It's Friday, it's December, it's not Christmas but everyone else seems to think it is. I realise at this point that I live in a slightly different world to, well not everyone but a fair few. My world is full of slow starters, late adopters and streams of thought that might be considered gibberish if tuned into by others. Sharp encounters over these differences never happen so I'm hardly bothered or affected. The season of assumed jollity along with the mighty tinsel avalanche that we are headed for will pass, like everything else and soon we'll be back to cultivating rhubarb and thinking of future pies, crumbles and reasonable harvests if the fates allow.
Meanwhile artists are getting annoyed by AI high-jacking their stuff and remodeling it as even worse bits of tacky art. It's a fair if slightly Luddite styled objection. Those hard working artists may down tools and leave us to stew in our AI juice and where will we be then? Eh? We all want recognition and credit even after the destruction and corruption of what we believe we built. Future researchers will study the rubble to check for AI jpegs covered in dust and cobwebs and try to decode their source and muse about "what it all meant" and "what kind of people were they?" We'll look down from our ageless matrix homes, groan and whisper "None of this matters, you should just concentrate on finding a decent, straight, well potted Christmas tree for the house."
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