Category: Treatises Page 1 of 2

Bluesky is alive. But there is no real usage case for it that will allow it to exceed Twitter.

Of course, alles kann immer anders sein. The reality of which I speak could always turn out to be different. We must always remember the guy who said the Internet wouldn’t really take off; and I myself hate Bluesky’s atmosphere with a passion that I do not intend on really articulating. So I know that I am biased. But this is how I feel; this is what I predict, and this is what is (more than likely) going to come to pass.

Bluesky will succeed as a protocol, similar to how the Internet has ‘succeeded’. But it will eventually ‘morph’ to the point that it will be considered to be the ‘gopher’ protocol equivalent to what eventually turns out to be the http(s) protocol equivalent of social media. When we look back in time, will we really be so enamored with Mosaic that we’ll be singing its praises as we’re on version 1,000 of Google Chrome? Mosaic was but a stepping stone; and so Bluesky is. And perhaps that is an achievement worthy of praise, and admiration.

But Bluesky, itself, as a website, is dead. It is a ghost town. It is Mastodon: the second coming of nothing. And one of the people who runs it, is actually fucking sick and tired of the people who predominantly make up the ‘power users’ of the website. Not that anyone can blame them; just as people from Something Awful’s worst forums made up the power users portion of Twitter for most of its useful life (before petering out and eventually just kind of retiring to Bluesky, a sort of ‘elder millennial retirement home’ kind of dealio), so have the Internet’s worst posters joined Bluesky, in some attempt to, I don’t know, have themselves an Arcadium Refugees experience.

When I was a kid, there was a social media network that is now lost to time. Not even I remember its name; but, before that, there was Arcadium. And when Arcadium inevitably failed (trolling; hacking; and a generally, genuinely awful userbase, entirely made-up of gamers), an offshoot was made: Arcadium Refugees. The tone was very haughty; the people behind it were absolutely up their own ass about the entire thing, and they completely forgot what made Arcadium so much damn fun.

Sound familiar?

Arcadium is to Arcadium Refugees, as Twitter is to Bluesky.

Bluesky is just Twitter Refugees.

And it sucks just as bad.

---

I don’t intend on convincing you.

The vast majority of my writing is intended to be read by myself, to quiet my own damned mind. So that I can lay a mental matter to rest, and move on to the next.

When I use Twitter, I am delighted. My ‘For You’ feed is heavenly. I have not felt bad opening Twitter in the past year. I actively have to go looking for bad things on Twitter— which is a design feature that I have not taken for granted.

Bluesky’s Discover tab is nothing but the finest and sickest furry bullshit I’ve ever seen. People engaging in fetishes so niche and unique that they can hardly even be called sexual anymore. The things I’ve seen on Bluesky’s Discover tab in the past fucking year has been like trying to mainline /b/ during its heydey. That’s not a good thing.

The latest (and, regrettably, it will not be the last) nontroversy to hit Bluesky is that some of the people working on it have decided to reply “WAFFLES” to what people feel are genuine criticisms of how the website is run. The people running Bluesky have made noises claiming that they feel a certain push, through the ‘community’s bullying, to force their hand in moderating how they, the ‘community’, wants them to.

And they’re right. Bluesky is predominantly made up of shitty fucking bullies who have no lives, are probably unemployed (given that they fit all the signifiers for what the previous version of what they are, actually were, on Twitter), and use all of their free time (which they have copious amounts of, due to certain circumstances that I will soon go into) to try to feel powerful online.

Twitter’s pathetic Internet Bully ecosystem was predominantly made up of people who were unemployed, sometimes also disabled, who tried to control the online environment, because they could not control their real-world environment. That is not to say that unemployed and/or disabled people are like this: this is to say that’s what the weird fuckers on Twitter predominantly were. They were stuck in their houses and they decided that the only outlet they had to the outside world would be used by they to send death and rape threats to people; that they would try to get people to kill themselves, in order to try to ‘carve out’ some sort of electronic ‘niche’ that only they could provide, after they scared everyone else away.

