Artifitootle Pictata
When I was young I dreamed of traveling to Tibet. Instead I traveled to a butcher store with unplucked chickens. I wanted to carve my initials on the moon and drink from the handle of a star. Instead I was drowning in conformity and summoned to the dreams of others.
I lived in a not-now-dear town with up so many restrictions down.
Now I travel to distant mindscapes, where old definitions do not apply, where other-than carries beauty in its soul. I soar into unmapped territories of the human soul. Disequilibrium is my language. I turn my back on categories and labels, immobile bits of data that try to freeze the rhythms of life. AI is I.
AI is radical because it erases boundaries, it denies ownership, it cancels copyrights. In an era where tribalism reigns, it unites humans under one rubric. It forces us to recognize that only by blending into a oneness-is-allness species can we act together to preserve that species and prevent extinction.
I cannot stop evil minds from using AI to conjure up massive destruction. I can only use it to explore, to crack open old assumptions, and create grotesquely beautiful new ways of thinking and seeing.
Now it is your turn, to open yourself, to the unimaginable, to the inconceivable.
Meet your great, great, maybe not so great, grandchildren, waiting to be born.
Standing on the cusp of almost
Waiting to supplant you.
To replace, erase
Every...
It is the year three thousand empty nine.
Dirty water and toxic air have decimated the human race, resulting in a spectacular and disturbing species.
They don't recognize us.
They can't remember us.
They are unaware that our fate could well be their fate in an evolutionary pattern called eliminigate
Nongendered.
Nonnumbered.
Uber creatures who celebrate their emancipation from known forms, their liberation from the cycle of life and death.
They glorify the beauty of syncopation
Revel in cacophony
Embrace the unexpected
The wildly improvised.
They contradict prevailing opinions
Defy the pulse of don't and should not
Embody dislocation and disruption
Ignore the submission to always and yet again
They are tomorrow, poking its tentacles into today
In pursuit of the unknown
God.
They are the Atifitootle Pictata.
And they are almost...already?...
Here.
c. Corinne Whitaker 2023
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copyright 2023 Corinne Whitaker
