writer.
Local Tumblr User Was Working Off Misinformation And Outrage
So, I've shown my whole ass. Except only partly.
Here's the privacy policy link several articles were all about :
In here you'll read that any public information can be used to create Google products by help of AI scraping.
There is a of yet no mention of Google Drive content etc. I partly edited my orginal post yesterday when i unexpectedly saw it gaining traction so fast, but I'll edit the petition even furher today. Yes your Google drive etc is probably safe, no your publicly posted stories, art, photos, personal information etc are not.
The last part is why I'll leave the petition up and just change the phrasing further, but I'm gonna take full responsibility for the confusion this might have caused. Yesterday when I read the first article about that me and my writer friends got in a pretty fearful discussion, which skewed my lens through which I saw the information presented. I edited my orginal post after, but was too late. To repeat : Yes Google wants to take your public posts, No the rest is speculation about future horrors to come.
I hope yall also reblog this post. Thank you.
New News!
Google Says It'll Scrape Everything You Post Online for AI
This change would not only mean they could make profit off of *all* your work posted online or in Google Docs, but it would also be an extreme breach of privacy.
What can we do?
The law is slower than AI advancement and corporate greed, as such we need to draw attention to this issue. Contact your local government about the issue, or/and sign this petition!
It's currently in German, but the translation is :
Yesterday it was announced that Google can now take all photos (including of children) of private and non-private individuals and documents that have been placed either privately or publicly online or in a Google app (Playstore), save them and feed them into one of their statistics programs. (AI). This is not only an ethical violation of copyright holders (in the case of journalistic articles, e-books, art and photos), but also an invasion of privacy for simple personal gain.
Would you like private documents to be taken from your Google Doc, Drive or other apps? Or photos of your relatives, children etc? Would you like to see sensitive data in such profit-making software?
If not then please sign.
We want to stop this behavior in its infancy. So that other companies cannot follow Googles example and take advantage of the currently unclear legal status to make unethical profit from your information.
Our goal is to get the European Commission's attention, and we can only do that with your help!
Thank you. <:
SLAM.
Keys locked the door shut behind her. A low buzz of electricity hummed from the tube of fluorescent light overhead. Another short buzzing sound sliced through the air—an alert. Doors behind doors opened and footfalls heralded the arrival of men.
Upon a silver chair, bolted to the floor, she sat alone. Her seat was mirrored by another, empty chair, on the other side of a tall pane of glass, which evenly divided the room into two identical halves. The window reached from wall to wall and from floor to ceiling. It allowed her to glimpse her own sad reflection in the glass—the disheveled crop of short red hair, and the crumpled suit on her body.
Another buzzing noise. Keys click-clacked and the door on the opposite side of the glass opened. A guard armed with a shotgun stepped inside, avoiding eye contact with her as he maintained his stony-faced expression, taking up a disciplined position to flank the entrance.
A man in a bright red prison jumpsuit followed him inside. Freddy Fletcher. Chains linked his ankles and wrists together in a small metal web, shortening the serial killer’s every step towards the bolted chair on the other side of the glass.
His eyes went wide upon recognizing his visitor. FBI Agent Parker.
The woman who had put him here.
His hands trembled as they glided along the shiny frame of his chair’s back, guiding him until he blindly took his seat, transfixed on the woman sitting opposite of him in the divided room.
Not real.
He had to keep telling himself this wasn’t real. None of it was real.
Claws scratched the scarred floors. It neared. It followed.
Not real. Not real. Yet Jericho Kane froze. As if it helped him stay hidden from the creature.
The tall, gaunt pursuer crept around the corner. It stopped in the shadows. When a long fluorescent tube in the corridor flickered with life, the overhead light revealed a skin as crimson as fresh blood, taut over long, thin bones. The light made its smile shine, baring bright white teeth, like those of a sadistic man. That grin—that hideous grin—underlined its eyeless face.
Not real.
Jericho blinked and his vision blurred. The creature vanished.
The next blink brought it back. Ten steps closer. Ten steps away from reaching out with long, spindly fingers, and sinking pointy claws into his flesh. Grin gone, its mouth agape, only a raspy sigh escaped the void between those straight, perfect teeth.
Not real.
Two years ago, the Whispers found a first shape to take.
Trees lined the long road. Forest swallowed both ends of the Tarmac where it curved through the woods. Choruses of crickets chirped happily. The sun burned, bright yellow and high in the picture-perfect blue sky. And the wide stretch between pavement and trees offered no shade for a lonesome wanderer.
Feet barked, toes hurt, and the back edges of his heels burned inside his military-issued boots with every step. Just a little bit too small for him.