Similarly, the people on Bluesky who are trying to control the people controlling Bluesky, self-identify as being basically unemployable due to certain factors, some of which they cannot control; some of which they refuse to do anything about (for example: some refuse to get, seek out, or even accept the help that they need, to overcome simple problems like having to get a driver’s license so they can get to a job), and sometimes, they just plain give up.

These are people who pretend, whether they are aware of it or not (I believe that they are aware of it: they seem to be malignant narcissists who use a form of permanent victimhood to control others through fear and shame), to be ‘vulnerable’. Then, in the next fucking breath, they claim that they have all the power; that you must obey them; and if you don’t, you are hurting them.

It’s crybully bullshit and it’s plainly obvious to anyone who’s set foot outside their house for more than a certain spell of time. Unfortunately, due to how the Internet works, the only people who would even dream of using Bluesky are so terminally-online that they do not know what normal really looks like. They are so fed on the bullshit they see online that they have ensconced themselves in a shell of permanent victimhood through the notion that everyone in the real world hates their fucking guts, and thus, why should they even try?

A year ago, after my mother went into the hospital for sepsis, I decided I needed a change. I, too, bought the bullshit that the world was a cold, dark, and creepy place, and it was horrible, and everyone would want to hang my black ass from a tree because I was trans.

It has been a year, and I have many real-world friends, something that I have not really experienced in over twenty years. And nobody gets at me for being trans; I have female friends in their 50s and 60s who have started using female pronouns for me, without asking. I am genuinely liked, respected, admired, and, dare I say this— yes, I am loved.

But the people on Bluesky are from a world they themselves have created, a world of fear and pain and suffering, where they think that the only way that they can possibly survive is to bully others online. They think that the entire world hates them, and hates what they are, and what they’re like— when, in fact, no. Even in a country-ass part of this horrible fucking country, I, trans, mixed, and gay, have been accepted.

The reality is that the vast majority of people don’t hate you for what you are, and who you are. They dislike you extremely, and loathe your very presence, because you treat people like they’re your servants.

The fact of the matter is, the people who made Bluesky never seemed to realize that the sort of people who would use Bluesky the most, and demand the most from the people who run Bluesky, are maladapted narcissists who think that the only way out is through. They think that the only way they can survive is to hurt others, bullying them into submission— and, I want to tell you, the idea of adults bullying other adults online is so fucking pathetic that it’s hard to articulate the depths of that stupidity.

But that’s what they do.

And that’s what they’re like.

And never the twain shall meet. Never will Bluesky have the normal userbase that its creators seem to crave; never will the platform be ‘nice’, or have some sort of stable and coherent userbase of people who don’t have worms in their brains.

This is it, Luigi. This is all that’s left of the Internet. The real world is waiting— it’s time to touch grass.

And it’s time to decide if this is what you want to do with your lifeforce.

Do you want to be ‘criticized’ day and night for saying ‘WAFFLES’?

Do you want to have every word you say dogged by people who will never, ever be your friend?

Do you want to become Lowtax?

Because that’s what this shit does to you.

There is no end of this path that is not Lowtax.

The path on which you walk has no fruits growing beside it but the creamy, tangy mangosteen.

---

Make your choice or don’t; I don’t give a shit.

Once upon a time I had a friend who had a girlfriend. His(?) girlfriend was pretty fuckin’ wild. I really liked her. Great personality. Loved her verve.

One day he decided that he didn’t want to moderate the place he was moderating anymore. He had seen the light: it wasn’t worth it. The people he was helping were assholes, and he wanted to go home, live the quiet life, and just fuck the living shit out of his girlfriend.

And so he did.

He escaped becoming Lowtax.

There is no end to the Internet, my dear friends. There is only suffering. Suffering and perseverating that lasts for as long as you allow yourself to think that this place is anything but Hell.

