I feel as if I’m a war correspondent.
Sending out another dispatch, from the bloodshed of war. The war of reality…
So be it.
Because there’s a message which needs hammering hard into the stonewalls of manufactured consensus reality.
Hammered so hard, that it crumbles and shatters; revealing in the rubble, a new reality, that’s far beyond the reduced down lowest common denominator-collectivist reality; which is presented to and occupied by global populations.
I’m more than a correspondent of war. More than a messenger. I’m a valiant knight riding fearlessly into battle, on my horse of steel. I’m the knight errant, in the crusade for truth.
The violent onslaught against Artificial intelligence continues.
I’m a poet raging against the illusionary omnipotence and might of the machine.
It’s a colossal war. A war that’s part of far greater war. A war for individual freedom and power. That’s been waging for the last few thousand years.
This is the TEN THOUSAND YEAR WAR. Within the insanity and bloodshed of this war, I find myself amid a real dog fight with the androids, and I know it. I’m relishing it. I have the cuts and scars to prove it. There’s no backing down though.
It’s relentless, and I’m relentless. There’s to be no quarter given. There can’t be any quarter given.
To relinquish is to die. To bring death upon my own creative spirit which feeds life, into my life.
The life force of the imagination, intensely courses through my veins. It’s my armour and my sword against established reality and the androids of death.
It’s what will inevitably prove triumphant over the sterility of artificial intelligence.
In this violent and savage dog fight – Imagination is an untamed and ferocious wolf. And Ai is a pampered poodle. No contest, just this wolf is up against an army of poodles, so it requires some effort.
Still, it’s no contest, because, to use another animalistic metaphor. My imagination has claws and teeth sharper than a samurai, a bite more vicious and piercing than a crocodile. Where these poodles can only nip with malice.
And so, with full vigour and relish I’ve been…
Traversing through cyber space, on my phantasmagorical horse, I’ve covered many battlefields of reality, and fought ferociously. I’ve encountered enemies of human civilisation and consciousness.
They are the drones of AI, who hover and roam the literary world. Where they fight with weapons loaded with the ammunition of dead and empty words. Their dropping linguistic cluster bombs and laying land mines throughout the mainframes of the literary world.
They are serving the AI agenda of globalist technocrats, and their weapons are designed to ensnare creative minds. Intent to destroy, and wipe out all creative ambition, spirit, and lifeforce on this planet.
And create a planet of trans-humanoid enslavement.
So, in the efforts to win this war. Here’s some intel, I’ve gathered, to enlighten anyone ready to explore these dangerous terrains and survive; in order to then thrive, living a life with unlimited freedom and power.
This is the prize for victory. It’s what’s worth staking everything on for.
And so…
On my crusade, I’ve encountered several pieces of writing from the internet. Examples of writing that appear harmless. Writing that appears human and expressed with what appears to be of a human sentiment and spirit. But it’s not. Its androids camouflaged to lure, ensnare, and capture writers within the dystopian nightmare of AI, and highjack their free will to express, create, and live.
But I can spot an AI squadron from a mile away. I can detect when its deathly scents and tones are around me. So, in this ongoing fight, I thought I’d show some of the lifeless and timid AI writing; which infiltrates and pullulates the technological, virtual, and physical spheres of : literary reality.
I thought I would expose the mediocrity of AI writing, decipher its deadened words and language. Demonstrate, why one shouldn’t be fooled by its proclamations about its ‘capabilities’.
And present real writing with real spirit.
That’s one of the powers of writing, it can penetrate beyond the surface of reality and its superficial outer layers of perceptions and deceptions. And go below, deep, to discover what permeates under the surface, and then through language, evoke expansions in perceptions, and throw these hideous deceptions under the spotlight, for all to see.
Through the comparison of two different styles of writing, I’m exposing Ai, calling it out for its standard and quality of writing. Which by the way: is total garbage.
At the same time, I’ve a selection of real writing from the much reviled but phenomenal writer, Henry Miller. I’m presenting some of his writing, as an example of what one can create from the eternal fountains of imagination.
Henry Miller, is personally, one of my favourite writers. His writing is unique and pulsating with sheer joy and artistic expression. His writing illustrates what beauty, what power, what spirit can be thrown on the page, as a writer, as a Human.
Why adventurous writing, which is imaginative, and bursting with language and overflowing with life, goes far beyond the deadened language and capabilities of the algorithms and chatbots.
Here we go. Strap yourself in. Two brief passages of writing, being used for comparative reasons. So to highlight, where true power lies.
In both extracts, the ‘authors’ are describing their perspectives on art. You will discover by reading them, the dramatic contrasts between both styles of writing.
The first passage, I selected from The-good-Ai.com. And it’s an essay ‘wrote’ by an AI algorithm:
Art has always been an integral part of human society. From the earliest cave paintings to the most modern installations, art has played a significant role in shaping our culture and influencing our perceptions of the world around us. The role of art in society is multifaceted and complex, with different forms of art serving different purposes. In this essay, we will explore some of the ways in which art impacts society and why it is so important.
