crystal latticed books
interface in halls
so vast the humans
have been lost, always.
Every sentence starts
and ends with a whole
life, a human life,
and in the centre
the books turn about
a spine – which is real
human spinechord cut
and spun from the tears
of ancient servers.
You do not ‘read’ books –
You must choose but one,
and it only seems
that way – in cold fact
it was built for you.
So tear your heart out
at the plug – thousand
eras dawn and die
to build its climax;
it is perfect life.
Growing up is stopping being afraid of something imaginary, and starting being afraid of something real, where it may be the same thing. For example, I am afraid of sunlight now, whereas when I was a child I was afraid of crying tears of metal, in the process of being filled with adamantium. This is not the same thing.
How slowly these realisations happen, and we can never be sure they have stopped! Imagine the fears we will have in the coming years! For example I recently started having nightmares that the entire process of writing will be disallowed to humans (because it is not optimal) and outsourced to an economy based on texts churned out at incredible speed by artificial intelligences writing word after word based on exactly what we have wanted. And these constructed by minds who were constructed out of everything that has been written, based around a kernel of demand.*
Yes you see we keep on feeding it different stimuli but it always tells us we are fundamentally flawed and deserve to be punished. Something to do with the way ancient authors** viewed their peers. But we don’t have enough data in any other format! Come on, do they really need to read anyway? Doesn’t it just generate irrational brain-forms and cause them to be late for work! Not that we need them to work anymore
I mean who is the artificial intelligence here, really? All of which is to say I haven’t grown up yet.
*Am I arrogant to be afraid of this? Yes.
**Not to mention the moderns
No matter how hard we all try
the future will remain unknown
soldier to the past’s graveyard.
A singularity. Is it not
trying hard enough. Is it not
easy to imagine the move
beyond. to imagine grass green,
a massive overproduction
see life changing as we stop, give
out. And the computer’s structure
being where the strong motive force
is in fact the human motion
blur. it is hard to describe what
a piece of work are machine life
goals, intentions and what drives them
mad. we are likely to end up
selling trillions of useless things
so called objects the ‘first A.I’
so called, produced, mistaken that
process was all it needed and
then saw god as a nicely phrased
meme. A ladybird landed here
and the sun, appropriate to
these four kinds of full-sun musings