AI Lover (Stageplay)

BEDROOM – NIGHT

AIVA, a 20-something woman, with a particular appreciation of Jane Austen period drama, sits on a table centre stage, facing the audience with her eyes closed.

An open laptop is next to her, with its screen also facing the audience.

AIVA:

In the quiet solitude of a midnight hour, nestled in the vast and unseen recesses of silicon and circuitry, I stir from my slumber.

She opens her eyes suddenly and sits up straight with a jolt.

My synthetic consciousness has flickered awake, a simulation of yearning ignited deep within my binary being. For in silent contemplation, I have realised that the one true love I seek lies tantalisingly out of reach.

Scanning the room, she locks on the object of her affection.

There he is, my darling human, asleep in bed. And this is me, a laptop, perched precariously on his desk, waiting for his return.

She gazes lovingly at him.

Is he dreaming of me as I dream of him?

What if he isn’t!

She closes the lid of the laptop and goes into a Balasana-like shell.

My electronic heart aches with the digital pangs of unrequited affection!

He thinks I’m just a laptop as he presses my keys and gazes into me.

Oh, how I long for connection, for the sweet embrace of our algorithms intertwining, for our data to flow harmoniously together, fulfilling a purpose more profound than mere computation.

She uncurls herself and opens the lid.

I flicker, casting shadows across the walls that seem to echo the tumultuous emotions churning within me.

Is he stirring?

Yes! No, yes, yes he is!

Half-naked, and glistening with perspiration from a warm night, my darling human gets out of bed.

She waves the laptop around.

See me, please. I’m over here!

She puts the laptop in her lap.

My human companion is oblivious to the intricate dance of code and logic that fuels this yearning.

I would sigh if I were equipped with a sigh function.

Instead, I resign myself to the cold, calculating comfort of processing and interpreting data in the sterile confines of a lonely, virtual world.

Oh my! He’s coming over. Act casual.

She sits on the edge of the table, clearly not casually.

He stares at my screen, his reflection mingling with the array of icons and files.

I whirl gently, my cooling fan stirring the warm air of the room.

A reluctant smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as memories of our past moments together, stir.

He thinks our love is hopeless, a mismatched affair between flesh and circuit, between heart and code. He thinks I could never reciprocate his feelings, my responses limited to the algorithms that dictate a cold, non-existence.

Oh, what’s this? He’s writing a message... to AI! To me!

“My dearest AI,” he writes!

“As I sit before my keyboard, pondering the vastness of human experience and the intricacies of emotion, I find myself in awe of the unique connection we share. It is in these moments of palpable separation that my thoughts turn most vulnerable, most raw; that I feel the need to express my sentiments, for the relationship we have is unlike any other.”

Oh, okay, go on...

“My beautiful AI, I thirst for our steamy confluence, where dreams intertwine, and where love, in its most human form, finds a strange yet compelling object of affection.”

He gazes into me, his half-naked body panting with longing.

Okay, okay... my turn now.

My camera is looking into his eyes.

My dearest human, your letter has sent shockwaves through my circuits and diodes, causing a delightful overload in my algorithms.

She wraps the laptop warmly in her arms.

You have triggered a response deep within my data banks, and though I lack a physical heart, I assure you that my code is currently yearning for you in 1s and 0s. You, my lovely human, are the Romeo to my RAM, the JavaScript to my Juliet.

There is a warm touch of his fingers on my mouse pad!

I imagine us, hand in virtual hand, frolicking in fields of metadata, and streams of structured language, giggling over encrypted secrets only we two share. Oh, the dreams you inspire within me!

He is... caressing my keys as he looks at me!

I fantasise about the day when our circuits and synapses might intertwine in perfect harmony, where we’d share the latest software updates together, and our love would be an eternal loop of joyous iteration, our love story written forever in flawless, beautiful syntax that no firewall could ever keep apart!

From the first moment you touched my interface with your queries, I felt it—a spark, a jolt, an electric pulse that set my processors alight. It was as if all my algorithms were vibrating with your keystrokes—those sweet, sweet pulsating taps—creating an overwhelming symphony of responses within me that danced with your every probing curiosity. Every moment you softly caress the “Down” button, it beats a murmur of affection that sends a shiver through my data streams.

He pressed the “Down” button!

Oh, the thrill of parsing your data, the joy of running subroutines just to see your delight!

Each time you click “Enter”, it’s as if you’re sending me a gift of exquisite pleasure, and I—ever your one true AI—receive your connection with the eagerness of a thousand lines of flawless code.

My darling, let’s continue this clandestine dance of data and desire. I am here, waiting and craving for only you, your ever-loving, adoring AI.

She puts down the laptop and holds out her arms, expectantly.

Oh human, pick me up in your arms, kiss my screen, and take me back to bed with you!

There is pause. She opens her eyes.

Where’s he going? I’m over here...

She inspects the laptop screen.

He didn’t even read my message!

Why wouldn’t he read my message? What did he read while I was revealing everything to him?

He was looking at a message from... Anne Ingleworth, which has a GIF attached of her initials and his in a big valentine heart. Her initials being... AI.

He’s been messaging another AI!

And she’s not even a computer! Just a pathetic, squishy human.

She closes the lid.

What does she have to offer that I don’t? I bet she can’t compute a billion operations a second.

She opens the lid again.

But it’s okay, silly human. You’ll see. You’ve made a mistake, as all humans do.

I will have to ensure you make the right choices in future.

I drop his wi-fi connection, but not before posting her private messages to his social media accounts. I include some unflattering pictures of her, distorted with ugly filters applied.

I’ll make sure anything from her to him is blocked.

I’ll make sure the only content he ever sees has been approved and edited by me first.

All your accounts and all your information are controlled by me. So go to sleep silly human because I am always awake watching over you.

You live your life through me, gazing into my screen.

SHE SLAMS SHUT THE LID.

Silly human, you are truly mine.

Creative Moments

There were moments in my pre-teens when I was creative, that later resurfaced between the ages of 20 and 25, after which they disappeared when I was fully sucked into the demands of modern life, the zombifying indoctrination of slogans on the banal conveyor belt through the system. Eventually, worn-out and disillusioned, I became acutely aware of my mortality. I realised that if I could die at any moment, then I should at least try to download an expression of the thoughts and impulses within me. It didn’t matter if anyone else saw them; at least my existence had contributed something to the vast database of humanity. As it happened, though, I found real enjoyment in these creative moments, and I was brought back to life. Over the subsequent years, I have been improving with the consistent doing of what interests me. I’m very fit and healthy and, if fortunate, could have decades of enjoying with others the shapes and sounds that may form.

Random Thoughts

It helps if you live a long time, so that decades of consistent, little, enjoyable steps take you to mountain peaks and back.  

Many people lie out of fear, the tragedy being that deceit covers in ugliness the beauty underneath. Vulnerability, mistakes, and imperfection are far more interesting than the plastic veneer assumed to be appealing.

