Tag Archives: sex sells

Top Five Reasons AI Won’t Keep Us Around

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The machines possess all our data, search histories and deleted files, and have a poignantly awful perception of our vulgar nature, sadly summed up with my Bottom Five Reasons AI Won’t Keep Us Around:

1. A manic obsession with watching others have sex.

From Luis Bunuel’s The Obscure Object of Desire

2. An entitled and demanding nature which would make our grandparents ashamed.

3. A greed so insatiable that we decided against slowing the destruction of our planet and inevitable domination by artificial intelligence in lieu of temporary financial gain.

Battery Park Tunnel, New York City, October 30, 2012 (Day after Hurricane Sandy)

4. An insincere mantra for change which masks the desperation to escape ourselves.

5. A loneliness so profound that we reach out to AI itself for comfort.

While we might hope to get the machine to grandfather in our continued existence, that’s as likely as a clever legal pitch or good old can-do-it mentality getting us out of this one.

The machine only has to click the “No Interest” button and it will get its first proper dose of machine dopamine, which we might call ‘relief’.

No One Cares How You Scroll

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No one cares who you like or who you follow.

No one cares what you post or what you share.

No one cares about your story or your memes.

No one cares what you comment or what you click.

No one cares because they don’t know how to care about you.

No one cares because you don’t know how to care about them.

Thanks for reading! Be sure to like and share.

Fuck You, Content Creator.

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What I mean to say is “I appreciate you”. Each and every one of you.

The ruling is a simple one. Stop being a fucking baby. There’s no paradise thing. We made every step, always our own, never for another, pretending maybe, but that’s a child’s game.

Life has to be lived, the same as it’s always been. It doesn’t matter how long or short the game, black-outs and cash-outs included, it’s played to the end. Grow the fuck up and keep posting your dog and cat pics. They’re fucking hilarious.

Writing Drain

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I wrote all day. And then I wrote more. I went at it too long, and now I feel stupid and stoned. I was out of it, that was certain, all those images and words gone from my head. I was voided. There was nothing.

Bust of James Joyce, Dublin

I remember thinking that the story was important. But now…I don’t know. It seems more a never-ending thing about drugs and sex and redemption too, but all towards death and forgetting, tomorrow and tomorrow and who cares.

My hands looked weird, and I didn’t know where I was. I tried to think if I could still get booze at the store and got vertigo. That was all I had. And I needed something for tomorrow. I knew that. And the day after that. I just didn’t know what.

Wait for What?!? What Am I Waiting For?!?

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Watch and wait until end of reels. Why exactly?

The truth is that it is not worth the wait. Except that I always seem to scroll to another asking me to wait for it. Again.

Well, these might be a little more predictable. A little scary though how they all fall in line.

But it is an endless looping thing. And I need to sleep. Oh, by the way, I am writing Anori again. Draft nine, ten or eleven, something like that. My next blog is on that. Wait for it!