The real world awaits you. Where the grass is green, and the sun shines warm upon your skin.

The real blue sky is worth seeing. And keeping clear— and protecting. For future generations to enjoy.

This one is nothing but torment. Torment for the people who have created it; who have the burden of maintaining it; and will have their reputations drenched not with the meanings of their words and actions, but by the bad-faith interpretations of their good-willed actions. Stories of people who tried their best, viewed through the lenses and frames of people who, absolutely, positively, would not engage them as what they are: people.

People expect the people who maintain Bluesky to be perfect.

But not even a saint could put up with these assholes.

I feel so sorry for them.

Since about 1994, 1995, I have been wanting to know what the fuck is wrong with you. Probably since before then, but that was when I came onto the Internet scene, and that aspect of your species, your very core personalit(ies), became entirely too prevalent. I had to know: what the fuck was your problem? I still don’t know; but, I know the answer to my question.

I need to get the fuck away from you.

It’s been 30 years. The jig is up. The game is over, and, every single day, I stare in awe at how fucking stupid this species is. Ladies and jellyspoons, I’m not even fucking sure the vast majority of you are sentient. Okay?

And a lot of people, at this point in time, turn to me and go, well, I’m not going to read your book! I’m not going to give you money! I’m not going to do this! I’m not going to do that!

Well, shit, duders. Not like anything’s going to fuckin’ change, then, is it?

This has to be addressed. There’s something wrong with you. I’ve known this for some time, and, after 30 years of staring at you, I can no longer jingle the keys and tell you what a good and special boy you are. You have something wrong with you, and I have to admit that to myself and each other, because, holy shit, dude.

---

You don’t make my life better.

When I was about five years old, we went from an idyllic life, with basically no technology (other than the accursed telephone), and I would watch cartoonies with my mama on our big screen TV. It was a CRT. It weighed more than our entire family combined. The car, too.

More than the house, really.

There’s something that always bothered me, since back then.

The telephone was scary.

Because people called you on the telephone.

The mail was scary.

Because people talked to you through the mail.

I liked none of these things. Hell, I barely liked the car— because, it took me to you.

And I told myself— just wait a while! You’ll warm up to them!— and I never did.

You know why?

It’s been 30 damned years, and I’ve had so much contact with human beings that, at this point, the conclusion of all my life’s research must be attested to. I must admit to myself, the truth of it all.

You don’t make my life better. At all.

And you never fucking will.

---

Scorpion(s) and Crabs

There’s the parable / fable of the scorpion and the frog. That’s what you are.

There are crabs in many buckets. That’s what you all are.

You tell me that you’re good. But you know what?

I have never seen it. I have never seen it as en masse as you tell me that you are. Even in Japan, the place where I saw human beings act the best I ever have seen, you weren’t. We were trying to wash my eyes out using water from a fountain, after a terrorist attack, and I had a salaryman elbowing me out of the way.

You’re not good. And I’m not interested in pretending that you are.

Because you’re not.

As much as I’d like to pretend that there’s something in this for me, there isn’t. Initially, I was interested in the concept of human friendship. People tell me that they’re good: so, I’ll make some fucking friends. Right?

I have friends now.

Now.

But, every so often, I just lose a friend. Sometimes I’m not even saying anything, where I can track what might have pissed them off— but, poof! Just like that, 11 years of friendship, and they’re gone. They won’t even talk to me, and I don’t even know why.

Human beings can be friends. I know you all can. But you do so so fucking rarely with me, on any level that I’m interested in, that— it’s not that I’m ‘giving up’. It’s that, I’m finally admitting to myself— no.

No.

You are so rarely stable enough, for me to take even a passing interest, that I just don’t fucking care anymore. You have many problems. Fickleness; vindictiveness; untrustworthiness.

I’m tired.

This is it.

No.

---

I used to wonder why I was always full of adrenaline. Why I had constant stomach problems. Why I felt sick every time I ate.

It’s you.

It was always you.