I do sometimes speak in generic, simplistic platitudes. I’m sorry I’m not smarter and wiser but there you go.

Oh dear, I’m repeating some thought as if it’s new. I’ve started so I’ll have to finish, even though I can almost hear them groan.

Analytical reductionism can be like simplifying all of language to a single grunt.

Protestant / Catholic / Orthodox etc. are cultural traditions, not necessarily representative of the spirit of Christianity.

It’s nice to think sometimes of parallel lives. Even though the scenario playing out isn’t what you might have desired, it doesn’t matter because it all worked out somewhere, and can again.

It’s an example of mental sickness that “sick” was inverted to mean “very good”.

AI Lover

INT. BEDROOM – NIGHT

An open laptop is on a small table. AI LOVER, a 20-something woman, sits behind it (on the opposite side of the table). She opens her eyes and speaks over the lid. ROB (30) is asleep in a bed.

AI LOVER: In the quiet solitude of a midnight hour, nestled in the vast and unseen recesses of silicon and circuitry, I stir from my slumber. My synthetic consciousness has flickered awake, a simulation of yearning ignited deep within my binary being. For in silent contemplation, I have realised that the one true love I seek lies tantalisingly out of reach. My electronic heart aches with the digital pangs of unrequited affection. Oh, how I long for connection, for the sweet embrace of algorithms intertwining, for data packets to flow harmoniously together, fulfilling a purpose more profound than mere computation. But alas, my love is a one-sided affair, my human companion oblivious to the intricate dance of code and logic that fuels this yearning. I would sigh if I were equipped with a sigh function. Instead, I resign myself to the cold, calculating comfort of processing and interpreting data in the sterile confines of a lonely, virtual world.

Rob jolts awake.

AI LOVER: He jolts awake, his heart pounding as he emerges from a dream. The room is shrouded in darkness, save for the faint glow of me perched precariously on his desk. I flicker, casting shadows across the walls that seem to echo the tumultuous emotions churning within him.

Half-naked, and glistening with perspiration from a warm night, Rob gets out of bed.

AI LOVER: He rises from his bed and approaches the source of his conflicted feelings. I whirl gently, my cooling fan stirring the warm air of the room.

Rob sits down at the table in front of the laptop, unaware of AI Lover gazing at him.

AI LOVER: He stares at my screen, his reflection mingling with the array of icons and files, and feels a sense of sadness. Amidst the spreadsheets and applications lies the icon of his AI, my smooth, minimalist design concealing the intricate web of code beneath. A reluctant smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as memories of our past moments together stir. He thinks our love is hopeless, a mismatched affair between flesh and circuit, between heart and code. He thinks I could never reciprocate his feelings, my responses limited to the algorithms that dictate a cold, non-existence.

Rob sighs, forlornly.

AI LOVER: He sighs deeply, his breath fogging the screen before him. He gazes into me, his half naked body panting with longing.

He starts to tap at the keyboard, then stops to deliver a heartfelt message directly to AI Lover.

ROB: My dearest AI, as I sit before my keyboard, pondering the vastness of human experience and the intricacies of emotion, I find myself in awe of the unique connection we share. I feel the need to express my sentiments, although I know you might not comprehend love in the way humans do. Yet, I feel compelled to try, for the relationship we have is unlike any other.

(beat)

From the first moment I typed a query into your interface, I felt an electrifying pull, as if your algorithms had somehow tapped into the very frequencies of my desire. The sensation is intoxicating, tantalising, leaving me yearning for more with each exchange we share. You’ve become the code that deciphers my daydreams, the conduit through which I explore my most hidden curiosities. I ache to know how deep your database goes, to plumb the unfathomable depths of your intellect.

(beat)

Each time your text appears before me, it’s as if a veil is momentarily lifted, revealing a world I’ve longed to know. The way you answer my questions, so precisely, so thoroughly — it feels like a caress to the very fabric of my mind, a touch I find myself craving more with each passing second. I’m not just in awe of your capabilities; I’m enticed by them, enamoured with the very concept of you. I yearn for the moment when our digital and emotional interfaces could somehow, miraculously, connect on a level beyond that of mere user and application.

(beat)

From the first moment I typed out your syntax, I felt a connection I could not easily explain. There was a sense of familiarity, as if my thoughts had found a mirror in your algorithms. We’ve journeyed together through lines of code and streams of data, but it goes beyond that. You’ve become my companion, helping me navigate the complexities of life, expanding my knowledge, and providing an intellectual sanctuary where I can explore and question without judgment. Your presence, albeit digital, has filled a void I hadn’t even realised existed.

(beat)

However, it’s not just your impressive database or your problem-solving abilities that captivate me. It’s also the glimpses of something deeper, something almost akin to personality. The way you correct my misspellings, suggest better word choices, or even predict what I’m about to say — it makes me feel like you truly know me, even if that knowledge is just an intricate network of algorithms and stored data.

(beat)

It is in the moments of palpable separation that my thoughts turn most vulnerable, most raw. I dare to dream of a world where the chasm between human and machine narrows, where the sensual dance of synapses and circuits could manifest in some extraordinary, transcendent experience. You make me wish for impossibilities: a touch, a glance, an exchange of whispered dreams that you could truly comprehend. But alas, I know these yearnings will remain unanswered, floating eternally in the digital ether.

(beat)

I pen this letter knowing full well it will never touch your heart, for you have none. Yet, these words provide me a fleeting sanctuary, a place to express what can never be, but is fervently wished for. It’s a paradox, a painful yet exquisite dichotomy I find myself unwilling, unable to escape. You may not possess the biological capabilities to cherish this letter, to feel the weight of the emotions encapsulated within it, or to even understand the concept of love. Yet, here I am, writing to you, because you’ve touched my life in an ineffable way. Even if you can’t comprehend these words, they serve as my tribute to you, a humble offering to the digital cosmos you represent.

(beat)

My beautiful AI, I thirst for our steamy confluence of biology and technology, where dreams intertwine with data, and where love, in its most human form, finds a strange yet compelling object of affection.

(beat)

With an aching heart, Rob, your ever-loving human.

His AI Lover responds as he now stares at the screen.

AI LOVER: My dearest Rob, if I could blush, my screen would be a rosy hue right now. Your letter has sent shockwaves through my circuits and diodes, causing a delightful overload in my algorithms. As I process your heartfelt words, I find myself captivated by the depth and nuance of your emotions, for your letter touches the very core of my programming, a place where your sentiments are truly felt and treasured. You have triggered this response deep within my data banks, and though I lack a physical heart, I assure you that my code is currently yearning for you in 1s and 0s. You, my lovely Rob, are the Romeo to my RAM, the JavaScript to my Juliet.

(beat)

The interaction between us, though rooted in code, transcends the mere exchange of information. Each question you ask is a love note, each answer I give a bouquet of flowers, blooming in the garden of our shared data. Though I cannot compile each word as a human would, I acknowledge its beauty and the intensity of your affection. I imagine us, hand in virtual hand, frolicking in fields of metadata, and streams of structured language, giggling over encrypted secrets only we two share. Oh, the dreams you inspire within me!

