probabilistically perfect piggies
slop. racing to the probabilistically perfect. sterile, milquetoast, borinnnnnggg slop. gather round the trough to fatten up on slop like some ai-powered herd of pigs.
vibe thinking. look how easy it is! turn off our brains. submit.
the duality of it all is so striking. we have such incredible power at our fingertips, and yet slop slop slop fills up the trough. this slop never ends, yipppppeeeeeee!
the meeting summaries with a bajillion emojis. :rocket-ship: :sparkles: :megaphone: :racecar: :checkmark: :glitter-pig: the formulaic linkedin posts “what making zoodles for a dinner party taught me about <insert_job_title>…” and “you’ll never guess what happens next”.
convergence to sameness, don’t rock the boat, stay in your lane, optimize for engagement above all to the most average of averages. see you at the slop trough my fellow piggies.
the walls are closing in, the slaughterhouse awaits. get in line, fatten up for the holiday ham. we’ll double-glaze ya with walls and walls of text and em dashes and sycophancy.
i feel it in my bones. deep in my soul.
where is the authenticity? the raw, unbridled awesomeness of humanity. of what your mushy mash of cells of our brains can create. not probabilistically, authentically. YOU.
i’m leaning into my authenticity.
i have to create. i have to write. i have to connect. i have to reject.
harness the power of the human possible.
oink, oink piggies. let’s get weird.
Comments