Mr. Thundercrash Name is back from a moment of white hot stimulus, ready to write act three, the comeback arc, to finally synthesize something from self-absorbed cerebral torpor that is worth bringing back to the world, to have a conversation with the world, to communicate, stand on the shoulders of giants inhaling the fog of zeigheist, make a meaning of his life and also make something other people will enjoy, at long last.
But it's in the past, can't bring it back. Grammarly? Can you help me recover it?
Nah. I want cybernetically enhanced body parts, sure, or I think I want them, the devil's in the details, but potential benefits. Don't want machine parts in my writing though, much less music, or visuals. Weird though that I barely hear the turing test mentioned these days. Maybe because AI so quickly revealed itself for what it was and all it'll ever be, a glorified auto-correct algorithm that ruins almost everything, or if not that, certainly the mass-commodified generation of slop for an intermediary step in a financial scheme that seems to be working great for the perpetrators right now, and they're all good cause they're meditating in the mountains of new mexico on their retreats and groking the power of now without even needing words for it.
I'm just praying for a big crash, I'm a hater, I guess, cause, yeah, I hate it. Want to see it go down, even if it takes all this rotten scaffolding with it, think I wanna take pain just to watch a tenth of mine inflicted on our modern princelings, these gooey thieloid epstein clients. And then later I'll feel guilty and lost and boggle at the idea that I thought I was gung ho to take pain. I'm full up on that, can't add any more. I know there's always more, no bottom, but I'm trying to keep the floor in tact, don't think I'll survive a drop through.
Maybe, in the year 2041, when screens default to portrait and I have to rotate mine 90 degrees for a proper viewing experience, it will hit me at an arbitrary-seeming epiphonic moment, that I'm just incapable of seeing and feeling the good in where tech has gone, I'm analogous to some silly vinyl-humper I used to mock, and still do actually, and I still don't listen to 90s Pink Floyd, so there's that. But I will be almost like a dumb animal, cute at best, to the generation that adopted the paradigm. Pointless unlikely scenarios anyway, the reality will be weirder and stupider, as I'll be along with it, if I'm around.
Wish I had more people to chat with - at odd hours - or any most times - maybe in lieu of that i will passive aggressively badger some dust motes on the other end of the world. Ok, done, whatevs.
