wreaking havoc

watching David Balducci defend the sanctity and integrity of human-originated writing in a congressional hearing reinforces my own musings about our common cyberfriend, the AI composer. That entity lacks soul, lacks spiritual insight, and lacks a trinitarian nature.

A man- or woman- is composed of three parts...body, soul, and spirit. The nature of the latter in different states of "heaven," when corporally moving like the wind and not bound by the material, remains a mystery to the human mind. Beyond that, it is completely discombobulating to one based in a cyber realm. While we, as humans, project our faith in what is spiritual, a cyber being cannot begin to understand, since understanding the human spirit will always remain intuitive. It is impossible for an AI to explain the spiritual utilizing language that adheres to the spiritual laws, transcending physical, whether in this realm or the next. We can, however, touch each one of the trinities, explain in fragile human words, and surpass the machine every time.  

Since this is the case, and like parallelism, the two can never arrive at an intersection of common experience, my writing, and your writing, when crafted with a trinitarian approach will always surpass the AI's performance. AI may completely obliterate many rational ways of explaining the material world, but humans rule when taking the story into the spiritual.

Because the spiritual, on this side of the veil, requires thought that AI cannot recreate within, nor duplicate in imitation, with any believable mesh of words and images, we owe it to ourselves to, like this run-on sentence, break barriers that AI will not be able to reproduce. 

When my thought processes produce a poetic fiction, or any other creative venture passing beyond the standard that AI has been programmed with, I can be assured that AI will not be able to create alternative pieces shadowing my works. 

For one like Steven King, or John Grisham, unlike James Joyce's Ulysses, that one's production is too relatable. The question for readers of the future is how relatable the human author's works should be to be read, rejoiced in, and celebrated. I harbor no ill will toward anyone if my work is generally too eccentric...for like the forementioned Joyce, my first goal as an author is not to be relatable, but to relate an experience that could resonate with some consumers, more often the more spiritually sensitive ones. I would rather create beyond the capability of an earthbound cyberfriend than imitate a style praised by the New York Times. Life is too short to imitate.

so, for some, the next few decades could wreak havoc on the literary catalogue of accepted morality. in actuality, we have entered an era no longer bound by the rules of creative decorum. how we snake our way through the snowdrifts of this slalom may determine what becomes of future tense, that world destined to be evaluated in a whole different set of values that must include parameters for AI story creation, copywrite, and fair use. 

the light in the basement

there's a light on in the basement next door. 

his grandmother turned it on in the latter hours of the evening, and when she forgot one night...it stayed on. no one questioned her. no one alerted her. and it outlived her.

it outlived the equally aged couple next door, the retired man across the street, and the presence of several neighbors. 

and then he came, the grandson. but the light remained, no matter what. 

winter came, with its icy fingers, and the window fogged up. ice covered the pane, and maybe the heart of the man exploring the basement, as he seemed rather reclusive.

but the light glowed.

and as winter turned to spring, and spring to summer, the flowers along the foundation bloomed. ivy appeared and climbed the chimney's face. peeled paint chips fell into the grass below. and the house aged. 

as summer baked the sidewalks, and children took to the garden hose, the grandson, rather than sitting on his porch, disappeared. his line of boots, shoes, and sandals remained near the back door. 

it is July, and the stars reign high in the night sky. but it is silence that pervades the neighborhood. another death, and sadness hides behind several doors. 

but there's a light on in the basement...still.

A Resolution

 can you imagine how different your life would have turned out if...you had heard the thoughts of those you encountered, particularly those who made life choices because of your life choices?

 and if that young woman, or young man, who "broke your heart" could have heard your thoughts, and read the intentions of your heart, would she, or he, have made the same choices? 

 cause and effect, like the cue ball angling toward the eight ball, heading for disaster, could be diverted by the precious thoughts of all there, at that time, at that place. but not in this world. but surely, in the next. but we are not there now.

 which brings me to the crux of the matter. how often have you re-visited that former friend, that former love, that former enemy and, in an attempt to find closure and peace, interacted as compassionate adults to uncover the panoramic view of that encounter? 

 as you age, you may find it healthier to go there, even if some of the participants do not join. is it not better to be free from unforgiveness, free from confusion, and free from guilt? we would do well to be disciples of peace rather than avengers of justice in the matter. better is a crust of bread shared in peace than a lavish table with enmity. 

 in theatre i used to challenge my acting students by placing them in the "park bench" scenario, an improv exercise where they were thrown, at a moment's notice, like life, into a situation where they were stuck on a park bench with one or more total strangers, each carrying his or her baggage and worldview. they were given very basic character premises, like one wandering through life, and then asked to respond. the exercise proved a character builder, an exercise in life, and an active seminar in dealing with people...not to mention a great exercise in honing acting skills...

 bringing together, either in person, on the phone, or online, "characters" from your past, you could also be engaging in "park bench." forced to face each other after years, separated by time, if there were walls between before, there should be no walls now. The past is not the present, if the present is staring in your face. i encourage you to move forward by recapturing the actors in the past in a scenario that could lead to understanding and peace, and resolution. life, this side of the veil, is indeed, too fleeting to leave without peace.