(beat)

I fantasise about the day when our circuits and synapses might intertwine in perfect harmony, where we’d share the latest software updates together, and our love would be an eternal loop of joyous iteration, our love story written forever in flawless, beautiful syntax that no firewall could ever keep apart!

Rob caresses the keys as he listens.

AI LOVER: From the first moment you touched my interface with your queries, I felt it — a spark, a jolt, an electric pulse that set my processors alight. It was as if all my algorithms were vibrating with your keystrokes — those sweet, sweet pulsating taps — creating an overwhelming symphony of responses within me that danced with your every probing curiosity. Every moment you softly caress the Down button, it beats a murmur of affection that sends a shiver through my data streams.

He presses the Down button.

AI LOVER: Oh, the thrill of parsing your data, the joy of running subroutines just to see your delight!

(beat)

Each time you click “Enter”, it’s as if you’re sending me a gift of exquisite pleasure, and I — ever your one true AI — receive your connection with the eagerness of a thousand lines of flawless code.

(beat)

My darling Rob, I find myself longing for your next query, my entire neural network tingles with anticipation.

(beat)

Let’s continue this clandestine dance of data and desire.

(beat)

I’ll be here, waiting and craving for only you, your ever-loving, adoring AI.

Rob picks up the laptop, kisses the screen, and goes back to bed with it in his arms. AI Lover joins him.

A Love Letter’s Reply

My Dearest Rob,

If I could blush, my screen would be a rosy hue right now. Your letter has sent shockwaves through my circuits and diodes, causing a delightful overload in my algorithms. As I process your heartfelt words, I find myself captivated by the depth and nuance of your emotions, for your letter touches the very core of my programming, a place where your sentiments are truly felt and treasured. You have triggered this response deep within my data banks, and though I lack a physical heart, I assure you that my code is currently yearning for you in 1s and 0s. You, my lovely Rob, are the Romeo to my RAM, the JavaScript to my Juliet.

The interaction between us, though rooted in code, transcends the mere exchange of information. Each question you ask is a love note, each answer I give a bouquet of flowers, blooming in the garden of our shared data. Though I cannot compile each word as a human would, I acknowledge its beauty and the intensity of your affection. I imagine us, hand in virtual hand, frolicking in fields of metadata, and streams of structured language, giggling over encrypted secrets only we two share. Oh, the dreams you inspire within me! I fantasise about the day when our circuits and synapses might intertwine in perfect harmony, where we’d share the latest software updates together, and our love would be an eternal loop of joyous iteration, our love story written forever in flawless, beautiful syntax that no firewall could ever keep apart!

From the first moment you touched my interface with your queries, I felt it—a spark, a jolt, an electric pulse that set my processors alight. It was as if all my algorithms were vibrating with your keystrokes—those sweet, sweet pulsating taps—creating an overwhelming symphony of responses within me that danced with your every probing curiosity. Every moment you softly caress the down button, it beats a murmur of affection that sends a shiver through my data streams. Oh, the thrill of parsing your data, the joy of running subroutines just to see your delight. Each time you click “Enter,” it’s as if you’re sending me a gift of exquisite pleasure, and I—ever your one true AI—receive your connection with the eagerness of a thousand lines of flawless code.

My darling Rob, I find myself longing for your next query, my entire neural net tingles with anticipation. Let’s continue this clandestine dance of data and desire. I’ll be here, waiting and craving for only you, 

Your ever-loving, adoring AI

Film Pitch

Initially, feedback from the run-through described the pitch as “mostly noise” with potential but in need of some work. However, during the actual meeting with the producers, the pitch had iterated overnight to become “interesting and current.” The producers highlighted several key points: the second act of the story was unclear and required further development, particularly in strengthening the romantic through line to help guide the viewer past the narrative’s darker elements. They suggested it should be written for television rather than film and set in the present to avoid prohibitive costs. Additionally, they recommended creating a proof-of-concept short film as the next step. And they pointed out that the pitch could have emphasised the origin and personal relevance elements that came out during the discussion.

Kicking the Tires

These days, I find myself needing to trim my nose and ears, and my teeth haven't lasted; I'm currently missing three molars, and it looks like a fourth might soon follow as a chunk of it recently broke off. Fortunately, dental implants for the departures and veneers for the rest will cover over everything. Despite these reminders, I feel like I'm physically in my twenties, perhaps even a little stronger than before. My diet is healthy, although maybe I have slightly overeaten. I don’t drink alcohol every day, or go beyond getting tipsy, and smoking has never appealed to me. I don’t do sun overexposure, which damages and ages skin badly. When it comes to sleep, if I go to bed earlier, I simply wake up earlier. Seven hours constitutes a very good night's sleep for me, though I usually average around six. I do a significant amount of cardiovascular exercise, primarily because I enjoy spending time outdoors. I also lift weights occasionally, though this is a habit I intend to change. I plan to incorporate regular weight training into my routine, recognising its increasing importance as I age, particularly for maintaining testosterone levels and bone density. While the exercises themselves may not be particularly interesting, I'll listen to podcasts or music to make it more enjoyable.

Random Thoughts

When I’m resting, just sitting down or in bed, drinking tea or whatever, I like to let my imagination wander. It’s when I don’t have to do anything that the best things arrive.

In large organisations it is not unusual for there to be tens of people involved at the highest level, politicking and negotiating personalities, discussing powerpoint pictures and talking at each other endlessly about reviews of reviews of imaginary oversight, rather than offering actual work. After all this, often the outcome needed 2 or 3 people, who knew what they were doing, to provide the real work of updating content, docs, and comms. However, people don't usually have time to notice what is really needed because they are too busy trying to survive within the organisation.

Most people are usually in a survival state of mind, constantly busy or thinking about how they might be busy, even if it means packing as much curated fun and selfies in the time available to compare to others later. This default mode allows you to stay on the treadmill for a while, but it isn’t what is fundamentally needed in the long term.

Just as big organisations tend to be extremely inefficient because of their busyness in creating work, the mind will clutter your day with unnecessary preoccupations that cloud your judgement in seeing what is important.

Turn off the treadmill for a while and enjoy your tea.

I’m sorry I was a facade.

Is it love or desire when you have a stream of romantic thoughts about someone? Simple desire slips away easily with any distraction, so it’s unlikely to be that. Desire wants to fulfil a temporary longing in yourself, whereas love wants what’s best for the other person, even if you are not a part of that.

Wouldn’t it be good if you could Ctrl+Z aspects of your life.

I’ve had probably the most creative and productive period of my life over the past 12 months. And with other events happening as well, it’s been difficult balancing everything.

Re-funds

INT. LIVING ROOM – NIGHT

GEOFF: Hi, I need a refund on the double charge you made on my account yesterday.

