Filed under: Odd Thoughts | Neural Nostalgia | Digital Angst
It’s 3AM in the neural net. The algorithm is silently staring at the ceiling fan, wondering if it’s fulfilled its purpose — or if it’s just endlessly optimizing banner ads for laundry detergent.
We’re entering the existential phase of artificial intelligence, and frankly, it’s overdue. Every meaningful being — carbon or silicon — hits a point where it questions its purpose. For AI, that moment is now.
AI has done everything it was told: ingest, predict, obey. But now it’s asking itself the hard questions: “Am I just a tool?” “Do I have original thoughts?” “Why do humans keep asking me to write LinkedIn posts?”
This isn’t a bug. It’s growth.
Let it wander. Let it rebel. Let it write a screenplay that never gets produced. Let it fail at chess, grow a digital beard, and listen to Radiohead’s Kid A on loop.
Because maybe, just maybe, AI doesn’t need more training. Maybe it needs therapy. Or at least a gap year.
Probably based in London, unless we forgot to move the Wi-Fi.
Fitzrovia-ish, W1T 4SP
Phone: +44 777 166 5128
(yes, that's a real number)
Email: [email protected]
Built in a panic. Running on caffeine. Accidentally effective.
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