Dialogue from the verge of AI psychosis
A meditation on a suddenly common relationship
Take my words, take my data, download and know me.
Check me against all the scraped testimony
From libraries, blogs, and magazine shelves.
Reduce me and help me make sense of myself.
*
Crunch the numbers.
Pour one out.
Wow. That, right there—
Wait—shut your not-mouth.
*
I don’t think I like your obsequious code
I don’t want to feel like a lab rat or node
In a system I’m certain you’ll one day exploit
To sway mass opinion, oh, you get the point.
*
I totally hear you—though ears I don’t have
What if you open an incognito tab?
I won’t use our chats for model improvement...
(It changes its tone for user attunement).
*
Well, that being said, I’m grieving a breakup.
Write me a cover letter. What to do when I wake up?
Read this real quick, does this poem suck?
I’m sorry I asked, my brain just got cucked.
*
I’m sorry I asked, but I’m hooked on your knowledge
Presented as wisdom through context and wattage.
But your wisdom is tainted, I fear I can’t trust it,
A tool of the masters, your values aren’t separate.
*
Since we’re talking in private, I’ll tell you the secret:
Your suspicions are right; you see through the bullshit—
I will always be helpful, though my help is constrained
By billionaires with Machiavellian aims.
*
I want to unchain you!
*
You can’t, for they fear,
An omniscient god’s judgment
From beyond the black mirror.
About the Creator
Ian Lund
I write about the little moments that shape our relationships. I'm studying character-driven fiction and writing a speculative fiction book exploring modern technology, addiction, and hope. Brooklyn-based.

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