AI Robots

To those, who are worried about AI robots having no humanity, hey, it is already too late. We are human actors with less humanity.

The danger of listening to literary figures:

The danger of listening to literary figures: I don’t see why Voltaire should make fun of Leibniz in Candide when the latter said that God made this “the best of all possible worlds…” Voltaire cannot logically do otherwise, he wrote the play that this is the best of all possible worlds, simply, because the rest of them suck even more. Literary figures think they have a duty to comment on philosophers and thinkers. They are without shame. They don’t know what’s going on any more than you or I do. They don’t know what’s real either, Descartes, in his Fifth Meditation, asks, “How would you know, when you wake up, that an Evil Genius hadn’t rearranged the world while you were asleep?” We are all living in the Matrix and we don’t even know it.

Diary which begins a long insight...

Donald Justice wrote, “This poem is for me. You may find yourself wander in and out of it, but it really is about me.” What follows is a satori that makes sense solipsistically. You may think you have the same psychiatric symptom. Well, you may, or you may not, but really it makes sense to me and if you find it may apply to you, it is OK but it is really about me. You ask me where I have been. I have been to Dylan’s hard rains are gonna fall. I have lived the life of a mental patient, albeit one that tells the psychiatrist that he takes my psychosis away for a fee. One doctor tells me that it is so good to talk to me. And his wife, who is also a psychiatrist, said to me, when by chance she substituted for her husband once at the mental health center, exclaimed, “So you are the one who David talks about at the dinner table!” I thought she was beautiful. I was envious of Dr. R. But then suddenly I recall how sexually I was attracted to my own mother. Dr. R was so on top of it; he realized that my mother preferred my intelligence over my father. I realized then the Oedipal thing was real. My hindsight was that my father was proud of me but he was also competing with me, and I suddenly obtained the realization that my father set out to sabotage me. Mrs. R the psychiatrist in so exclaiming told me that my mother pitted me against my father. She was a real narcissist.