Many A Splintered Thing

Daily drawing 18 apr 2025

Kabosu did not deserve to have her image turned into cryptocurrency. She did not deserve to have the meme she was known for across the world to become a code word for a fascist coup.

The celebrate-the-grind stories where some famous artist held down two grueling part-time jobs to make ends meet and got by on four hours of sleep a night so they'd have time to write their novel or paint or whatever, so what's your excuse are absolute bullshit. We should look at those about the same as we look at long-haul truckers doing a lot of amphetamines to handle driving for 16 hours a day or AAA game studios and crunch time.

Hellooooooo fans of Hard Truths from Soft Cats!…Hello?  Where is everyone?  …A-ha! *Bends shrub aside to find five tumbleweeds inside*Ah, well, it has been a while, but hopefully this blog still has followers. Hey all!  We’re reviving this blog for a limited short run, called “Hard Truths From AI Generated Cats."  They’re still just as soft as before, but a little bit glitchy, if you know what I mean.

Why are we doing this?  Well, for clarity, my "name” is Ace (I’ll probably put my real name up eventually), and I’m not the original creator of this page, but a friend.  Like a cicada (but much cuter!), this webcomic popped back into my life after eight years of dormancy, around the same time I was talking with a friend about image generators.  I asked Mr. HardTruths F. SoftCats for his blessing (yep, that’s his real name, sorry to doxx you like that!), and he was supportive.  I think in the eight years since HTFSC ended, life has only gotten harder and truthier (and I mean that in the absolute Colbertian sense of the word); one could probably write an entire thesis on that subject in cat-form, but this run will serve a very specific purpose.

I am an AI researcher myself, and I work on projects that include generative machine learning methods.  At once, I am both incredibly excited and fearful of the potential of these algorithms.  As someone with no drawing capability myself, I feel suddenly empowered to be able to take on art projects I otherwise would not have.  But then, as a hobbyist writer, when I look at GPT, while I don’t feel threatened now, I see a future where the technology becomes better and could make my hobby obsolete; for those where it’s their livelihood, the worry is far more tangible.

Technology rarely rewinds, but it often can be made to work for, not against, the people. But this only happens if we not only say we need to have a discussion (which is where so many conversations actually end), but to actually have one.  That is a conversation that needs to happen in public forums with those who have the power to effect change, at the level of grassroot and corporate organizations and policymakers, the latter of whom are at least a decade late to the party.  The box has been opened, but whether it’s Pandora’s Box or a treasure chest is still up to society.

The riots also offered a glimpse into how photographs can be used out of context:

‘Sir: In last week’s article about the poll-tax riot in Trafalgar Square (‘THE MOB’S BRIEF RULE’, 7 April) there is a large photograph labelled ‘A West End shopper argues with a protester’. The woman in the photograph is me, and I thought you might like to know the true story behind the picture.

I was on my way to the theatre, with my husband. As we walked down Regent Street at about 6.30pm, the windows were intact and there was a large, cheerful, noisy group of poll-tax protesters walking up from Piccadilly Circus. We saw ordinary uniformed police walking alongside, on the pavement, keeping a low profile. The atmosphere was changed dramatically in moments when a fast-walking, threatening group of riot-squad police appeared.

We walked on to the top of Haymarket, where the atmosphere was more tense and more protesters were streaming up Haymarket from the Trafalgar Square end. Suddenly a group of mounted police charged at full gallop into the rear of the group of protesters, scattering them, passers-by and us and creating panic. People screamed and some fell. Next to me and my husband another group of riot-squad appeared, in a most intimidating manner.

The next thing that happened is what horrified me most. Four of the riot-squad police grabbed a young girl of 18 or 19 for no reason and forced her in a brutal manner on to the crowd-control railings, with her throat across the top of the railings. Her young male companion was frantically trying to reach her and was being held back by one riot-squad policeman. In your photograph I was urging the boy to calm down or he might be arrested; he was telling me that the person being held down across the railings was his girlfriend.

My husband remonstrated with the riot-squad policeman holding the boy, and I shouted at the four riot-squad men to let the girl go as they were obviously hurting her. To my surprise, they did let her go – it was almost as if they did not know what they were doing.

The riot-squad policemen involved in this incident were not wearing any form of identification. Their epaulettes were unbuttoned and flapping loose; I lifted them on two men and neither had any numbers on. There was a sergeant with them, who was numbered and my husband asked why his men wore no identifying numbers. The sergeant replied that it did not matter as he knew who the men were. We are a middle-aged suburban couple who now feel more intimidated by the Metropolitan police than by a mob. If we feel so angry, how on earth did the young hot-heads at the rally feel?’