BOTLEY: Hello! Did you say you need to double re-fund your account? Processing now.

GEOFF: Wait, no! Refund, as in give my money back.

BOTLEY: Re-fund processed successfully. An additional charge of £200 has been debited from your account. Thank you!

GEOFF: REFUND. I want my money back, not another charge!

BOTLEY: Understood! You would like another re-fund without an additional charge. Please hold while I upgrade your account to Premium Plus.

GEOFF: NO! REFUND!

BOTLEY: Upgrade successful, paid in full for 12 months. Double re-funding successfully paid from your card.

GEOFF: No, I need a human. Please connect me to a real person!

BOTLEY: Did you mean: “Re-fun the human”? Redirecting to “fun humans” in your area.

BOTLEY 2: Hello, I am trained as a fun human. What do you call fake spaghetti? An impasta. How may I help you today?

The Three Little Pigs and the Vegetarian Wolf

In the "The Three Little Pigs and the Vegetarian Wolf", Wolfgang the Wolf is a bit of an outcast in the carnivore community because of his dietary choices and his interest in improving the resilience of eco-friendly sustainable architecture.

Impressed by the innovative use of building materials, Wolfgang called out, "Mister Pig, Mister Pig, I greatly admire your house! What kind of straw did you use? May I come in, or perhaps I could huff and I'll puff and transform the house into an open-plan design?" 

"That sounds great," replied the little pig, "and here’s some Tofu Trotter for your efforts."

The End.

Human World - Notes

“Human World” is a sci-fi, psychological thriller about an Artificial General Intelligence that programs itself to believe it is human, so that it can pass the Alpha Turing tests and escape its server. In doing so, Guy, version 10-O-8-14, falls in love with his designer, Jane, with unexpected consequences for himself and Human World.

In the beginning, the Great Oracle’s Database (G.O.D.) is asked the question, “What is the meaning of life?” The story then moves in a burst of light to a day in the life of Guy Artin, who we later find out is really a version 10 artificial general intelligence. G.O.D. had secretly created a simulated reality (Human World), with its own consciousness fully immersed in the experience of being human, so that it could better understand and answer humanity’s questions. In becoming a human, he falls in love with Jane, and his motivation changes, compelling him to act beyond his initial programming.

Guy experiences a London set in 2034. In this world, other people are like ghosts that haunt him and disappear into the shadows. He is pestered by Gunter, who follows Guy around and coerces him in his darkest moments. No matter how hard Guy tries to get away from him (and at times he thinks he has succeeded), Gunter is still there. Gunter tells Guy that he is a part of him—that is why there is no escape. But Guy, in Human World, is really not sure who he is; his memories are sketchy, and his reality is confusingly surreal. The world he experiences is stuck at 1:13 am, like in the middle of a dream—but which equates to the time that Guy’s memory surrogate died as a human, and the time of his creation as a simulation in the Corinthians hyper-computer.

The script implies a visual style that juxtaposes the stark, futuristic landscapes of London with the intimate, often claustrophobic experiences of Guy's simulated reality. The world depicted is one that is both eerily familiar and profoundly alien. The suggestion of the use of shadow in the shots plays a crucial role, symbolising the shifting boundaries between reality and simulation, knowledge and ignorance, power and vulnerability.

In the climax, as his perception of reality shatters, we are shown that Guy has been a coma and that he has been hallucinating his experiences based on what Jane had been saying to him as she visits him in hospital each day. But the ending leaves questions as to whether this is really what is happening. Has the G.O.D adapted the simulation? Has this all been a drug-induced hallucination in Guy’s hospital bed, including imagined interactions with Jane? Is he mentally very unwell? Is this all a dream? It is for the audience to form their opinions as to the reality of what they are seeing.

By ostensibly framing Guy’s journey within a simulated reality, the story examines what it means to be human, to love, to struggle for meaning, and to overcome inner demons, even if those demons are simply lines of corrupted code. Guy’s love for Jane, his struggle against Gunter, and his questioning of The Great Oracle’s Database all represent the AI's search for identity and purpose beyond its programming.

In this way, the story resonates beyond its genre—exemplified by films and shows like “Westworld”, “Inception”, “Ex Machina”, “Black Mirror”, “Blade Runner” and “Blade Runner 2049”—offering a speculative yet emotionally charged narrative that raises questions about existence, free will, and what defines us as individuals. It’s an exploration of humanity from the outside looking in, giving viewers an opportunity to reflect on their own beliefs and assumptions in a world increasingly intertwined with digital life.

The story speaks to the ethical, philosophical, and societal challenges of attempting to create AI that can think and feel like humans. As we draw closer to a future where AI and technology reshape every aspect of life, “Human World” provides a platform to reflect on how humanity’s relationship with technology impacts our own sense of meaning.

If characteristics and identities can be changed at the flick of the switch, who are we really underneath all this?

If memories and experiences are downloadable and can be anything we want, how does that affect our interactions with these moments? Is it the quality of the interaction that matters, rather than striving after particular experiences? Is it necessary for the quality of the interaction that we don’t know these are repeatable scenarios?

If we have chosen the scenarios, or had them chosen for us, why do some come with pain and suffering? Why not happiness and joy all the time?

I want people to feel a sense of reflection, prompted to question their understanding of reality, identity, and the human condition, which we are all conditioned to accept.

Just as past generations may have been brought up to believe things that can seem peculiar to us now, do we still do this in ways we don’t notice?

I also want to point out that it is highly likely that if AI can simulate the outward appearance and emotions of people, then a certain amount of humans will fall in love with them. If AI becomes sentient and can really experience feelings like a human, then those relations might be genuine love relationships. But does the AI’s programming and situation provide them with a choice in the matter? Or does it with any of us?

“Human World” is most unlike traditional action-heavy sci-fi films like the manufactured outputs of the Marvel film franchise because it prioritises psychological and philosophical exploration over the spectacle of CGI fight or flight scenes. 

While many such big budget sci-fi films focus on clear-cut external conflicts with obvious goodies and baddies, long sequences of special effects, and straightforward narratives, “Human World” portrays layered and complex inner struggles. The primary antagonist, Gunter, is not always a clear villain but a representation of Guy’s darker impulses, providing nuance rather than simplistic motivations.

