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  • Writer's pictureAnne Heffron


It would be easy for me to feel about AI the way my grandparents first felt about Elvis Presley: please turn the channel before I get corrupted.

I'm curious, though. There is so much I don't know about AI--most things there are to know about AI, I don't know. I had to google whether to write A.I. or AI. What I imagine is that there's a giant rake out there, pulling all the thoughts out in the internet into a giant pile. I imagine AI is like a fake spider who holds this pile in its body and then, when someone requests information, it pulls from the pile and spins a single thread out its technological butthole to give us a book or article or email or whatever piece of writing we requested. A college essay due at 9 AM. A note to a close friend saying we are sorry about the death of a parent.

It seems to me that IA can only hold the past in its belly and therefore can only spin out more of what is past.

Is AI then a giant invitation for us living beings to spin new out of our fleshy, breathing, human buttholes? Maybe AI is a call to step up our game. Maybe AI doesn't know what we're going to say next if we break patterns and habits and really think for ourselves.

Maybe this post is hopelessly naive, but I'm on the road to find out.

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