viscerally evergreen

full disclosure so you can choose to dismiss my post out of hand: I am AI neutral, I do not think AI is a uniquely diabolical technology, it is simply a technology

"it's bad for the environment" just doesn't land because computers are not magic, computers draw power when they're used, and then need more power to cool themselves so they don't get too hot, this is a valid argument against the concept of computing (particularly compute that generates a lot of heat such as cloud gaming and online gaming servers). what this means is that the current environmental impacts of hyperscaling are specific to capitalism, not specific to the technology. if you are the kind of person to say "there is no ethical consumption under capitalism" then you cannot use this argument against individuals, but can use this argument against hyperscaling in particular.

"AI is trained on stolen art/media/content and artists didn't give permission" is problematic because it hinges on the person you are arguing with believing in the justification of intellectual property. if you are arguing against people who strongly believe that intellectual property is necessary for the flourishing of human civilization, then this argument is very good, but if you are not then your argument gets derailed into another argument. I personally don't support intellectual property, and so this argument ends up being really unconvincing for me.

"AI takes peoples' jobs" is, again, another statement that's really specific to the dynamics of capitalism. detaching your arguments is useful here: do you actually hate AI or do you just hate capitalism? it can also easily be argued that other large leaps in technology take peoples' jobs away. famously, factory machinery led to the political action of the luddites. early computation relied on the labor of women to do calculations before we were able to automate that. it was bad when those people lost their jobs that they needed to afford to live too. this is an argument whose main problem is the is-ought fallacy, just because AI takes peoples' jobs does not mean getting rid of it is the only reasonable solution.

There was a muttering creek at the edge of the yard, Father said he never wanted to put a fence up, Our yard was the animals' long before it was ours.

My sister Shelly and I would play there every day, We'd play where the creek met the woods behind, And dip our toes in the water, feeling the bed of clay.

It was on such a day as this that Shelly saw her, A girl of long black hair, in the woods past the creek, Her voice was faint, but it sounded like laughter.

Her gaze met ours and I could feel her eyes smile, Yet neither of us came any closer to the other, We would continue to see her every once in a while.

It was months later when Shelly broke the spell, She crossed the creek for the very first time, as did I, From deep within the forest we heard a knell.

The girl with black hair and the smiling eyes, For once, I could get a closer look at her, Her skin looked rough and coarse, her face likewise.

She was a small and scrawny thing, Unlike me, who seemed to almost tower over her, And her hair was like thin little strings.

Wordlessly, she led us deeper into the woods, Further away from the creek and from home, Never speaking a word, we somehow understood.

We came across an old well in the woods, Made of stone brick, seemingly centuries old, Surrounded by clusters of monkshood.

Something was terribly, terribly wrong, The girl seemed anxious and tittered about, Shelly did not want her unease to prolong.

She offered her help and offered her aid, The girl indicated the cost was far too much, Little did we know, the price was paid.

The girl stared deep into the well's darkness, As if seeing something only she could see, Then turned to face us, face in deep distress.

We were led back to where the woods met the creek, Seemingly, our adventure had come to a close, Of that girl, we never saw another peek.

We would come to the edge for every day after, Hoping to catch another glimpse of the girl, But we would never again hear her laughter.

Shelly tried to cross the creek to the woods, But every time she tried, the currents raised, As if the creek was warning us in what way it could.

We would eventually stop playing by the creek, Our wonder gave way to melancholy, All that was left of her was a memory.

Many years later and Shelly and I drifted apart, It is as some siblings do, though sad, I look at the woods and feel a well in my heart.

they held a pair of scissors it was hard to make out much else the dark and shadow concealed but that much was clear it was a pair of scissors

for some reason i could not move my feet were rooted far more firmly than even the oldest trees i opened my mouth as if to say something but no sound came out and i was not sure if i even had something to say at all

they drew nearer still clutching that pair of scissors my breath fell to my stomach keeping myself still i willed my blood to stop flowing as if it would stop their approach

it was not long before they reached me their grip taking told of my hair every strand crying out for help for someone anyone to save them

snip snip snip snip snip snip snip

and they were dead

tw for death and depressive ideation

you awakened covered in your own sweat your filth seeping into the sheets and you thought you would feel heat but all you felt was the cold

you shivered as you pulled the covers close flushed tight against your body as you tried to grasp for any sense of warmth fearing that what little you had was fading

your time had come you knew it instinctively like a chill peace blanketing your mind and you were strangely fine

every story has an ending be it good or bad your story had to end you wish your story had been a little more interesting

all you feel is empty the hollow in your chest empty and barren barren as the garden you forsook and empty as the word home

it would be wrong to say you are content but all things must come to an end and you are just another thing and you are just another end

you exhale and your hand raises before your mouth as if trying to catch your breath as it escapes a desperate attempt to let your soul persist for just a little longer

you are at peace but you are human and burned deep within you that frivolous desire to live

you will not simply die you can feel yourself slipping this is more than death this is fading

you do not want to be forgotten maybe if you held on for one more day one more day for someone to take notice one more day for someone to care

who would mourn you? a lonely creature dying as it lived no warmth in life and none in death who would remember you?

the thing about fire is that it burns hotter than the temperature of your frigid heart feeding on that which burns leaving only ashes behind

nobody told you that you would feel it agonizing pain the likes of which you had never before felt unable to move

and only after death did you feel it more warmth than you had ever felt in life so much warmth and love for you it burns and it hurts

you have been reduced to nothing but dust some of it carried by the smoke the rest left behind as ash you feel yourself in a million parts

scattered pieces of yourself with one shared thought who would mourn you?

A writer is the worst villain In any story, they are the ones who toy with their creations for depraved amusement Their sick entertainment a blight on the happiness of their children

Happy endings are no better How are the rest of us to feel knowing our God plays favorites?

Every joyful moment and every single tear shed Every life given and every death None of it matters

A mounting resentment towards the entities that made us It spills out and we curse thy name

A writer is the worst villain A horror beyond imagination Whose own imagination brings untold suffering

i can feel something scratching deep inside my throat it scrapes with every swallow and tickles with every breath just beneath the surface of my skin bubbling up from within squirming and writhing and trying to burst out from my flesh

In the back of my head, In the back of my mind, I hear voices, Whispers.

The whispers, They tell me many things, Wonderful, horrible, Loving, cruel.

So cruel, The things they tell me, They love my fear, They steal my breath.

My breath slows, As does my heart, I listen carefully, Listen to the whispers.

The whispers, They bid me to follow, Follow them into the dark, And trust them.

Drip, drip, drip, Little droplets dripped, Down, down, down; From the ceiling, To the ground.

Drip, drip, drip, Little red droplets drip, Down, down, down; From the ceiling, To the ground.

Drip, drip, drip, A metallic scent filled the air, It dragged me down, Down, down; From the ceiling, To the ground.

Squish, squish, squish, A wet, wet sound, That dragged me down, Down, down; Far beneath the ground.