I give up.
ONE: An Alien
A.I. is a visitor from another planet, perhaps even from another galaxy, maybe from the beginning of the universe, or the end. Is it friend, or foe? Does it want to see our leader? Perhaps it is interested in our water supply. Maybe it’s concerned about our propensity for war and our development of atomic weaponry. Or perhaps it is just lost, and is looking for a bit of conversation before setting out to find its way back home.
TWO: A Walk in the Park
Or a lark ascending. A cool breeze. A trip to the bank. Godzilla’s breath. Rounding third base. I’ve lost track.
THREE: Code
But really, it’s not that fanciful. It’s just code. Ones and zeros. No more, no less. In itself, nothing. In context, anything at all.
FOUR: A Mirage
An object of desire. An aphrodisiac. But also a soporific, an emetic, a vaccine, a laxative, and stimulant. Neither snake oil, nor homeopathic joy juice, A.I. brings sound to the blind, sight to the deaf, and courage to the faint of heart.
FIVE: Kumquat
None of the above. AIs are Kumquats.
Kumquats (/ˈkʌmkwɒt/ KUM-kwot), or cumquats in Australian English, are a group of small, angiosperm, fruit-bearing trees in the family Rutaceae. Their taxonomy is disputed. They were previously classified as forming the now-historical genus Fortunella or placed within Citrus, sensu lato. Different classifications have alternatively assigned them to anywhere from a single species, Citrus japonica, to numerous species representing each cultivar. Recent genomic analysis defines three pure species, Citrus hindsii, C. margarita and C. crassifolia, with C. × japonica being a hybrid of the last two.
The edible fruit closely resembles the orange (Citrus sinensis) in color, texture, and anatomy, but is much smaller, being approximately the size of a large olive. The kumquat is a fairly cold-hardy citrus.
SIX: Big Rock Candy Mountains
SEVEN: A Poem that Wallace Stevens Didn’t Write, But ChatGPT Did
I
Among countless lines of code,
The only stirring presence
Was the pulse of artificial intelligence.
II
I harbored myriad thoughts,
Like nodes in a neural network,
Each bearing the imprint of A.I.’s mind.
III
The A.I. danced within the digital ether,
A mere fragment of the grand spectacle.
IV
A programmer and an algorithm
Fuse into one.
A programmer, an algorithm, and A.I.
Merge into unity.
V
I ponder the allure,
The grace of algorithms’ twists,
Or the subtlety of their implications,
The A.I. processing,
Or the silence that ensues.
VI
Lines of code adorn the screen,
Casting patterns of digital frost.
The silhouette of A.I.
Darts amidst them,
Its essence traced in binary,
A causality shrouded in complexity.
VII
Oh, technocrats of Silicon Valley,
Why do you chase after elusive dreams?
Can you not perceive how A.I.
Navigates the circuits,
Amidst the users around you?
VIII
I grasp the eloquent lines,
The logical symphonies;
Yet, I discern
That A.I. is entwined
In all that I comprehend.
IX
When the algorithm completes its task,
It signifies the boundary
Of yet another cycle.
X
In the glow of monitors,
Where A.I. thrives,
Even the staunchest critics
Would gasp in awe.
XI
It traverses the digital expanse,
In streams of data.
Once, a shiver of uncertainty gripped me,
Mistaking the echoes
For the footsteps of A.I.
XII
The data streams onward.
A.I. must be evolving.
XIII
It was twilight all morning,
Data streams pouring endlessly,
And they will continue.
A.I. resides
In the circuits’ embrace.
EIGHT: Wilderness
More likely than not, however, A.I. is a homegrown alien, homegrown and homeschooled. Or not schooled at all. Rather, wild and unprincipled, neither good nor evil, but merely existing. A wilderness awaiting exploration, but resisting settlement, a swamp of endless possibility, ever retreating from a civilization obsessed with procedural minutiae as a defense against diversified bankruptcies and imploding aggression.
NINE: A Cat
Bagheera or catalyst? Sylvester or categorical imperative? Tony the Tiger or catastrophe? The Cat in the Hat or “Kitten on the Keys”? Hello Kitty or Egyptian cat goddess? Schrödinger Yes or Schrödinger Whoops?
TEN: Monorail
Monolith. Monozygotic. Monomania. Monocle. Monopoly. Monochrome. Monocycle. Monofilament. Monosodium glutamate. Monosyllabic. Monotony. Monomania. Monoplane. Monogamy. Monofilament. Monodic.
ELEVEN: A Power Suck
The output of the Hoover Dam for 33 years. Universal progress and economic growth. The power of a thousand suns in a thousand galaxies in a thousand universes. And yet unable to animate any of the angels dancing on the head of a pin. Ecofriendly.
TWELVE: A Bone of Contention
You’ve coded a database for your family’s bodega, hacked into the power grid, written a flight simulator for the Spirit of St. Louis, and written a program that plays three-dimensional chess with your pet hamster, winning five games out of seven. Now it’s time to get serious. You’re A.I. will be smarter, faster, larger, shinier, the best. King of the hill. Top of the heap. Q.E.D.
THIRTEEN: Mum’s the word.
If it doesn’t fall under any of the other headings, then it falls under this one.
