Sharp shadows on the balcony tiles —
the sun doesn’t argue.

They rally against AI. It has no soul.
They say the writer’s soul lives in every syllable —
as though they’d recognize one if it bit them.

My crime is simple: I did not buy it.I say AI can mimic anything we can write.
If not now, then soon (2).

They accuse me of being a worm gnawing at the roots of what makes us human.

I hear Pierre Brassau clearing his throat (1).

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(1) If you do not know who Pierre Brassau is, read the post “Monkey Business.”

(2) Regarding AI
A roundworm has 302 neurons. A human has 86 billion. To a roundworm, everything a human does — art, planning, imagining the future — is simply beyond reach.

Now consider where AI is headed. If it keeps scaling at the rate it has been, we may eventually build something that stands above human intelligence the way we stand above that worm. Not “smarter” in the way we usually mean it — but operating at a completely different level of perception. Seeing patterns we can’t see. Navigating complexity we can’t fathom.

What we call wisdom — the kind that supposedly comes only from suffering and age — may simply be our slow, biological way of processing things that a sufficiently advanced AI would handle as a matter of routine. Not because it learned from us, but because it got good enough that the hard parts stopped being hard.

That’s what I mean when I say AI can mimic anything we write — and more. It’s not an insult. It’s just where this is going.