An essay – October 16, 2023
What day was it officially celebrated this year? I believe I missed it. I promise to log an entry into my Name, Rank, and Shutter Speed Black Book so’s not to miss it next year.
Surely, the high holiday has come and, alas, is now gone for another twelve moons. Or is that thirteen?
Thirteen fitting, because just recently a flood of dark, inarticulate, disjointed1 poemetrics which, we can properly assume naught but celebrating the rites of Ste. Precocious, has been offered-up for national, international, and indeed, galactic aggrandizement. My confusion this year for certain is due in part to the proximity of Ste. Precocious Day to All Hallows Eve.
Perhaps some nefarious PubHouse, to preclude dealing with pesky human poemetricists clamoring for payment for and recognition of their efforts, has commissioned and unleashed a horde of poemetric bots to flood available e-page spaces with beetle vomit, ersatz “poetry.”
Which to all should be reassuring, if that is the case, demonstrating how far it is AI must yet stretch to reach anything approximating human intelligence. Further reassuring in that “human intelligence” is as laughably oxymoronic as “plastic silverware”; patterned on human intelligence, AI cannot but endeavor to be confused, illogical, capricious, and jejune.
When finally, the last software engineer2 in 2025 relinquishes her Triaxial Thumbwheel and DetentNDragger to fully autonomous electronic manipulation and disconnects neural intercepts from her forehead, declaring AI is at last on par with hI3, we‘ll witness the absolute depths attainable by depravity. Will we understand too late that it indeed mirrors the human mind?
1 Not at all redundant. One can be unable to express perfectly logical cognitive cheese. One can speak or write with the skills of Bard Bobby S delivering putrid pap.
2 Lego Legionnaire. Tinker Toy Twiddler. Erector Set Enthusiast.
3 Human Intelligence.
Ramblings 