When I’m away from you, I feel healthy.

The only answer is to get away from you.

I used to think that putting myself out there, talking to people, that this was all a great and noble ‘crusade’. That I could help people.

So much nonsense has happened in the past 3 months, let alone my entire life, that I don’t even want to talk to you anymore.

I have a great and abiding need(?) to create; but I don’t want to talk with you anymore.

I don’t even want to talk at you.

I want to make beautiful things, and then, I don’t want to hear from you.

---

A Post-Mortem

The thing that bothers me the most now is that I did all of this because I didn’t want to be shouted down by stupid fucking humans. And, obviously, throughout the course of my Internet ‘career’, that’s happened— time and time again, I’ve gotten banned for speaking truth to people who thought they had power. And, I can, of course, always ban-evade. That’s practically effortless for me.

But why?

This is, in fact, a game where I can always win. And I can keep talking, and talking, and talking, and talking . . . but the reality is, there’s no real point in it. And it’s always going to turn out the same. Even if I ‘win’— what the fuck have I ‘won’?

Ultimately, it makes no sense to continue pursuing social medicine as a method to communicate with human beings. These people are stupid and/or crazy.

I like the Internet. I like the place that it is. Just like I like the real world.

I don’t like human beings.

I’ve never liked human beings.

And I never will.

… is not their problem at all.

Let me explain.

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None of you trust each other.

That’s the problem.

Humanity is, at its core, just a hive of liars. You lie to each other every single day. Because of this, online, where your egos flit and clash against one another, you want something that places one another above each other. With Twitter and the Blue Checkmark, this was easy. But now, you cannot do that.

The problem inherent with human communication is that you lie. The problem inherent with the human species is that you cannot trust one another. And you need to. In order to create anything truly great, you have to be able to cooperate with one another, and working with one another in ‘Zero Trust’ environments, that’s just absurd. You cannot get anything truly great done in an environment like that, and your lack of any truly great products is the very definition of the absence of evidence actually being evidence of absence.

To put it simpler, human beings suck. You all fucking suck. You’re bad. You’re almost all bad. You can probably remember one or two people who are truly great; who inspire you. And they’re good.

But the vast majority of humanity sucks, and it refuses to acknowledge it.

And it always wants someone to tell it that its shit not only does not stink, but that it smells of roses and tastes of elderberry.

And that’s why you want the checkmark.

Because you want to be special.

It has absolutely no use here, and it is no further proof of authenticity than it would ever be anywhere else. Shit, dude, you can buy it right now on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter, and I don’t think that the first two even acknowledge that it was purchased. Meta has an echosystem where people they Verified by hand (or through their fucked-up, Kangaroo Court Media Partner Portal’s) are mixed in with people who pay a monthly fee for it.

Pinterest did it right, because Pinterest did Domain Verification before Bluesky did.

Is it the perfect verifier? Oh, honey, of course it isn’t. Por ejemplo: if i were to watch and wait for someone to not renew their domain name, and their e-mail services were hooked up to it, then I could just register their domain name and point everything wherever I wanted, and I would be them. Even with 2FA on Bluesky, I could probably still do this. And it would probably be legal, because, none of us own our fucking domain names.

We are essentially leasing storefronts online. That’s all we’re doing. Except, unlike in real life, if I were to do that, and I got some of your snail mail? I couldn’t legally open it.

But I’m pretty sure I can online, with goofy fucking e-mails being sent to me, the me that registered the domain name that you stopped paying for.

It’s not the perfect Verifier.

But it’s the only Verifier you got, kiddo.

---

Other attempts at Verification that Bluesky could hook onto

A while back, I noticed that there were checkmarks on the senders’ e-mail addresses, in e-mails sent to me on my GSuite e-mail account. These checkmarks were almost-always only present on e-mail addresses from websites that were owned by multi-billion-dollar corporations.

And I wanted one.

Guess what, chucklefuck? It costs $1,000 USD.

