I Have Overcome The Resistance Of Static Friction Against Becoming Active On This Hellsite, Now The Coefficient

It's Autumn, which means if I make a Big Pot of Soup it will Fix Everything. No one fact check me on this. We need to let the soup speak for itself.

I often think about how loneliness is a more powerful emotion in theatre because you’re in a room full of people who all powerless to do anything but watch and I saw Eva Noblaza as Eurydice in Hadestown the other day and I cannot get her guttural “is anybody listening” out of my mind, she was screaming for someone to listen and you’re sat there mere metres away unable to let her know that you are, that her story is being told and she matters, so many people are listening but she doesn’t know that

sexy knights. sexy wounded knights. sexy wounded weary knights. sexy wounded weary knights in the rain. sexy wounded weary knights in the rain pledging their loyalty to you.

this is just my opinion but i think any good media needs obsession behind it. it needs passion, the kind of passion that's no longer "gentle scented candle" and is now "oh shit the house caught on fire". it needs a creator that's biting the floorboards and gnawing the story off their skin. creators are supposed to be wild animals. they are supposed to want to tell a story with the ferocity of eating a good stone fruit while standing over the sink. the same protective, strange instinct as being 7 and making mud potions in pink teacups: you gotta get weird with it.

good media needs unhinged, googling-at-midnight kind of energy. it needs "what kind of seams are invented on this planet" energy and "im just gonna trust the audience to roll with me about this" energy. it needs one person (at least) screaming into the void with so much drive and energy that it forces the story to be real.

sometimes people are baffled when fanfic has some stunning jaw-dropping tattoo-it-on-you lines. and i'm like - well, i don't go here, but that makes sense to me. of fucking course people who have this amount of passion are going to create something good. they moved from a place of genuine love and enjoyment.

so yeah, duh! saturday cartoons have banger lines. random street art is sometimes the most precious heart-wrenching shit you've ever seen. someone singing on tiktok ends up creating your next favorite song. youtubers are giving us 5 hours of carefully researched content. all of this is the impossible equation to latestage capitalism. like, you can't force something to be good. AI cannot make it good. no amount of focus-group testing or market research. what makes a story worth listening to is that someone cares so much about telling it - through dance, art, music, whatever it takes - that they are just a little unhinged about it.

one time my friend told me he stayed up all night researching how many ways there are to peel an orange. he wrote me a poem that made me cry on public transportation. the love came through it like pith, you know? the words all came apart in my hands. it tasted like breakfast.

dear professor i cant seem to lock in. its so over

I don’t have twitter, has the person who posted those clips from icbiballtay night 1 posted any more than the ones you’ve linked? And if so, can you pls link them?

:)

Here are all the links!

Land of the Dicks

Orphaned at 33

Listen to Your Heart

Join Us (And Die)

Status Quo

Happy Ending

She’s going to post more later!

I think I'm really REALLY unwell.... why did I decide to binge watch Arcane s2? I HAVE NO IDEA

"if i was orpheus i simply wouldn't have turned around" if you didn't love her enough to turn around, you didn't love her enough to crawl through the underworld to save her. if you could prevent yourself from looking back, you wouldn't be trying to bring her back to life. if you were able to look forward, you would be grieving.

"if I was orpheus I simply wouldn't have turned around" if you don't love her enough to turn around, you aren't orpheus.

I’m not going to explain myself

I really like the analogy comparing making a discord server to discuss a creator's works without also posting publicly where they can see it and know they're appreciated to locking yourselves in a room to talk about how much you love a baker's cakes and excluding them, but.

Ok. Imagine you spent your early culinary career making that horrible 50s jello food. It's bad. Like really bad. Somehow, though, you debut your first cake recipe and it's fucking incredible. Not too sweet, not too tart or bitter, not too airy, not too dense--it's just fantastic. The world loves it and they make sure you know that. Riding that high you get back in your kitchen and make another cake. Except surprise! Under the frosting, it's all mayonnaise jello and everyone who tries it gets a nasty shock. Your first cake was so good that nobody really talks about the second one aside from furtive whispers in dark alleyways. But never one to be daunted, you get to work on a third cake and spend years on it--you scrap parts of the recipe a few times, but it's finally ready and you show it to the world. People who only tried your first cake come in with high hopes and are not disappointed; people who tried your jello cake are pretty leery at first but you blow their expectations out of the water. This is your best cake yet, as close to perfect as it can be. It's so good, in fact, that one day you get an invitation to hang out in a room where a bunch of people who liked it (and your first cake) have been talking about your cakes and sharing their own recipes inspired by you. They give you a nice comfy arm chair in a cozy but prestigious corner where people can come ask you questions about the baking process or what particular flavors you used or anything that strikes your fancy. Little do you know, though, in the room next door, a bunch of people who liked your cakes also discovered your jello food (which is still on display in your bakery) and are passing it around, trying it, and just marveling at how spectacularly bad it is. You just go between the bakery and your little armchair, working on cakes and talking to your fans about them, blissfully unaware.

You are Andrew Taylor Weir, critically acclaimed author of The Martian and Project Hail Mary.