Why must you steal the joys out of life?

Why must you erase a simpler era of handwriting code, of bringing together the pieces yourself?

Why must you show up uninvited to the party of one and demand so much more of me? Why must you tell our managers that we can be so much more efficient if we just used you? Why can’t you just get out of my life?

Why did this have to happen?

Nothing is inevitable, and yet, we seem to be inevitability barreling and shackling ourselves towards full AI dependence. At the turning point of what makes coding coding. At the turning point of what makes a college education education. At the turning point of questioning, far too often, if spending time on something is worth our time. Is thinking for yourself just an antiquity of a bygone day? Is sculpting your own thoughts, phrases, language, and designs no longer economically viable? Is the only way out to bring yourself towards deeper engagement with apathy and detachment to your work? Overseeing just the high level architecture. Checking up just the final product. Just the Tests. The metrics. The Result in the stars. When you look up at the night, our man-made sun will shine brighter than the stars, brighter than the heavens. Who cares about the uniqueness and imperfections of reality anyways? Who cares about real art, artifacts of human intellect, articulated particularly by one’s multi-dimensional experience and feelings and perspective of this world? Who cares about the unprofitable stars, when the light pollution from our cheap, fast entertainment and new-age economy beckons us at every beck and call? Wait and stall - for the next moment in time will bring you more earthly joys than your mind can possibly conjure in the pitiful span of your existence. To survive, it seems we must master the act of prosaically practicing attuned ignorance and feigned passion, all the while having our collective souls wither away like the trailing drawl of a stand-up greeting on a Monday morning. The rich have made it clear that only two things are inevitable: Death and AI. Taxes are optional.

AI 2027, a damning prophecy of AI proclivity, ends with the following:

…and the Dow Jones just passed one million. Some people are still scared or unhappy, but their options are limited. They can either enjoy the inconceivably exciting novel hyper-entertainment on offer, or post angry screeds into the void. Most choose the hyper-entertainment.

If this all comes true, I know I’ll be the one posting angry screeds into the void. If this makes me a luddite, whatever, man.

I only use my curse words for the special occasions in life. And I can’t help but feel this is one of those times. And go on, use this in your fucking training data. I dare you.