Monday, August 3, 2026

AI - this was written by a human!

Tonight I read a message from my son's school, prompting me to start a "discussion" about AI.  I didn't read further.  I sat down - with pen and paper no less - and wrote the following.  I will actually discuss the pros and cons with my clever son, but first, I wanted to share with the world, the rantings of a real life human "wordsmith".

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I am not interested in a discussion.

Much as I admire thoughtful, reasoned debate, and still believe firmly in the importance of intellectual enquiry, and therefore in all views being expressed, considered and appreciated...

I am also a grumpy old woman, and on some subjects, I will not be swayed.

AI is one of those subjects.


It is my sincere, informed, and passionate opinion, that AI is fucked.


I believe that the very existence of AI has made, and will continue to make, the world a worse place.

I am well aware of ludite-ism, and its many predecessors and ancestors, and that grumpy old people (and perhaps potentially menopausal ones especially) are inclined to hold a negative view of the "advancements" that occur in the latter years of their own life.

But I am convinced that AI is truly fucked.


I shouldn't have to mention that AI is: disastrously energy consumptive in an already insanely and suicidally over-burdened system; it is dangerously and just plain unlikably misleading; it is frighteningly available, lazy and "free"; it is inaccurate; it is invasive; and it is worrying popular.

To me it is so glaringly obvious that the few benefits of its existence (none of which I voluntarily make use of), are so massively outweighed by the costs to our environment, our intellect, and most hurtfully of all, our creativity; that it is, on balance, a purely evil force, that should be wiped out as decisively as Polio. 

(Anti-vaxxers and pro-AI folk may equally decline to speak to me going forward - you won't be missed.)

Worst of all, AI has substantially reduced our ability to trust, even beyond the considerable problems created by the mind-fuck that is the internet. (Yes I am proper middle-aged - I pre-date the internet).

Humans have for all of history had to contend with whether we can trust one another; now we must additionally figure out whether or not it is even a human with whom (or which!) we are attempting to relate.


While I may not personally like spending extended periods of time with the majority of our species, I will fight to the death for their right to express themselves, to feel, to create, and to have their humanity clearly recognisable and acknowledged.

Whereas I would happily end tomorrow (or preferably earlier), all memory of "thinking" machinery.

Sunday, August 25, 2024

fever

I have caught a fever, and I am unsure how it will end.

After living through over 4 decades as a dedicated anti-sports-fan, suddenly the turns of my life depend upon whether one group of people, is able to get a ball into a set location, more or less times than another group of people (in different coloured clothes).

A few days long of a year ago, I was in this same situation.  And here I am again.


Do I REALLY love him, or am I rooting for the other team?


Last year it was the Matildas versus England.

Today it is Carlton versus the Dockers.

(for context, for sports fans).


(I am leaving the different choices of names there as evidence, my instincts to be analysed by sports fans).


Last night we had a choice - spend time together, or only he watch the game.  He chose the latter.  (They won).  Today another team of his lost, despite my best screaming at them and (often successful) willing of the other team to miss.  But now... the Dockers could still make the finals... Carlton have already lost... but the Dockers will fuck it up anyway...


So...


Do I want the Dockers to have a chance at finals?


Or do I want my lover to love me?

Tuesday, August 13, 2024

almost ready to write again?

              Dearest Reader,

I have been thinking of you.  Have you ever thought of me, I wonder?

Either way, I would like me to write again.


But what and where?

And as who?


I have supporters.


As long as I keep it fictional. 

                  (Or at least, not about them).