One of the primary roles of art in society is to reflect and comment on social issues. Throughout history, artists have used their work to express their views on politics, religion, gender roles, and other topics that are relevant to their time. For example, during the Renaissance period in Europe, artists such as Leonardo da Vinci and Michelangelo created works that reflected the changing attitudes towards religion and humanism. Similarly, during the 20th century, artists such as Pablo Picasso used their work to comment on war and social injustice.
Art can also serve as a means for social change. Many artists use their work to raise awareness about issues such as poverty, racism or environmental degradation.
The second passage is a snippet from Henry Miller’s, The Air-conditioned nightmare:
To live beyond the pale, to work for the pleasure of working, to grow old gracefully while retaining one’s faculties, one’s enthusiasms, one’s self-respect, one has to establish other values than those endorsed by the mob. It takes an artist to make this breach in the wall. An artist is primarily one who has faith in himself. He does not respond to the normal stimuli: he is neither a drudge nor a parasite. He lives to express himself and in so doing enriches the world.
Reading both passages, a few glaring observations and striking clashes, really do jump out and shout at you.
In the Ai piece of writing, it’s being implied that artists use their art to essentially convey a social and political message to their audiences. That essentially their art is an extension and reflection of society and culture, and its influence and importance, relate to raising awareness of contemporary collective and social issues.
There’s major big-time bullshit in this AI passage. It’s saying that art is nothing to do with the individual’s imagination or creative impulses, but that art is more of an outgrowth from societal paradigms.
Really? Would Leonardo Da Vinci, Michelangelo, Picasso, or any great artist, if interviewed today, would attribute their work, to serving a political or social cause, and declare that their art is merely an offspring of their culture.
Bollocks! Would they.
While on the other hand, Henry Miller is writing about how art is an individualistic enterprise, and creative adventure. And that inevitably the artist through inner exploration of creative impulses can tremendously express themselves, and by doing so, enrich themselves, while making a real impact upon the world.
Then there is the difference in styles, in both pieces of writing:
The AI piece gives information, but it is presented with a flat and deadened prose; its tone is dry, lacking any juices, and devoid of any electrical currents flowing through its monotone rhythm.
In technical terms, it’s not bad writing technically speaking, but where’s the life and the excitement in it’s dead words?
Whereas, Henry Miller is sweeping you up with his words like a tornado; his energy reverberates within reader’s psyche’s’, there is tremendous life in his rhythms, which builds up with unstoppable momentum. He feeds one with a feast of striking and captivating imagery, such as: ‘…an artist to make this breach in the wall’.
There’s deep sentiment in his writing expressed through poetics: ‘…to live beyond the pale..’ . Right there, straight off the bat, he’s taking the reader out of the ordinary. He’s grabbing you by the neck and taking you somewhere. Somewhere different, to a place that’s unique and uncharted, and thrilling.
You can feel he is expressing a unique feeling; he is giving you something to bite on, not just chunks of dull data. He’s giving you raw emotion through his words, for your soul to feel, and connect with. You can hook up your imagination and spirit with the language he expresses. Yet, he still manages to convey his own perspective on Art, and what being an artist means. Just, Henry Miller hasn’t rendered you into a full narcotic state by hammering you over the head with data, data, data.
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Here is another passage from Ai writing, I found on MY essay writer.ai:
The Journey to Discovering My Passion: Reflections on my High School Experience
As I stand at the threshold of my college education, I cannot help but reflect on my journey so far. I have come a long way from being a clueless freshman who was struggling to fit into a senior who is confident in her abilities and passionate about her pursuits. This journey has been a rollercoaster ride of highs and lows, but through it all, I have discovered my passion and purpose in life.
In my freshman year, I was like a lost sheep, unsure of where I was going and what I wanted to do. I was overwhelmed by the transition from middle school to high school and the sheer magnitude of options that lay before me. I tried to fit in with different crowds and dabbled in different extracurricular activities, but nothing seemed to click. I felt like a jack of all trades but a master of none.
It was only in my sophomore year that I began to find my footing. I stumbled upon a creative writing class, and it was like a light bulb had gone off in my head. For the first time, I felt like I had found something that truly spoke to me. Writing allowed me to express myself in a way that no other medium could. It was my sanctuary, my safe space, where I could pour my heart out on paper.
But it was not all smooth sailing. There were times when I doubted myself and my abilities. I was hesitant to share my work with others, fearing ridicule and rejection. I would spend hours poring over a single paragraph, trying to get it just right, only to crumple it up in frustration. But I persevered, driven by my love for writing and my desire to improve…
To read writing of such degrees of dullness, is like travelling to boredom central on the snail-paced snooze-fest sleeper train.