You want one?

Get in line.

To be eligible for a VMC, your logo must be trademarked with an intellectual property office that’s recognized by VMC issuers. We recommend working with your legal team or a lawyer to get your logo trademarked. The trademark process can take 6 to 12 months. For the most secure BIMI setup, we recommend getting a VMC whenever possible.

I’ve been on the Internet since May of 1994. Verification has always been a problem; and billion-dollar corporations (at the time, then only million dollar ones) created and sponsored an echosystem in which domain verification was the gold standard. You ever heard of MarkMonitor?

This shit is big business, boy-o.

If you want to be Verified on Bluesky, you better be a big enough motherfucker where you can afford corporate domain portfolio management services. Because that is the only gold standard I have ever seen in all my time online.

This isn’t Bluesky’s problem.

Leave them alone.

Sort your own nonsense out.

If you don’t have a domain name with a .gov or an .edu or something substantial and well-known out there, then, guess what? You probably don’t deserve to be Verified. Because nobody knows who the fuck you are in the first place.

If NPR.org comes on Bluesky (and I believe they did), and they Verified their handle, I would know that they’re NPR. Because, if they’re not, their shit is so fucked that I couldn’t trust them even if they were.

If a person with a .gov handle gets on there, then, unless the entire infrastructure of the Internet is so fucked that anyone could do that (and, actually, there are probably at least 11 vulnerabilities in different places that could produce such an effect— but not without substantial jail time once they find you out), then, Hell, that’s probably them.

The inherent problem of Verification is that none of you can trust one another.

This is not Bluesky’s problem. This is a You problem.

Sometimes, the only solution to a problem is going to be one that’s not good enough. And that’s this.

Domain Verification is not good enough but it’s the best that you’ve got. Unless you want to contract a service out to verify people (like Pornhub and Polywork and yes, I think, even Twitter did, at one time), nothing is going to get done. And even then, there are a hundred thousand different ways to fuck around and just pretend to be somebody else.

There will never be a perfect solution. Just be happy with what you’ve got, and work compassionately with each other towards what you think might work better—

but, remember this.

This is not Bluesky’s problem.

Please leave the devs alone about it.

Note: I work 7 days a week now, and my life is pretty much better and greater than it ever has been. So I have very little time for this now, but I feel a need to say something.

I left Twitter for Bluesky about 3 days ago.

And I’m not coming back.

---

No thanks.

When it comes to Twitter, there’s no easy way to parse it. You can only really speak of it truthfully by adhering strictly to definitions of what it was not. But of course, there are exceptions and expectations to list, and maintain.

Forthright it must be noted that, as of the time of this writing, Twitter is… alive. But one must question what sort of ‘life’ it really leads. One must question if websites like MySpace are ‘alive’, in comparison to their former glory.

Twitter is worse, though. With MySpace, the lights are on, but nobody seems to be home. One must necessarily wonder, who’s paying the hosting bill?. With Twitter, the lights are on, but the site itself is a fucked-out windsock. It may still ‘breathe’, but the light clearly left its eyes, some time ago.

And that’s okay. Clearly, it’s not, but— in a world where people set children on fire and nobody does anything, the boundaries of ‘okay’ are not clearly defined. Twitter’s ‘demise’ is, essentially, unimportant. What I had for lunch today was more important. What you had for lunch is, too. Essentially, Twitter was never ‘essential’.

It was great to get news before it actually broke— in my family, I was known as the ‘Computer Guy’, who could get the latest news before it even hit the airwaves. I’d beat mainstream news by 2-3 days. And I’d do that, because Twitter was mostly bullshit and I just told them unfiltered everything, and when I was right, they only remembered those parts. They love me, so they gave me leeway that newspapers would not be given by strangers.

Clearly, Twitter is not important, in the grand scheme of individual lives. There was a potential for it to be something more, but I think we all know why that never occurred. I think we all know who smothered it in its crib, so to speak, after a certain ‘Spring’ got a bit too spring-y.