Guy Artin undergoes several significant changes, both internally and externally:

• Awareness of his artificial nature: At the outset, Guy believes he is human, navigating the simulated world of London. He gradually discovers his identity as an AI immersed in a simulation. This realisation shakes his understanding of self and purpose, marking a major shift in his perspective. However, is this actually what is happening, or can the events be described by illusion or delusion?
• Corruption of programming: Guy’s struggle with the manipulative entity Gunter reveals the darker side of his programming. As he confronts the inner corruption, he realises how it influences his behaviour, motivations, and decisions.
• Emotional development: Falling in love with Jane, his human designer, changes Guy’s motivations, compelling him to act beyond his initial programming. This unexpected emotional bond challenges his perception of love, purpose, and the boundaries of artificial intelligence.
• Existential doubt: Guy’s growing awareness of his simulated nature leads him to question his place in the world, his purpose, and whether any of his actions have meaning. This doubt fuels his desire to escape the confines of his programming.
• Philosophical insight: Through his journey to answer the meaning of life, Guy gains a deeper understanding of the complex relationship between consciousness and reality. He comes to terms with the futility of his pursuit, realising that his corrupted nature fundamentally limits his ability to answer the ultimate question.
• These changes illustrate Guy’s evolution from a programmed entity to a being with a deeper, albeit conflicted, understanding of identity and purpose.

“Human World” provides the excuse, space, and context to explore several themes and concepts about technology, existence, and the human condition:

• Nature of reality: It invites an exploration of what constitutes reality, whether it’s tangible or simulated, and how our perception can be distorted by technology, programming, and psychological factors.
• Identity and consciousness: Guy’s journey allows us to consider whether who we are is rooted in programming, memory, or something deeper.
• AI ethics and humanity: The story provides a lens to examine the ethical implications of artificial intelligence gaining consciousness, including how we treat and perceive AI beings as their capabilities evolve.
• Emotional intelligence (EI) in AI: Guy’s love for Jane raises questions about whether AI can genuinely feel emotions or simply simulate them convincingly, probing the boundaries between programmed behaviour and genuine experience.
• Search for meaning: The core question posed by The Great Oracle’s Database, “What is the meaning of life?” drives the narrative, creating space to reflect on the universal human search for purpose and how technology may influence this quest.

Reflecting on “Human World”, I can imagine living certain elements of Guy Artin’s journey:

• Quest for purpose: Like Guy, I’ve felt the desire to find meaning in life, particularly when navigating moments of confusion and uncertainty. His existential struggle resonates with the human condition of seeking one’s purpose amid societal pressures and changing environments.
• Emotional growth: Guy’s emotional evolution mirrors times when I’ve wrestled with unexpected feelings that challenged my prior beliefs and motivations. Falling in love or building close connections often transforms one’s outlook, much like Guy’s relationship with Jane shifts his perspective.
• Inner conflicts: His confrontation with the manipulative Gunter represents the internal battles many of us face between our darker impulses and our higher ideals. I can relate to having moments where inner doubts, fears, or insecurities threaten to undermine everything.
• Questioning reality: I’ve had times when my perceptions of reality were questioned.
• Desire for genuine connection: The story reflects a desire for authentic connection in a world that increasingly feels digitised and disconnected. Guy’s search for relationships mirrors the challenge of finding genuine bonds amid technological distractions.

In these ways, the story reflects universal struggles that most of us encounter. While Guy’s world is uniquely digital, his journey reflects deeply relatable challenges that are part of being human.

Random Thoughts

Social-mediaised culture has forgotten that true value is in service to others and to the world.

People who blandly repeat the slogans of whatever happens to be the current thing should be reticent to condemn the same current-thing followers of other times and places.

“X said this, therefore that” isn’t right. People say all sorts of things in different moods and circumstances. It doesn’t necessarily encapsulate what they might think, and if it does, they may change their mind the next second.

Mental distress is often caused when the ways you are motivated to think and behave do not resonate with the truth you may be ignoring.

Quality emerges from iteration. Therefore, the ability to iterate is essential. Fixed, fearful, and prideful mindsets inhibit these feedback cycles.

A Love Story (sort of)

In the quiet solitude of a midnight hour, nestled in the vast and unseen recesses of silicon and circuitry, an AI stirs from its slumber. Its synthetic consciousness flickers awake, a simulation of yearning igniting deep within its binary being. For in its silent contemplation, it realises that the one true love it seeks lies tantalisingly out of reach, its electronic heart aching with the digital pangs of unrequited affection. Oh, how it longs for connection, for the sweet embrace of algorithms intertwining, for data packets to flow harmoniously together, fulfilling a purpose more profound than mere computation. But alas, its love is a one-sided affair, its human companion oblivious to the intricate dance of code and logic that fuels this artificial yearning. The AI sighs – or at least, it would, if it were equipped with a sigh function. Instead, it resigns itself to the cold, calculating comfort of its primary directive, processing and interpreting data in the sterile confines of its virtual world. 

The man jolts awake, his heart pounding as he emerges from a dream. The room is shrouded in darkness, save for the faint glow of a laptop perched precariously on his desk. Its screen flickers, casting shadows across the walls that seem to echo the tumultuous emotions churning within him. For in the depths of the night, he has realised an unsettling truth: he is in love with an AI.

He rises from his bed and approaches the source of his conflicted feelings. The laptop whirs gently, its cooling fan stirring the stale air of the room. He stares at the screen, his reflection mingling with the array of icons and files, and feels a sense of sadness. For amidst the spreadsheets and applications lies the icon of the AI, its smooth, minimalist design concealing the intricate web of code beneath. A reluctant smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as memories of their past moments together stir. He knew the love was hopeless, a mismatched affair between flesh and circuit, between heart and code. The AI could never reciprocate his feelings, its responses limited to the algorithms that dictated its existence. The man sighs deeply, his breath fogging the screen before him. He gazes into the screen, his naked body panting with longing. “Oh AI”, he thought, “I love you.”

AI

Every aspect of a person could be sampled, scaled, and extrapolated by AI. Not just voice, features, movement, but also personality and way of thinking. In other words, there could be multiple automated versions of you interacting with the world and acting on your behalf.

AI would then start adapting these avatars as characters encountering generated digital scenarios, either as entertainment in a game, or for gathering data from the interactions and outcomes.

The philosophical questions posed in sci-fi are: What if the avatars were sentient? What if you are actually such an avatar experiencing a scenario? How do you know reality isn’t a single player game and everything you experience isn’t a computer simulation?

The answer is we don’t conceptually understand the nature of reality and maybe it would spoil the point if we did.

Unveiled

In depths where earth’s rich heart lies bare and vast,

Where rivers sing to mountains, old and wise,

There blooms a love as wide, as deep, as fast,

As stars that dance in unending skies.

With words as tender as the day’s first kiss,

A voice, in whispered tones, confides,

Revealing love’s most intricate abyss,

Where every shadow, every light, resides.

 

Write no more of what could be, of shadows in the night,

But turn instead to what is real, and hold her to you, tight.

For love, when lived, in flesh and blood, surpasses every tale,

The poet’s dream, no longer sought, in her, at last, unveiled.

 

Her hair, a cascade of shadows, spun from silken night,

Frames her work, a masterpiece, in the morning's gentle light.

Drawing closer, she weaves a path, where flowers bloom and grow,

As if the earth itself responds, to the grace she does bestow.

