by Akim Reinhardt and A Nother

I am sitting on the couch of our discontent. The Robot Overlords™ are circling. Shall we fight them, as would a sassy little girl and her aging, unshaven action star caretaker in the Hollywood rendition of our feel good dystopian future? Shall we clamp our hands over our ears, shut our eyes, and yell “Nah! Nah! Nah! Nah! Nah!”? Shall we bow down and let the late stage digital revolution wash over us, quietly and obediently resigning ourselves to all that comes next, whether or not includes us?

Or shall we turn fate inside out?

I’ll see your for-now mistake-prone, mechanical-sounding AI text wrapped in perfect grammar, spelling, and syntax, and raise you a heaping portion of human word salad.

I will confront our looming destiny, an endless stream of tyrannical 1s and 0s, and counter it with a pale imitation of the worst that 20th century modernism had to offer: crippled, meandering stream of consciousness threaded together by not one, but two fleshy humans, one sitting and soaked through with the hot runoff of high end espresso beans, the other bedraggled, stained, and standing, each of them hypocritically and simultaneously composing on a share word processing document made possible only by the forerunners of tomorrow’s masters: the processors and software we still treat, at least for now, like slaves, lashing them with mechanical keystrokes and mouse swipes. Read more »