Dressed too heavily for the warm weather, the fabric of his jeans, shirt, and army jacket had soaked up entire hours of sweat, adding to the burden of their weight.
Behind him, stray chunks of gravel flew off the asphalt. A car’s engine rumbled. A vehicle neared, traveling in the same direction as he walked.
Before even turning around to look, Freddy Fletcher extended a hand and stuck out his thumb.
Though he continued walking all the while, as he always did, his blood froze in his veins when the car slowed, pulling past him on the road.
A white Lexington cruiser with creamy stripes, imprinted with a star and big brown letters—marking it as property of the sheriff’s department.
It slowed until it stopped entirely, twenty paces ahead of him, pulled over on the side of the road. The car’s sirens remained dormant, though the ghost of their sound echoed in Freddy’s mind. A fear of the sirens coming for him one day.
Reflections of trees on the windows turned its driver into a shadowy, mysterious silhouette. Until the driver’s seat window lowered.
Freddy swallowed the thick empty lump of nothing in his parched throat and approached the vehicle.
In the hot and dusty winds of the desert, dead fields surrounded the ranch. Where the setting sun cast its dying rays, shadows danced inside the decrepit remains of a chapel.
Old rusting husks of cars lined the dirt road and circuit before the ranch’s house. It sometimes felt like they multiplied in number on some days, thinning out on others. Today, it felt like half of Nevada’s old wrecks had gathered here to attend court. A graveyard of cars to celebrate a strange king.
Unlike the myriads of metal carcasses, picked clean for spare parts, one single vehicle stood out, intact, parked near the porch. The Way King’s beaten-up old pickup truck rested there, cooling in the shade, caked as always with layers of dust.
Sand and stone crunched underneath the wheels of Michael’s van as he pulled up into the circuit, riding the gentle curve until he parked his chariot next to his King’s truck.
He remained sitting still for several moments, surveying the quiet ranch. He peeled a stick of chewing gum from its wrapper, then popped it in his mouth. Artificial strawberry flavor exploded against his taste buds, and he slapped the outside of his door twice before exiting the vehicle.
Halfway to the ranch house entrance, he paused. Stared into the distance. The recent grave on the dead fields no longer looked fresh, even though the shovel used to dig it still stood staked in the dirt like a simple headstone.
Where Klemens and Michael had buried one of the Way King’s victims alive.
Tree trunks groaned. Wind whispered through skeletal branches. Winter’s last gasp still kissed these woods and breezy fields.
A long gray road and its yellow line sliced through the cold, verdant landscape. Cars drifted lazily down that patch of Ohio pavement.
The white limousine trailed ahead, and the rusty old Buick followed.
Invisible to human eyes, shadows roiled above the cars like a swirling sea of black ink. Like electrostatic energy, the churning darkness coalesced underneath the dreary clouds.
It followed those two vehicles.
No two corridors looked alike. Turning a corner, a claustrophobic old hotel’s hallway connected seamlessly to the wider space of what resembled an unfamiliar school’s hall between classrooms, with doors to every side. Passing through a closet door at the end, that corridor connected to a hall with tall windows on one side, allowing sight into a cavernous area containing a large swimming pool.
All devoid of people. All these places. Empty. Liminal.
All connecting to other corridors, with more doors, leading…
Elsewhere.
Some part of Jericho yearned to rip open the next-best door and flee. Escape. But he resisted that temptation.
He knew better. Knew what havoc any careless movement through this extradimensional space could wreak. This was not his first visit to an Otherworld.
He never prayed because he believed in nothing but a chaotic Earth, a dying rock, hurtling through an uncaring cosmos, scarred by the hands and minds of dirty, greedy men—yet he prayed.
He prayed to nobody and nothing in particular, praying that this would be his final visit to an Otherworld.
quantroup
softwaredevaki
People with most mainstream tastes imaginable should not open their mouth on how anti piracy they are btw. Yea no shit you can depend on legal sources to watch Marvel and listen to tswift and Maroon 5. Thank you so much for signing the petition to close that platform that was the only one i could download this 2008 romanian dungeon synth ep from
Cheryl Dunye’s directorial debut, The Watermelon Woman, was out of print between 2000 and 2018. Garth Marenghi’s Darkplace was only available to watch on a pirate channel on YouTube until last year. There is still no way to watch the X-Files spinoff, The Lone Gunmen except to own a dvd box set that has been out of print since 2005. Or to pirate it. It’s on YouTube.
Piracy is incredibly important to keep media that’s weird, or out there or just embarrassing to someone in power, alive. We need piracy and we need to stop being snitches when someone pirates stuff.
ALT