And it wasn’t exactly important to me.

But I feel a sense of loss. And it’s similar to the feeling of loss when you come to terms with any other unimportant, yet emotional loss. There’s a sentimentality here that, in my mind, demands to be addressed. And that sentimentality spakes thusly:

It feels like when you’re processing the end of a beloved television show, only the show is still on the fucking air. Like Stargate SG-1 after the Goa’uld were defeated; or, perhaps, the Simpsons, trudging along, becoming exactly what they mocked during their best and greatest of all years.

But, in the end, shedding a tear for the Simpsons’ meteoric fall in quality— past season 8, most reckon— seems silly.

And so does shedding even a tear for Twitter.

Yes, I wanted a lot of things. And yes, I will discuss them.

But I’m a normal person right now.

I work 7 days a week.

Twitter could fucking fold and, as George Carlin once said, my blood pressure wouldn’t even change.

I have all of my friends on Bluesky. I have all of their Discord information. And, essentially, even if Bluesky did not exist, I know that I would find them.

With that in mind, I cannot be hurt.

Who gives a shit about Twitter?

Goodbye.

One of the best things about A.I. art is that you don’t have to deal with a person.

Artists tend to think that that’s a problem. They want to be involved in the creative process, even if you’re not doing anything with the art but looking at it. Part of this is because some of them are up their own asses and they’ve decided that, because it took them a long time to get where they’re at, they are now the gatekeepers of this ‘power’. Some people talk about ‘theft’, which is comical, because they also say that the art produced with this thing is also in the public domain anyways. Others are just assholes. Overall, it doesn’t matter.

For about 20 years, I commissioned artists. The overall experience I had is that you give money to a person who is not going to produce anything for about a month, at least, and they will be upset if you e-mail them once a month, asking for progress. Today, with an A.I. Art generator, I can have the result I want in the span of an hour. For free. Without someone hurting my feelings on purpose.

Whenever I complain about ill treatment, people always like to blame me. Human beings love to blame the victim. Despite me not having to defend myself from any accusations whatsoever, I do want to tell you: I didn’t treat them poorly. I was business-like, and polite. Overly-polite! And I always paid upfront, the full amount. No halfsies; no half now, half later. Because I respected them, and I wanted to be a patron of the arts. I wanted to help them. I felt sorry for some of them.

Most of these people did not have their shit together.

Out of about 102 artists commissioned, I met about two artists who had their shit together. The rest were either late, or so ‘forgetful’ (there are things that happened that make no sense to me, even to this day) that I never received all of what I paid for.

I get it: you draw. It’s hard. I’m currently working on some things— I understand. Drawing for money is one of the worst things ever.

But you chose this. You chose this; set a price; and I paid it. And now, you’re acting like I’m the monster, because I ask if it’s finished every month.

You know, these days? I hear that commission wait times, for some artists, are 3-4 years out there. How does anybody get anything done, relying on these people? I have a pretty healthy lead time, and even paying hundreds of dollars, like I did in the past? Yeah. These motherfuckers were in no hurry.

Again: I get that it’s hard. You draw and you don’t want to give me the original copies through the mail. You don’t want to pay for postage, and you don’t want to deal with me like that. Fine; but I was upfront about all of this. My terms were clear: I give you the money, I e-mail you once a month to check to see if you’ve done it yet, I don’t pester you beyond that. In fact, to say that I ‘pester’ someone by e-mailing them once a month to see if they’ve completed a drawing is just fucking stupid. It’s not ‘pestering’. It’s an e-mail.

Occasionally I received back commissions that were just plain insulting. I have no idea whether or not the person I was talking to was mentally ill, but I deeply suspect that at least 3 of them were. Like a French guy who, upon hearing that I was American, told me to kill myself. That was interesting.

