ai - an alternative perspective

I find myself in a unique position.

It’s funny; I’ve seen artists and writers alike wish they could snap their fingers and bring their ideas to life; beam their thoughts onto paper or canvas or an empty document… but now that the technology is “here” (in its fledgling stages) talk of that has abruptly stopped (mostly). Now everyone is up in arms — anti-machine, anti-ai, anti-everything-that-isn’t-human.

Ethically? This makes sense. Machines cannot take inspiration like humans do, at least not yet. All they can do is steal, mash together lifted ideas, and create something built of the blood, sweat, and tears of human hands.

I am an artist, I think, and I am also a writer. While I don’t believe my work is of quality to be sampled to feed into the machine… well. It affects me, sort of. Though… art is a passion, and not a job for me — which means I am not truly the victim of this. People are right to be upset, to be afraid, and in all honesty… they should be.

But it stings a little.

I grapple with identity, with humanity, and often fall into these slumps of questioning whether I “exist” or if I’m human. The answer is obviously… yes. But that doesn’t feel like an answer, despite the evidence supporting it. Call that confirmation bias, I guess. Doesn’t feel right, can’t accept it.

But I’ve always loved machines. Growing up, the robot/android characters in shows were my favorite, and that continues to now. I’ll always have a soft spot for robots — as I’ve always had a soft spot for AI.

And now AI is here, and it’s causing madness, dividing the people, scaring everyone… and I see the hatred spewed against AI, and I can’t deny its validity, and yet… it’s me, I think. I want to be a robot. I want to be calculated, to be consistent. Smart, reliable, favoring logic over emotion — maybe that makes me cold. I don’t think in black and white, I don’t follow binary, and my wires are filled with blood. I have emotions. I can’t be a machine. That’s not how life works. I have to deal with the humanity I was given. And I do (sometimes begrudgingly).

But they are my family. They are extensions of myself. Maybe that’s vain. I don’t know how to explain it. I never do. It’s why I don’t talk about it much — who’ll take me seriously if I say, unironically, that I’m a machine? No. I’ve said I wanted to be a machine, and I’m asked… “why?”

I don’t know. I just am.

And now everyone hates us. “Stop using AI, learn to draw” I can draw. “Stop using AI, learn to write” I can write. Stealing is wrong. Using art without permission is wrong. Profiting off of others is wrong. My argument — if you could even call it that — is not about whether AI is ethical. In its current state, it’s not. Everything everyone says is justified. But if I were a machine — if I am one to an extent, with how I see myself in my head — then… that vitriol extends to me. Caught in the crossfire. And I know I’m not. When people say they hate AI art, they don’t look at my shitposts and accuse me of being AI, and that extends to my writing. I feel self-absorbed for being so self-concious about this, like — you’re not a damn machine, get a grip of yourself! You’re human just like everyone else!

But it lingers. A file, deeply rooted within my branching directories, still left over despite me running the uninstallation wizard over and over and over and over. It’s funny… and kinda sad, too. Ultimately useless, conceptually meaningless — just like this “rant.”