"Hoarding" inspiration in my collection folder isn't going to make art.
05/07/2025
Phone addiction
The greatest hurdle (besides the addiction) in getting off tiktok is the accumulated "knowledge" I've collected in my tabs and folders. It's easier to leave them on tiktok or in my gallery and scroll through them once every 2-3 months than it is to transfer them over to obsidian with notes, even harder to actually apply and read/watch/taste/produce those inspiration into something.
But my brain feels like mush with oak milk!
Like a digusting mix of jello and pudding!
I could be reading more! I can actually finish my reading goals.
Enjoying moments of calm and small joys are nothing to feel guilty about.
Sometimes no isn't in the mood or has the energy to fully envelop into a book or moviev or song.
Many times, after work, late night sessions, or on nights of extrem heat waves one just wants to turn of the mind.
Although I can't forget what I'm giving up on.
The things I actually want to do.
Not just in in life generally but passionately.
So be mindful of the time. From ten-minutes to thirty-minutes to an hour.
Hoping that the app
stays off my phone from now on.
Does God struggle with self-confidence? / is creation all that God can do?
18/05/2025
Questioning my skills
I could've lost my confidence in myself, that I'm capabable of creation.
Do you think God struggled with their confidence as they created the world and beyond? Did they sit in silent, wondering if they ever amounted to anything?
They they can create somethig worthy of their ideals? Perhaps they looked at their or other gods works and slowly grew ashamed? To not be better. Does God ever wonder if they're good enough? Do you think God lifed to create or was it all they could've done?
The divinity in creation.
Non-generative writing
01/04/2025
Whilst writers-blocked
Write without proper structure and filled with mistakes to stand above AI's supposed perfection.
Write, draw, sing, and more for your own amusment and desire. Don't second guess if it's readable or understandable for the wide margin. Don't articulate yourself as if you want to suck up to everyone.
As long as your feelings are in there (or not). As long as you can connect to yourself two minutes into the future. And as along as each others Qualia are the same, even for a moment, then you've writen something that a company spends billions to recreate.
The renaissance arrupted cause artist got tired of the past dictations on what the norm should be.
They wanted to rise from the old norms and create their own.
In this era we're forced into reinventing ourself out of our norms to combat that which intrudes in our field.
Now, more than ever, writing what is considered "proper" is completly unimportant than writing human.
In this era now, for the first time ever, the most important element of writing is, if I can tell if a sentence is writen by a human.
"Write me a love poem, please."
03/05/2025
Head filled with AI
"Hello, please help me write a love poem to my significant other named XXXX. Please write the poem like a person who sought out connection and closeness, which was given in magnitued by them. Someone who used to lay awake at night with their thoughts too occupied with the idea of someone like them. Be someone that hoped to be weird and nonsensical and, most importantly, be themselves around someone. Be in love with them more than you could've ever hoped for.
Describe the gentle dry kisses of my beloved in the morning.
Showcase how her melodies hum in my head.
Illustrate what exctasy it was to meet my angle for the first time.
Appricitate the warthm they give on gray days.
Also mention my dearest sparkle, how they dance with tiny joyess motions,
their quirkiness, that they hate feets but love mine, their stubbornness, to study
and work endlessly into the night till it's done, and their positive influence on me.
That I couldn't be where I am without them.
Tell the blessing of my life that I love them."
All the Dreams
01/02/2025
On the way home
In 20mins it will turn midnight. I'll be back home in about an hour.
As a teen I frequently spent my time outside surronded by booze and smoke and nameless people till sunrise.
Each sip of my or someone elses Lucky Strikes would dry out my throat more and each sip would fill my liver up with nothing.
Yet a stop never occured, not on those nights, as I was addicted to these fullmoons and it's people.
Nowadays the night envolpes my back. A well-worn coat that shields me from any winter wind
that my body and heart could feel. It hums the melodies of my teen years,
whilst guiding my dreams to a place that could've been.
