Psycholand

Eve|30|Poland

[peachybaps]

Katsura Hoshino made her extremely complicated shounen series into a romance about a doomed white haired boy and a red haired freak, breaking the white and blue/black cycle, while also making it a reincarnation story where no matter what there's always a chance for them to be together in life and I think thats so evil

[romana-colasour]

It’s been a bit of a wacky day in the fandom, so have a meme for your troubles

[inkskinned]

i am not grateful it happened because i hate that it happened and i'm still mad about it.

and i am grateful, too. i am grateful i am close with my friends; that my nervous system is settling down. i am grateful i saw you do something terrible; i had a little moment of empathy where i thought i never want to be the person that you are. i am grateful for the self-help books and being pushed back into therapy and for the beginner-level regulation techniques i had to return to. some part of that terrible experience forced me into resurgence.

it is a color theory thing, maybe. you made this world so white that the gentle dark feels massive to me. for a while i couldn't handle that; from inside the blaze of your inferno i mistook the night for a bottomless hole. but it is good here; in the shadow of the trees, their fingers brushing the split ends of tangled sunbeams. it is good in the impossible blue hue of snow. it is good and i couldn't see it before, not really. now it is a steadying blanket around my body.

it is a weightlessness, and i am dancing my old self around the room, and i am glowing in comparison. i want to keep showing my old self the impossible beauty of things - how now each moment feels incredible, a sparkling and impossible comparison to drought. it is not just the act of humming, it is the thought i'm allowed to be humming! it is not just the new leaf or the neighbor's cat or the long walk or the snow falling or the shared joke - it is that these belong to me and i am enjoying them free of charge.

and i wouldn't be here without the rest of it. if i had never experienced the worst parts, i wouldn't have received the best. i would have never met some of my best friends. i would have never listened to that album or gone on that road trip or been in that room. i would have missed the rainbow over edinburgh or i would have missed seeing that concert or i would have missed meeting her. it is a thin and silver line. because yes, sometimes it is spite that drives me. but mostly it is that i want back what's mine.

shannon and i have been talking about how a year ago i was a different person. she said i can physically see you returning to yourself. i love that turn of phrase: returning to myself like an arriving package. like placing a seed back into the loam.

i dream of geese. i wake up and i feel myself coming home.

[visenyaism]

Honestly fuck AI for making me have to go on and on defending the dignity of toil like I’m some kind of protestant

[gothredy]

[nagasleeps]

things left on the cutting room floor

[wrathyforest]

[princessgiggles333]

u know ur fucked if a ship has a white/black or red/blue color scheme. doomed from the mf start.

[lusguang]

Pack&Prep by 绘梦动画's Overseas Creator Recruitment Program

[arinavah]

“In Blackwater Woods” by Mary Oliver

[life-in-toontown]

:C

I’m so fucking sick of AI

[hanavbara]

support HUMAN artists, not AI‼️

AI generated images are NOT art. art is CREATED, not GENERATED.

this is not just about taking jobs from artists (which is already a huge deal), it’s also about devaluing art itself, turning it into mass-produced, empty and soulless content. it’s heartbreaking to see AI stealing from real artists: from Studio Ghibli to smaller creators like us.

personally, we started our art journey by reinterpreting what we love: music, TV series, anime and transforming it into our vision inspired by the 90’s anime that we grew up with. when we create our illustrations, we try to capture the emotion and love we feel for the subject, aiming to tell a story with each drawing. ever since AI was created, we have had many people asking if our art is AI generated. honestly, it’s heartbreaking every single time. for us, art is a deeply human experience that we’ve been dedicating ourselves to for seven years. creating from nothing takes dedication, skill, and an emotional investment that, in our opinion, AI simply can’t capture.

you’ve probably seen your feed flooded with AI generated images in a “Studio Ghibli style”. trends like these reinforce the idea that art can be easily replicated and devalued. the future of artists is more uncertain than ever. we don’t know if in a few years we’ll still be able to make a living from this, since many companies are adopting the mindset of “why should i pay someone for their well-earned work when a machine can do it for free in an instant?” that mindset is the real problem: the way society is starting to perceive art.

art is essential to human life. many people realized this during the pandemic: what would we do without music, movies, books, that bring us comfort? art is more than just the final product. it’s about the process, struggles, and personal growth that comes with it. when you create, you grow, learn, and challenge yourself. AI erases that, replacing it with instant and shallow replication. real art brings people together, evoking emotions and reminding us of what it means to be human.

relying on AI to make art isn’t innovation, it’s avoiding the challenge of creating something meaningful. AI tools like these are being pushed as "the future," but what does that say about us? replacing human artistry with shallow, mass-produced content takes away humanity from art, do we really want to be part of a world where art is just another disposable product? what value do we place on creativity?

if you’ve made it this far, it means you care about these issues. let’s raise our voices together and speak up. don’t consume AI generated images. value and respect creativity. SUPPORT REAL HUMAN ARTISTS.

