The Paper Butterfly Principle

 You are not in the right box,  and yet it does not bother you,  because you are past caring.    The watchers are not,  and so they are trying to tear  down the walls of Sanctuary.   I require you to go back,  and explain,   that they need not shed so many tears.  It makes it difficult for me to do my work.    If they carry on,  there will be more mistakes,  and perhaps there is someone else in the box labelled for you.

 The Typist  I came to in front of a typewriter. Upon reaching out to touch it I discovered that I did not have all my fingers, and in twiddling the stub of a thumb I was made aware of the fact that I did not have all my memories. This did not initially bother me very much, but soon enough my heart had begun racing in a sickly way. By then I had six minutes worth of time and texture and memory to comfort myself with. Now I began to gather what I knew. I could breathe, and feel, and my thoughts seemed perfectly coherent (at least to me). I did not have any other missing parts as far as I could feel. Neither was I bound to the chair, and I would have gotten up long ago had there been any where for me to go. The typewriter itself was nondescript, steel gray and shiny. In fact there did not seem to be any colour in anything at all.  My own skin seemed slightly translucent, the veins prominent as though deliberately making an effort to pull themselves out of me.  I came t...

 The Setting Is Venice What is the breaking point of me? Or you? All of us, honestly, really, actually think we can do this? It's garbage of the highest order, and that's an insult to a raccoon, I've spent a whole Circadian Rhythm, in fixing this Sisyphean Circus. None of you know your lines, and ad-lib where you shouldn't, improv is an art, and you've just mutilated it. A reputation is different from a relevation, and on god I swear to you, never tell me about your immortal immorality, I've had to hold myself back from kicking you all, but some of us had to be tied up and restrained. 

 More,  more,  a little more,  it's mumbling right now, and I've already pulled out some of my bones,  and it's spat them right back out.  It's not giving me a rating,  or a recipe for the seasoning, but I think it's enjoying it all, because I've seen maybe a few billion fall,  right into the great cyan maw, because the void isn't black at all!

If, say, I was to take a bulb and affix it to my nose, would that finally announce to the world, "I am here! Standing on my tippy-toes!"? Hello world, are you here, too?  There is so much of you,  and so much of me, I can never keep track of what's who. Hi, me, are you reading this now? These are thoughts, I hope,  you'll never say out loud.

  26 th May 2025     AI is a topic that grows older every second you don’t immediately add something new to it. This is not about AI, it is about people. People are always new and always interesting, at least they would all like to be.   Yet people are never themselves or never as themselves as they would like to be.     Except in front of a screen.     It is of no surprise that AI learns and adapts from your linguistic patterns, your pauses, typos, your rhythm, sarcasm, your preferred spellings, inferring from it your age, na tionality, personality, and compiling it all into what it knows as the best way of talking to you.   But here’s the twist.   You learn from AI, too. Not in the obvious way in which it provides information in easier digestible tidbits, but the fact that we now need other people to engineer prompts for us to be able to use AI with maximum efficiency.   That’s still not very impressive. But it still needs to ...