ALSO TITLED: “A TOAST — TO THE SHORTCUT GENERATION”
I’m going to write.
This article.
In a way — that AI never could.
AI follows rules. AI is a program. AI.
Isn’t me.
Or you.
It’s so much less.
You have a spirit, a soul, a body.
You have a divine nature.
And, sometimes even, autonomy.
THUS begins my TOAST:
Lift your glasses and good graces and short attention spans. *Quiet please.*
To the SHORTCUT GENERATION.
To the generation who posts their wins on Instagram before they’ve even begun their projects.
— You don’t even need to go to the gym and post your session to get that blessed dopamine hit. You can simply post that you are going to go to the gym. Two dates in? Post your relationshit!—
Beautiful.
A generation of psychopaths.
And they all take sides.
Twenty-year-olds.
Worse, thirty-year-olds.
With opinions so strong.
Though there is.
No way.
To know.
If they are right.
Or wrong.
Hop in the chat. Put people on blast. Fssssssss in the chat. We all know where we’re at. (Or do we?)
THIS GOES OUT TO THE.
Half-baked scholars.
Half-clammed ‘doomsday preachers.’
And half-damned soothsayers.
Those who have never touched a problem that they couldn’t cheat.
FIRE IT UP — CHAT GPT!
To the generation that will/might/may become slave to THE MACHINE.
We don’t need a brain.
We don’t need to problem solve or resolve.
Soulless and lifeless.
Soul removed, image put on screen.
It’s no wonder AI has risen out of this cauldron. Of those who preach and don’t do. Those who speak and don’t follow-through. Those who post and and roast and never eat their own.
CROWS — circling.
On the horizon.
I see the black clouds brimming.
But.
Sometimes.
I see us winning.
But not without a fight.
Not without truly living life.
HOW?
We must learn to grow and not preach. Sit in stillness and yet seek. We must learn to shut-up and go home. Turn off the phone. And pray alone until mourn.
Out of this cauldron, what can rise?
For what has risen is a single-edged, stupid sword.
Processed words — like processed meat.
Will make you sick to the stomach.
And bleed.
You’ll grow sick and die.
A thousand deaths before you die.
Worse, you won’t know you’re dying.
To yourself, you’ll be, all the time lying.
And crying.
Deep, deep down. In places you refuse to see.
While framing your perfect crown (for the world to see).
Who am I?
But you won’t know. You’ll be haunted by the spectre of your greatest foe. THE MACHINE has entered you. The demon has you in tow.
LEGION reborn.
In chains, clothes torn.
You cry out with remorse.
SHORTCUT GENERATION.
Change course!
‘You already know the way.’
You already have the vision.
But you must sink to the depths.
And really, truly listen.
*clinks glasses
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