the bird out here. Valor will always wait.
After another minute or so, the frantic flutter of wings echoes out. Agnes flies right at Valor. The bird lands on Valor’s shoulder. This was a rare occurrence. It had only happened twice. Once when a stray cat had got in the backyard. The bird had used Valor as protection. The second time was during a storm. Valor didn't understand why the bird would choose to seek comfort from Valor, but Valor was deeply glad to give it. The bird coos quietly into Valor’s ear, almost as an apology.
“It's okay.” Valor says quietly. The backdoor opens easily for once. The stairs don't creak and no splinters lodge themselves into Valor’s hand. It's probably because the bird was still nestled on Valor’s shoulder.
Agnes refuses to go into the enclosure. Valor glares at the bird but gives in. Agnes flies over to perch above the mattress Valor had dragged down. Valor gave in. The bird knew it too. Cooing loudly. Valor climbs back upstairs to get ready. Then back down. Valor’s legs ached. It was something that can and will be ignored. Agnes was asleep by the time Valor turns the lights off and crawls onto the mattress.
Valor should have known the heat would win. Valor was sick. Bedbound and weak, Valor spends an unknown chunk of time in and out of sleep. Body weak and shaky. Valor couldn’t even focus on much. Having only been conscious enough to get Agnes more food too.
Valor’s immune system had always been shitty. Catching colds and stomach bugs before anyone else. It's been a long time since someone else was there when Valor fell sick. No one was around to witness the mess Valor becomes. Needy and whiny. Valor spends most of it curled up on the mattress, completely out of it and useless to the house.
Something calls for Valor, from outside. Over and over. Valor ignores it. Valor ignores the familiarity of the voice. There was no one in the Holt. There was no one in the Holt.
Valor knows that was untrue. There must have been a trespasser or two, stepping over an unseen property line. From one danger to another. There was a groundskeeper. Valor didn't remember much of him. Valor was forbidden from talking to him. Valor hid often. Grandfather would speak with him.
There was no one in the Holt.
When Valor finally recovered enough to think, Valor refilled Agnes’s water. Much to the bird’s delight. The railing was smooth below Valor’s hand. The house didn't creek. Valor was unaware of the time-just the impending doom of not watering the garden. Valor swayed in the hallway, the world becoming full of Valor had to take a moment to become steady again. Valor was pushing too hard. Valor wasn’t pushing enough. It was just a little thing. Valor didn't even throw up this time. Out in the backyard, Valor turned the water on and slumped down against the house. Hands shaking and vision going blurry. Agnes cooed out from somewhere deep in the garden.
The Holt was upset. Valor can tell by the vines that have crept up the walls and over the pavement. Nearly inside the house. The garden was upset by the way it got loud the second Valor stepped outside. Valor stumbles over to turn on the water before collapsing.
There was more rustling and Valor weakly flung a handful of peanuts into the grass. Valor was not getting up anytime soon. Valor would just bake away in the sun. Valor didn't even know what caused this. Nothing Valor had interacted with should have given sickness. The basement was cool enough, so how can Valor exhibit symptoms of heatstroke?
Agnes came back. Valor didn’t think she would. Valor had honestly expected this to be the end of any relationship Valor had with the bird.
“What?” Valor asked the bird. Agnes hoped towards the garden. “No.” Valor’s head shakes. “I’m not going in there.” Agnes coos before flying off. Valor’s eyes flutter shut. The heat was awful, and the sun burns, but Valorwas exhausted.
Agnes came back. She flapped above Valor and a shower of cold water connected with Valor’s skin. Valor ignored it. Agnes leaves and comes back twice. The water feels nice.
“I’m not allowed-” Valor faltered. Mother is dead and Father can’t remember anything after his third wedding anniversary. Valor arrived after the seventeenth wedding anniversary. Valor was an accident. “-in without an invitation. You know that.” Agnes cooed and was gone once more. Valor thought this was the end. Things happen in three. After the third ‘no’ people usually stop, usually.
