𝔬𝔫𝔩𝔶 𝔰𝔩𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔩𝔶 𝔥𝔞𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔡

Hey, (not so) casual reminder that generative AI has no place in fandom spaces, and I mean any generative AI use.

The “level” with which genAI is used, whether by an individual or a company, does things to this planet regardless. Scale does not matter.

Every prompt you put into genAI uses an amount of fresh water that, once evaporated, will never exist on this planet again.

Here are some resources for education yourself and others on the environment aspects of genAI usage, mostly centered toward the power consumption and data center impact.

Link

I think it’s also important to note that genAI not only impact the environment, but also creative communities. Writers and artists have their work stolen daily to train genAI models, and those models spit out their work in a predictive manner.

Generative AI predicts the most likely results of whatever prompt you give it based off of material it has been fed—this is plagiarism, plain and simple.

If you are curious about fandom aspects of genAI specifically, I’d like to point you in the direction of this article by rolling stone: link

One of the individuals interviewed for this article, Elle, made a Reddit post about a commenter on ao3, and how they’d been feeding her work into ChatGPT in order to “get the next chapters earlier.” Here is the link to Elle’s original post: link

Please be aware that your use of generative AI, in any capacity, contributes to the things listed above, as well as the encouragement and normalization of mass plagiarism in our communities.

Do not be shocked or surprised when people in this space choose to turn their backs on you, block you, or oust you when they find out you participate in its use.

If I found out any piece of writing I’d created had been fed to genAI, through a roleplay bot or otherwise, I’d not only be devastated, but disgusted. I’d leave fandom spaces because of it. It’s not fun, and it’s not quirky.

and all i loved, i loved alone

readings: essays & articles

reassuring ghosts and haunted houses

fish recorded singing dawn chorus on reefs just like birds

what people around the world dream about

poet and philosopher david whyte on anger, forgiveness, and what maturity really means

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how memories persist where bodies and even brains do not

the avant-garde musical legacy of the moomins

the weight of our living: on hope, fire escapes, and visible desperation

disturbed minds and disruptive bodies

what is better ー a happy life or a meaningful one?

after my dad died, i started sending him emails. months later, someone wrote me back

on the igbo art of storytelling

what the caves are trying to tell us

promethean beasts — how animal uses of fire help illuminate human pyrocognition

the art of loving and losing female friends

on memorizing poetry

the ecological imagination of hayao miyazaki

reading in the age of constant distraction

holly warburton illustrates tender moments of love and light

romancing the fig: what one fruit can tell us about love, life and human civilization

mystery and birds: 5 ways to practice poetry

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why female cannibals frighten and fascinate

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On Friendship.

“As no science explains adequately how dreams work, no one can explain how a poem works. Where is a dream, sure, but where is a poem? I believe somewhat in Williams’ formulation that a poem is a machine made out of words, but, finally, the poem isn’t where the words are. The poem is somewhere between the words and the reader, or it is the words taken into the reader, who exists within the general society and its history. You enter the poem when you open to its page or remember it, having memorized it, but it is a much larger world than the page. It is transformed when you say it out loud; and it changes from reading to reading—you, the reader, change it, for one thing, as you change—or is it that it changes for you? If you are reading a poem by Catullus, you are in no way the same as an ancient Roman reading it: you are not that person—that kind of person, though it is that poem, as those words. But even if you know Latin, you don’t “speak Latin,” and you haven’t much feeling for what it was like to be a Roman. A poem, like a dream, has an odd relation to time: it is in time, like a poem by Catullus, but it is timeless, as an object made out of words. A dream lasts a moment but endures as a memory might: but it didn’t really happen. A memory can be backed-up, but no outside observer can find the particulars of a dream in time and space (evidence of REM or whatever isn’t evidence of what happened in your dream). A poem didn’t or doesn’t happen, it’s a still group of words on a page; and a story doesn’t really happen either. We say that dreams, poems, and stories occur in the imagination, or the psyche, or whatever word we’re using right now, to invent another entity that doesn’t concretely exist to put them in. But doesn’t the “real world” exist in some collective category like that? All we do is dream; we live in poems and stories we invent.”

— Alice Notley on Writing from Dreams ‹ Literary Hub

born to be an abstract concept, forced to be a percievable entity

Good Girl and Other Yearnings, Isabelle Correa

"There is a stranger outside your house. He is old, ragged and dirty. He is tired. He has been wandering, homeless, for a long time, perhaps many years. Invite him inside. You do not know his name. He may be a thief. He may be a murderer. He may be a god. He may remind you of your husband, your father or yourself. Do not ask questions. Wait. Let him sit on a comfortable chair and warm himself beside your fire. Bring him some food the best you have, and a cup of wine. Let him eat and drink until he is satisfied. Be patient. When he is finished, he will tell his story. Listen carefully. It may not be as you expect."

~ Translator's Note ; The Odyssey (trl by Emily Wilson)

˚˖𓍢ִ 🧸 ˚ us as plushies pngs