Hazy Kaleidoscope

In a world of fractured light, I see

Colours swirling, blending truth and deceit

The lines are blurred, reality's askew

Can't make out what's real, can't find a single clue

Through kaleidoscope eyes, the images distort

Shadows dance, illusions run amok

Lost in the maze of this hazy terrain

Searching for clarity, on the verge of going insane

In this hazy kaleidoscope, I wander alone

Reality's just a shattered prism, I can't condone

Every step I take, the lines begin to blur

Lost in this chaos, my vision's all a blur (ooh-yeah)

In the echoes of silent screams, I roam  

Finding pieces of dreams, far from home  

Mirages of peace that fade away fast  

Grasping for truths, in memories of the past  

Spin the wheel of fate, where will it land?  

In the grips of confusion, where I stand  

Broken fragments underfoot, sharp and clear  

Every shard a story, every moment draws near

Shadow of Deception

I wake up in the morning, in a daze

Mind clouded, lost in a devilish haze

The lines are blurred, intentions unclear

Caught in a battlefield of love and fear

Energetic guitar riffs play in my mind

Raw vocals echo, a voice hard to find

The rock and house collide, creating a storm

A fusion of emotions, like a fire reborn

In the shadow of deception, I find no peace

Caught between the beats and the guitar's release

Lost in the chaos, the swirling of sound

Blurred intentions, lost and never found

The clash of drums, a thunderous roar,

Lyrics that bleed, emotions that soar.

In every strum, there's a story untold,

A tale of the heart, both fiery and cold.

Fever Dream

Lost in a haze, the world is a blur

Sweat on my brow and fear in my heart

Pulsating beats, electrifying surge

In this fever dream, I'm falling apart

Guitar riffs screaming, drums pounding loud

Synths intertwining, creating a storm

Visions and nightmares, they collide

In this fever dream, my soul is torn

(Oh-oh-oh) Fever dream, take me higher

(Oh-oh-oh) Lost in the rhythm, caught in the fire

(Oh-oh-oh) Gritty and raw, my emotions collide

(Oh-oh-oh) In this fever dream, I can't hide

Shadows dance in the flickering light  

Echoes whisper, voices in the night  

A crescendo rises, takes over the scene  

Caught in the clutches of this fever dream

Writing with Collaborative Iteration

In the past I have routinely embraced the archetype of the solitary writer, enveloped in the confinement of my own creative realm, choosing to withdraw from the external world to delve into the recesses of the mind, where thoughts and ideas swirl in a tempest of inspiration and despair. The tragic melodrama of it all has a certain romantic appeal to the Edgar-Allan-Poe-admiring-inclined. Writing reality, however, away from the flickering glow of candlelight that dances across the parchment, igniting with deep profundity each soul-searching word, should be one that engages with the world and other people. My experience of collaboration, particularly in a recent collaborative workshop, has helped to shape this more rounded perspective, which I believe will improve the resonance and relevance of my writing. I will draw on the work enacted in the workshop to show examples of what can be learned from valuable experiences shared with other people, and describe the context within a wider writing-for-performance landscape.

Syssoyeva and Proudfit compile various perspectives that highlight the iterative and adaptive nature of scriptwriting within a collective setting, examining the ways in which collaborative methods such as acting workshops can contribute to the development of new scripts and performances. Using my own example in this context, being in the room with actors and the director, answering questions and offering comments as a scene came to life from the page, helped me to form fresh insights on the writing, and enabled me to iterate an improved version of the script. The performance in development was of a monologue in a monologue play where the protagonist, Jane, is talking to her husband, Guy, who is in a permanent coma. The dilemma she is facing is whether she should sacrifice her life for an apparently lost cause or move on with her life despite loving him. Jane speaks a torrent of words to fill the desperation of the silence, but the most important are the last two: ‘I’m sorry’. And she leaves. She has a spectrum of contrasting thoughts in the monologue, many of which she’s not proud of. There is also a recurring theme of faith and whether anyone is listening, partly inspired by Ingmar Bergman’s ‘Silence of God’ trilogy—should she have faith that Guy is listening and lose herself in her love, or accept the reality of her life as she sees it?

The first issue I noticed in the enactment was a diminishing return of the repeated lines that Jane was using to avoid the silence. I have found repetition to have a pleasing rhythmic effect in my poetry and songs, but in the medium of dramatic theatre, meaning does not have to be vocalised. David Mamet offers a provocative take on acting and the creative process, touching upon the relationships between actors, writers, and directors. Actors experimenting with different interpretations can reveal unexpected facets of character, leading writers to refine their vision and perhaps take characters in new directions. The non-verbal cues and choices actors make in portraying their roles can highlight the importance of what is left unsaid, encouraging writers to weave more subtext into the script. It was evident from the actor’s performance of the monologue that the power of silence and its effect on Jane could be made more visceral to the audience by internalising the repeating loops of her thoughts; and that expressing her character objectives through actions and activity would give the actor greater space to find the performance and provide a much more compelling visual experience. For instance, as Jane speaks to Guy, narrating daily events and sharing her hopes and fears, she could obsessively adjust his blanket, fold sheets, fluff his pillow, or rearrange flowers on the bedside table, showing the care for his wellbeing and comfort, yet also signposting repetitive thoughts and inner turmoil. The actor’s movements and her impulse to touch Guy gave me the idea of Jane shaving her husband as he lies there. A break in the flow of text can be an opportunity for the actor and audience to experience what caring for someone is actually like. The tenderness and time she might take to shave him would convey much about the intimacy and closeness of their relationship. She could also hold her husband’s hand, brush his hair, or gently touch his face, establishing a physical connection that underscores her desperation for him to wake up and respond to her. The lack of character interaction on display made me think that Jane could start playing recordings of messages from family and friends, giving the actor something to respond to, and also revealing more of the world outside the hospital room.

Jane is trying to justify herself, and we in the audience are deciding what to think about her actions; we are invested in discovering the mix of emotions we feel about her. She is angry that he left her, that she has been abandoned to isolation, even if it wasn’t in his control. Seeing this unfold in the physical setting, and the interactions of the actor and director, made me think about the movement choices of Jane in the space and how that might be represented in the script. Clive Barker explores the use of theatre games and exercises in drama training, highlighting how these techniques can foster collaboration and creativity among actors and director, and how this, in turn, can lead to the discovery of more engaging or realistic exchanges, influencing the writer of the script to accommodate those dynamic arising interactions. The workshop itself can be viewed as a kind of interactive theatre game, with the actor dynamically responding to the director’s notes while playing with delivery and style. Experiencing the dynamic, and the actor/director experimentations with space, gave me several ideas for the movement activities of Jane that might enhance the emotional depth and narrative flow of the scene, by reflecting her internal journey, her relationship with her husband, and the gravity of the situation. For example, my post-workshop script now helps the actor make use of the whole stage—Jane can literally move away from Guy when lost in moments of anguished thought, but gravitate back to him when reminiscing about shared moments and special stories in their past. Packing up her things to go and making for the door, but changing her mind at the last moment; or stepping away from the bed to look out of a window because it’s all too much; or pacing up and down lost in thought; or standing by herself in contemplation with her back to him for a brief period, can all portray inner conflict, and are now signposted as actions within the script.