Something comes out of the Holt. Loud and crashing. It shakes the foundation of the house. Valor’s eyes snap open. A massive blurry figure stands at the edge of the Holt. Valor jerks upright and tilts to one side. It’s too hot. Valor’s skin was wrong. Valor wants it gone.
If Valor was a fool, Valor would call him a man, but Valor knows when something had come from the earth. Valor waited. Valor baked in the sun. Agnes landed on his shoulder.
“You’re invited now.” Valor was. Valor knew this.
“What was the cost of that?”
“There was no cost, not for you.” He said, his voice was shaking. Slowly it came to Valor. He had not known Valor was suffering in the house. Whatever was in the Holt, he thought would stop Valor’s suffering. “You’ve paid your dues, an eternity of them.” He was shaking, bare feet touching the edge of the patio. Valor’s head tilted. The patio was not the house, the patio was not the garden.
“What’s in the Holt?” Valor asked, stepping closer to him. The world spun and Valor felt a throbbing all over. Black spots had arrived at the edge of Valor’s vision.
“Unfamilirty, kindness.”
“What’s in the house?” He faltered. Valor knew the answer. Valor wanted to know if he would say it.
“Familiarity, indifference.”
“Not hatred? Hostility?” The house shuddered behind Valor’s back.
“You’ve been good to the house, far more than it deserves.” The house didn't argue. Valor hated the house. Not the building, but everything that makes it Grandfather's home. Valor hated the house because it knew whom Valor used to be. Valor can still remember when the house was home when Valor’s bedroom still existed. There used to be waffles, there used to be board games.
Valor hated the garden. Not the plants, but everything that makes it the Holt. Valor hated the garden because it does not know whom Valor used to be. Valor can still remember the garden when it was paradise and when Valor’s pond still existed. There used to be koi fish, there used to be ducks.
Valor does not hate the house, the garden, the man before Valor, or the bird on his shoulder. Here is a secret that nobody knows, the only thing Valor hates is Valor.
your friend brett in 2003: “hey guys! ready for a deathmatch round in blood gulch?”
you and your two other friends who found a glowing crystal in the back of your house that gave you a prophetic glimpse into the future where the three of you live successful lives but only if brett dies following a series of finely-connected events that begin with him winning a round of deathmatch on blood gulch: “yeah brett you’re on”
“Lie close,” Laura said,
Pricking up her golden head:
“We must not look at goblin men,
We must not buy their fruits:
Who knows upon what soil they fed
Their hungry thirsty roots?”
A wolf goes for a walk in the woods and meets a dog for the first time
Summer grass crunches under foot. It is brittle and dry. The risk of a wildfire has increased. Often the people wonder if one will come with September's wrath. The children are split into two different categories. Half are busy with summer reading projects, the others are rushing about making sure there arent any false children in the mix. The parents are busy gathering supplies and making proper sacrifices.
every day i would drink Milk and Honey with my Trooping Fae. every night i would watch the Wild Hunt Ride. I would also be more likely to meet Sluagh Sídhe, Bean Nighe, and Dullahan
Hello Hello. Again we go down the hole. The council is pitching a fit over things that are beyond their control, it's amusing. The water has turned smoke gray. It's still the same water. Still the same. It's strange how the change in looks warrants unease. The council is also reopening the middle school. I am also not happy about that.
According to the USDA, the United States harvested 81.3 million acres of corn in 2019. In the same year, the average yield was 172 bushels per acre. That’s a total of 13,983,600,000–just under 14 billion bushels. A bushel of dry corn is about 56 pounds. Total corn yield was thus in the range of 783 billion pounds. This would be enough to bury each and every person in the US under approximately 2,610 pounds of corn.
Welcome to August. The summer days for many of your children. The weather reflects this. Wind and Haze have dragged themselves over our little island town. The grass is dry and brittle under bare feet. I hope your week is well.