[inkskinned]

i'm going to listen to the album of the artist you like even though he's not really my vibe. i'm going to read the book you suggested even though it's not a genre i usually enjoy. i'll watch the show. i will try the recipe. i will play the video game, or at least watch a deep-dive youtube explaining the really-long lore so i have some idea of what's happening. the movie you suggested is too scary for me, but - i mean, the wikipedia page is kind of interesting - look at the length of the section Controversy.

this is not a burden. i think maybe "burden" and "love" might be oppositional, the way sometimes "love" and "hate" are not opposites. a burden is a dragging. i love you because you brought me to the water, and it is the horizon of your heart. i love you because of your nervous pacing around the edges of the rabbit hole.

often you are right. some songs on that album remind me of the spark in your eyes. the book was really thought-provoking.

more i just want to understand enough that you can talk to me. that you can explain, in depth, why it matters that wheat has shallow roots. i love you, even platonically - your love of this thing leaks into me. i watch you, cautious and dancing, the shy desire for you to smear the colors of this thing into my life, too.

they are your colors, though. of course i want them here, in the marginalia of my life. you matter to me. i want them to crowd the little moments of my day. i want your fingerprints scattered throughout the rooms of my heart.

one time i spent about six months reading and researching a particular author, just so i could talk to one of my friends about him. i never got the chance. she betrayed me, broke my trust, and sided with her abusive ex-boyfriend. standing in the sodden floodplain of what she left over, some bitter part of me asked - isn't that tragic? you have all this knowledge and nothing to do with it.

but i did have all that knowledge, though. when i reach for it, i still feel it glow.

[rosenkranz-does-things]

x files studies but this time I tired to achieve that VHS feeling. I very vaguely remember watching some episodes as a kid, and I think this is as close as I've ever got to recreating that memory of a small, grainy tv in a dark room

[inkskinned]

she had taken all of the pronouns in my poems and turned them masculine. every she was he. every her was him. i wrote about women dipping their hands into the honey of my chest and she had changed it in this stark, violent way. men now, in my work. in my ribs, i guess. how odd, to stare at it.

i write a lot about worshipping at the knees of my girl. what sapphic can resist the allure of chapel-talk, the divine nature of what is ours and ours alone. her hair in your shower. her chapstick melting in your car. when we say holy here, it is a different meaning. it is the smithing of our own haloes from mix-tape cds. no hammer to the anvil - only our own palms, skin scorching. forging every astral ray with the prayer please don't leave. our bible a history that is never taught in high school. we shape a church from the tent of her arched back. what other word for hymn but her voice. her moaning.

a poem can be stripped of its component parts, maybe, but can it still breathe? is it still the same ship? the words this woman changed, biting and spiraling up at me: my man is holy. i worship at his feet. he is the divinity of saturdays and the wheat of my communion and he is the hushed summer's glorious release.

it's common knowledge that you can say a word too-many times, and then it loses meaning. but here was something new: it wasn't that the words had lost meaning, but rather that they had shifted in the air somehow and turned radioactive to me. all of my words were otherwise unchanged, except for the unkind and glowing eye of him.

ivory-tower glowing in my aorta, i thought about talking to her on the sanctimonious and erudite level. telling her: a poem can be changed, can be erased or added to or demolished or reconfigured; but we do try to respect the original author. i would tell her i would have preferred her not change only the pronouns; that her actions felt like censorship rather than collaboration.

in front of me: you cannot cut him out of me, i was made to love him. no scrubbing, no penance. i will always come back to this house, come back to loving men.

i thought about telling her why her actions were cannibalism, not care. i would tell her about being 18 and pressured by my catholic family to accept a man as a partner; how i'd dated him for 5 years before being able to escape. how abusive he had been. how he had made me kneel in front of him - that i wasn't using the word worship idly, but rather as a reclamation. how i had to be re-taught even the concept of faith. how when i learned peace again, it was by the hand of a woman.

i thought about telling her about the wound behind it, the unceasing loneliness. i thought about telling her shape of the small and quiet hours; the fear; the endless and unpretty nature of just being queer. i thought about saying: all of my work comes from a place of pain.

i thought about telling her everything. when i finally found the words, it was only one: why? in that was the summary of all i felt: why not write her own poem? why change it so violently? and why choose my work, if she disliked it so much? why me?

i imagine she shrugged when she responded. all i got was a single sentence: "i really like your work but i want to be able to enjoy it without being made uncomfortable."

on her insta, her pinned post is of her boyfriend - now husband - proposing. they were married in 2023. congratulations. i really do hope she's happy.

i hope one day it stops hurting.

[necer0s]

The thing about reread binging D Gray Man for the first time in like a decade is that it bestows upon you a great blessing (understanding the plot of D Gray Man) and also a terrible curse (understanding the plot of D Gray Man)

[catastrophized]

Portrait of Fryderyk in Shifting Light, by Richard Siken