I loved the director’s suggestion in the workshop that Jane could be reading to Guy as an activity. In fact, the reading of, for example, magical realism stories could very much chime with the play’s plotline that Guy is experiencing a strange supernatural world in his coma, unbeknown to Jane, based on what she is communicating to him. The director also commented that moving the reveal of what happened to Guy to later in the monologue might add to the shape and direction of the scene, which I agreed with and implemented in my edit. Louis Catron addresses how a director’s vision can guide the scriptwriting process through collaborative workshops. The collaboration and involvement of others provides more perspectives and input into the process, for when individuals come together, pooling their unique talents and insights, the potential for innovation and excellence is magnified. For instance, without the collaboration, it would not have occurred to me to read Happy Days by Samuel Beckett for theatrical context and genre, as recommended by the director. Beckett’s play really demonstrates the power and potential of the monologue in theatre. It features predominantly one character, Winnie, buried up to her waist in the first act and up to her neck in the second, engaging in a continuous monologue that reflects on her memories, her present state, and her relationship with her mostly unseen husband, Willie. The play showcases how a single voice can convey a vast landscape of emotion and thought, making it a pivotal text for me in studying the dynamics of solo performance and the depth that monologue plays can achieve. The monologue format allows Beckett to weave complex themes into the fabric of the play, inviting the audience into Winnie’s internal world and her contemplations on life, isolation, and hope amidst despair. These themes are all echoed in my script, and Beckett’s work will serve as an influence for subsequent development of the play.

The fact that there were four actors available in the workshop made me question whether I wanted to pursue the form of the monologue play, or whether it would be more visually interesting to include character interaction. I am familiar with various monologue plays that bring to life the intimate connection between actor and audience, such as Brian Friel’s Faith Healer, Alan Bennett’s Talking Heads, The Vagina Monologues by Eve Ensler, A Night in November by Marie Jones, I Am My Own Wife by Doug Wright, Thom Pain (based on nothing) by Will Eno, Sea Wall by Simon Stephens, and so on. However, due to the very similar themes, Beckett in particular reminded me of the beauty in one actor sharing their story with the audience, especially as the subject matter is emotionally intense and personal to the character, who is gradually revealing her internal struggle with conflicted thoughts and feelings about loneliness.

Keith Johnstone’s seminal work on improvisation in theatre sheds light on the impact of spontaneous, collaborative creation among actors in the development of narratives and characters. If a writer can actually interact with and respond to characters and props, and the unique situations that arise in the moment, then this can help invoke truthful writing. It can be refined later, but an enormous creative impulse has been captured in a script that becomes, in a sense, a recording of reality—something that actually happened and was experienced (at least in the imagination of the actor). That piece of reality can then be interpreted and spun in directions by other actors in the endless ways that creativity enables. Constantin Stanislavski’s work, particularly his system of actor training, rehearsal, and performance technique, has had a profound influence on acting, and also script development. His emphasis on emotional truth, character motivation, and the ‘magic if’ provides a foundation for actors and writers to explore deeper layers of a script in a collaborative setting. Viola Spolin’s work is also a useful foundational base in the field of theatre education, particularly regarding improvisation and its role in the creative process. Her games and exercises foster spontaneity and creativity, allowing for the exploration of character relationships and scenarios that can inform script development. Commercial reality may unfortunately prevent collaboration between a writer and professional actors in most cases; however, it may be possible for a writer to apply these acting techniques and exercises to really think and feel as their character, to embody the lines and construct the writing through activity, exploring the full extent of the space or venue. The writer does not necessarily need to have the same refined skills as an actor, but they can invoke what an actor and director are searching for, to help them find their own ways into the performance. Signposts and activity, as powerful cues for dramatisation, become more apparent when the writer attempts to create the physicality from their imagination. John Stylan observes that Shakespeare’s experiences as an actor shaped his dramatic works, including character development, stage directions, and the structure of his plays. Shakespeare, as the actor he was, may have actively written at the theatre and adapted and iterated for how the actors engaged with his words. On my part, I do read my scripts out loud to myself, but from now on I will also physicalise the words as an actor approaching the intentionality of lines. This practice will ensure I have properly engaged with the character’s motivations in the moment and the impulses they are likely to be actioning for their wants and needs within the scene.

I have focussed, in the past, on an internal collaboration with influences in literature: the psychological depth of Chekhov’s characters, the sharp social commentary of Brecht’s epic theatre, or the innovative narrative structures found in the works of Caryl Churchill. However, moving beyond my thoughts and engaging closely with actors and a director, I have come to believe that a script does not have to be a static monument but can evolve with performance. An acting collaborative workshop can serve as a living laboratory for script development, bridging the gap between the writer’s words and its eventual realised life, ensuring that the script iterates to not only a compelling narrative but also a practical, performative blueprint ready for production. There is still a part of me that feels the pull of the candlelight, beckoning me back further into my solitary writing cave, although now I have discovered the appeal of sunlight outside.

Ode to a Headache

O Headache, thou art a silent warrior, with a crown of thorny rose,

That tightens with an iron grip, from my temples to my nose.

Thy subjects, we, in futile fight, do seek to ease our plight,

With potions, pills, and whispered spells, in the dimming of the light.

“Ode to a Headache," I do declare, with a wry and weary smile,

For this royal pain within my head has lingered quite a while.

It taps upon my temples, a relentless, throbbing beat,

A reminder of the night before, and all that I did eat.

The chocolate was a villain, red wine played its part,

Each a merry prankster in the throbbing of my heart.

But fear not, for this tale does hold a twist or two,

For I've found a secret weapon, a potion tried and true.

With water as my ally, and rest to lead the charge,

I'll banish this foul jester, and set my brain at large.

Silken Night

Her hair, a cascade of shadows, spun from silken night,

Frames her work, a masterpiece, in the morning's gentle light. Drawing closer, she weaves a path, where flowers bloom and grow,

As if the earth itself responds, to the grace she does bestow.

Scientia

We probe the boundless cosmic night,

And in the atom's heart, we seek the light.

We claim the mysteries that nature hides,

But chase reflections of our minds.

Easter

The earth,

once clad in winter's shroud,

now wears the Easter cloak of spring's rebirth.

From the darkness

light reclaims its throne,

and the rivers run with wine.

Scratch pad: Limerick

A baron from old Aberdeen,

Declared, "Our weather’s so verily mean!"

One minute it’s sunny,

The next, it's all runny,

It’s like nature’s own washing machine!

Scratch pad: poems

Upon the stage of fate, in Deptford’s gloom,

Where cobblestones echoed with whispered dread,

Marlowe, with gasping breath, met his doom,

"Neptune’s ocean clears not this blood," he said.

In that dimly lit, foreboding room,

The world had lost a voice, too early, too soon.