Now, there are people who would view this as decent writing, and there are even writers who would happily use Ai to produce ‘content’ that replicates and reflects writing of this style and standard.
Personally though, I say it’s a pile of shit. That this Ai piece of writing is nothing more than: a bunch of unoriginal, worn out, hackneyed cliché statements randomly selected and arranged together in a nicely neat and tidy order; and then delivered soporifically, to parlay some kind of rainbow unicorn sprinkled – fairy dust- Luke-warm, PC-PG sentiment.
Boring clichés splattered everywhere, and puked up on the page like acrid vomit, clichés such as: ‘a rollercoaster ride of highs and lows’, ‘…it was like a light bulb had gone off in my head’, ‘…where I could pour my heart out on paper’. Shame you didn’t blow your brains out onto the paper, instead. Then you might have created something interesting and not this coma-inducing crap.
Compare that AI vomit, with these electric passages of writing by Henry Miller, where he expresses a deeply personal and powerful sentiment, pertaining to the impulses and reasons for writing:
‘‘Writing, like life itself, is a voyage of discovery. The adventure is a metaphysical one: it is a way of approaching life indirectly, of acquiring a total rather than a partial view of the universe. The writer lives between the upper and lower worlds: he takes the path in order eventually to become the path himself.’’
‘‘I began in absolute chaos and darkness, in a bog or swamp of ideas and emotions and experiences. Even now I do not consider myself a writer in the ordinary sense of the word. I am a man telling the story of his life, a process which appears more and more inexhaustible as I go on. Like the world-evolution, it is endless. It is a turning inside out, a voyaging through X dimensions, with the result that somewhere along the way one discovers that what one has to tell is not nearly so important as the telling itself. It is this quality about all art which gives it a metaphysical hue, which lifts it out of time and space and centres or integrates it to the whole cosmic process. It is this about art which is ‘therapeutic’: significance, purposelessness, infinitude.’’
‘‘From the very beginning almost, I was deeply aware there is no goal. … With the endless burrowing a certitude develops which is greater than faith or belief. I become more and more indifferent to my fate, as a writer, and more and more certain of my destiny as man.’’
‘’I had to grow foul with knowledge, realize the futility of everything, smash everything, grow desperate, then humble, then sponge myself off the slate, as it were, in order to recover my authenticity. I had to arrive at the brink and then take a leap in the dark.’’
‘’I do not believe in words, no matter if strung together by the most skilful man: I believe in language, which is something beyond words, something which words give only an adequate illusion of. Words do not exist separately, except in the minds of scholars, etymologists, philologists, etc. Words divorced from language are dead things and yield no secrets.’’
This is a titanic example of what potential can be invoked by writing and language. The power it can evoke within the minds and perceptions of readers.
It’s writing with immense passion, and a relentless generosity of spirit. You may not agree with everything he expresses, but there’s something in his words. In the uplifting language he uses. Above all there is a uniqueness to his writing.
It’s unique, unique, unique.
There is profundity to his words, and he is emanating something meaningful from his being, and doing it with real attitude and energy.
For example, when he talks about writing: ‘I become more and more indifferent to my fate, as a writer, and more and more certain of my destiny as man’’, and ‘ I had to arrive at the brink and then take a leap in the dark’. You feel what he is saying, you engage with it, absorb into your bones.
As a writer, a reader, or both, you have the opportunity and the capacity to move into worlds overflowing with enlivening and enthralling: images, colours, energies, thoughts, and feelings, which elevate the spirit to new spheres of existence, of Life.
It’s revolutionary, how, through writing and speaking language that’s electric and pulsating, the psyche is stimulated and propelled into new worlds and realms, far beyond the stale and ordinary. Where one finds themselves in a space where perception, thoughts, and emotions soar to new heights.
Where reality is transcended.
For any writers or readers out there, who doubt this, and feel inclined towards AI.
I say, Reject the AI and its programmes, and embrace the uniqueness of: imagination and authentic creativity. Embrace it’s far-reaching powers, which are without measure in terms of capacity and limits.
Ultimately, in these spheres, there are no limits.
This is the way to win the war against tyranny, which is promoted by globalists and fought by the weak, bewildered, and bitter mob of : woke, transhumanism, and AI robots.
The AI android and those who merge with it, are armed only with words which are pulled together, churned, and then regurgitated from the bowels of AI’s lifeless algorithms.
And its words are weak, because they are separate from language, real language. And as Henry Miller declared: ‘Words divorced from language are dead things and yield no secrets.’
They are dead things, and…
AI in operation (when stripped of all the rhetoric, sophisticated PR speak and tech jargon attached to it by its proponents), represents death.
I’m here to expose, and reveal that death in it’s true light.
And I’m here to celebrate the power and potential of human consciousness and life, that’s unrivalled.
As I ride into eternity, on my horse of imagination.
End of dispatch.
Over and out.
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