One moment, he’s giving me 3 sketches without me paying upfront (which I found odd, and uncomfortable, as I had told him prior that I would pay him before he even laid pencil to paper); the next, I ask if he can snail mail me the things. And then when I give him my address, he tells me, in no uncertain terms, to fucking kill myself.

The problem with commissioning artists is that artists are people, and people are cruel. I’m glad I didn’t commission them in the era where people were trying to cancel others on social media. Because some of them would have tried to get me killed.

Again, people will blame the victim: they’ll say, if you’ve done nothing wrong, you have nothing to fear.

I’ve been screamed at for doing something that I was told to do.

I’ve been screamed at and shamed for trying to save someone from killing themselves.

I’ve been screamed at and shamed for fundraising for a year, for a person’s sick mother, who had cancer.

I’ve been screamed at for trying to give money to someone so they could buy food.

I’ve been screamed at for helping raise money for charity, after people have asked me to. That lady was nice— we raised $5,500 or such for her to get a chair lift, because she was disabled. (Probably still is disabled.) And when she got the money, she immediately insulted us. Said that we were nothing; told me that my voice sounded like a backed-up toilet. Yeah!

I’ve been screamed at for something that the other person thought that I had thought. That’s right— they yelled at me because they said I had a thought that was insulting to them, but they had no way to know what I was even thinking. (At the time, even I had no idea what I was thinking.)

I’m sitting on the tail-end of raising over 5+ million USD for various charitable causes online, and you know what I think?

I’m glad it’s over. And I’m glad I won’t be purchasing commissions again.

I stopped doing commissions the day that I started painting again. I painted a portrait of a space alien, over a commission I got from a friend. That was the day that I realized that I didn’t need artists’ help anymore. That was the day I just started painting— and I got a portrait even better than anything I could ever pay for. Even now, even with an A.I. Art generator, I can never get an image as good as what’s in my own head.

However: nowadays, when I want some throwaway art, some shit I don’t care how it looks exactly (fanart, etc), I ask a computer. Right now I’m using an A.I. Art generator, running off my own little computer, to make a nun with big fucking titties. I don’t have to ask anybody to do this for me. I don’t have to do it myself. All is well.

A lot of these people were very useful to me. Some of them are friends. They provided me with a greater idea of what the space aliens looked like, when I couldn’t even remember their faces. And, eventually, I started painting the space aliens myself. So, they were a means to an end. They helped.

But that’s over now. The way that things are, I don’t even have to fucking tell people what I’m doing. And I don’t have to show them.

Forever and ever, until the end of time, I can just make this art. I don’t even have to try.

And I don’t have to get yelled at by human fuckers, nor do I have to pay them to draw anything for me, just to have them ‘forget’ about the commission for a full fucking year, only to do it in 45 minutes when I e-mail them a year later.

I don’t have to deal with Frenchmen telling me to kill myself for asking them to snail mail me the beautiful drawings they’ve done for me.

I don’t have to deal with people taking money for a commission, using it as a short-term personal loan, and then asking if I want a refund months later.

I don’t have to deal with three separate shipments where an artist keeps sending me unrelated things, but never gives me the drawing I actually paid for.

I don’t have to deal with people judging me, yelling at me, hurting me or my feelings.

I can make art by myself, now. Without any cruel human being trying to control me, or hurt me.

And thank God for that.

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The Future

The future of all of this technology is going to be like that one science fiction story I saw, then lost. Where people stayed in their apartments, and talked to each other on video chat. We do that now, on Discord, and Twitch. We’re there, man. We’re the Beautiful Ones now.

Overall the reason that this technology exists is because human beings are cruel and don’t want to deal with each other. I’ve learned more from ChatGPT than any human being who was paid to teach me. The A.I. explains eloquently, and it is kind, unlike a human being. It can break down things and I actually understand.

Gemeinschaftsgefühl is a glue of civilization. You have none. Your ‘society’ unravels before your very eyes.

And you blame A.I. But really, the reality is, it is your cruelty that is destroying your world.

And it is the reason that your species will eventually be alone.