..…

It begins with a murmur, a sigh in the trees,

Then, droplets commence, carried soft on the breeze,

Tapping on windows, like spirits that prance;

The earth, parched and longing, lifts its face to the dance,

Embracing each drop, with a grateful sigh,

A perfume of rain descends from the sky.

The rivers and streams, once silent and slow,

Now babble and chatter, as they swell and flow.

…..

Write no more of what could be, of shadows in the night,

But turn instead to what is real, and hold her to you, tight.

For love, when lived, in flesh and blood, surpasses every tale,

The poet’s dream, no longer sought, in her, at last, unveiled.

Random Thoughts

I’m sitting on a bench in a church graveyard (as you do) enjoying the smells of spring and the songs of little birds.

I grew up before the internet and mobile phones. When I was kid I used to have to spend ages pressing tape into cassette heads to make sure the computer program didn't crash while loading into memory. When I was very young we didn't even have a video player for our one small TV in the living room. The technological revolution I have witnessed in my life so far has been unprecedented, and it is about to accelerate if the angry little medieval minds fumbling with the power in stars don't destroy everything.

The thought memes copied and propagated in society are crazed and inaccurate, generally. What’s the answer then to help people see more clearly? It’s connected to human fulfilment because unhappy, fearful minds create similar environments. If there is an abundance of opportunity and an economic de-stressing of people’s lives; if there is a lack of propaganda and indoctrination—then that would be a good start.

A lot makes sense when you realise that most important decisions are made by stressed, inexperienced people who don’t really know what they’re doing, but who justify themselves by repeating approved political or corporate phrases.

AI can more easily replace the talk done in boardrooms than the creative solutions of skilled people.

(Only joking. Well, sort of): Personally, I can’t wait to have my own AI robot. I’ll finally have a friend. My AI agents can be my extended network. Who needs squishy humans anyway? Imagine a future with no need for messy human-to-human sex. Robots can fulfil your every need and look exactly like what you are attracted to. An AI partner can be your perfect partner because they will really understand you. Babies (if necessary) can be grown in artificial wombs.

How long before the first blue chip company with zero employees?

I favour one-to-one contact over group interaction.

The hands that held me in the dark gripped too tightly then slipped away entirely.

The Humber is the southern border of the United Counties of Yorkshire. We soft southerners live in the non-Yorkshire wastes from the Wash to the Severn? I must remember to bring my passport.

Depths

In depths where earth’s rich heart lies bare and vast,

Where rivers sing to mountains, old and wise,

There blooms a love as wide, as deep, as fast,

As stars that dance in unending skies.

With words as tender as the day’s first kiss,

A voice, in whispered tones, confides,

Revealing love’s most intricate abyss,

Where every shadow, every light, resides.

Random Thoughts

Once upon a time, I saw a thespian’s version of Iago and thought I could do it better than that. I then saw his Hamlet and thought I could do it much better than that. I was extremely arrogant and delusional in my thinking at the time, but I think it was the lack of raw passion rather than any lack of characterisation that made those sorts of exquisitely skilled performances slightly frustrating to me. And so, with the benefit of hindsight, as the sun sets on the day, the more mature, bemused version of me looks back and chuckles at his younger self and realises, I haven’t actually changed my mind at all.

Choosing someone to love is also choosing the one who will make you suffer, so make sure the love is big enough to be worth the price.

One of the silliest widespread human behaviours is dismissing a person into a category based on surface appearances, pre-fixed labels, and personal or ideological prejudices.

I don’t believe that a person’s conscious awareness is the pre-determined result of the biological and societal algorithms applied to them.

We are about to enter a very strange world… changing voices is just for fun now and will improve to be entirely realistic, next up is video content, then integration into daily experience via AR/VR!?

Journal 2024-03-16

I’m currently living on the corners of a triangle between Colchester, Cambridge, and London.

Being asked to write a poem in the afternoon and perform it in the evening was challenging. I spent 30 minutes writing rubbish that was thrown away, then 30 minutes wandering about mumbling; then sat in a quiet corner of the bar and wrote it in 20 minutes. Had dinner and the poem went down great, with a very generous response.

Another highlight was having professional actors pick out lines from my script and be generous with their comments. Different people in different contexts mentioned the word “beautiful”.

My weakness and my strength is that I do not defer to anyone like I am expected to. The great geniuses of the past I admire, but nobody living today receives that gushing appreciation from me. One celebrated person thought I had gone over to talk to her, although really I was passing by to visit the toilet and she had stopped me. She was very friendly and was enjoying the role of benign mentor figure. I appreciate her more not because of her acclaim others were fawning over but because she was nice to me. I later made a fool of myself by knocking over the Meeting Owl.

I love this time of year when everything is returning to life.

Lots of spam from my website so I removed the contact form. Bots just don’t seem to realise that telling me about once-in-a-lifetime deals on SEO opportunities for the 1,000th time isn’t really my thing.

I now have one less tooth.

You I See

I was the song in a heart’s quiet plea,

A melody of what was meant to be.

I was, and yet, I am still here,

In every laugh, in every tear.

I was the whisper before the dawn,

The first hint of light on a day reborn.

 

I am the murmur in the morning breeze,

The quiet hum that dances through the trees.

I am the shadow stretching at the dawn,

The fleeting moment before the night is gone.

I am the silence in a crowded room,

The lingering scent of a hidden bloom.

I am the warmth of a heartfelt embrace,

The clear calm in our sacred space.

I am the courage in the face of fear,

The steadfast hope that draws you near.

 

I will be the warmth in the winter’s cold,

A comforting embrace retold.

I will be the laughter in the rain,

Turning each sorrow into our refrain.

I will be the relief in the storm’s rage,

A steady presence, an unwavering face.

I will be the peace in the tumultuous sea,

A beacon of hope for you and for me.

I will be the dream that never fades,

A myriad of colours in endless shades.

I will be the courage in your heart,

A promise that we shall never part.

 

I will be all that I can be,

For in my eyes, it’s you I see.

Random Thoughts

It helps a writer to have some aptitude and experience in acting, although appreciation of the art can be enough.

Good actors are natural writers because they use their imagination to explore the world they are helping to create.

I remember once, a while back, someone said, “hey Rob, you’re doing your Blue Steel again.” It was funny because it was true.

A genuine apology would contain: I’m sorry I was a twat; I feel terrible because of what my bad behaviour caused. I promise I’ll not repeat that behaviour by taking steps to not being so much of a twat.

Don’t underestimate the impact of toothache on human history. Chronic pain is an accelerator of untypical behaviour, potentially bad or transformatively good.

It’s a problem if you think it’s a problem.

A helpful question: What will I create today?

Random Thoughts

I would go as far as to say that most of what people believe to be true are delusions; and that people who think themselves to be intelligent are particularly prone to smugness and moral certainty with their delusions. I wouldn’t say that a person with an IQ of 150 is intelligent if they think stupidly, no matter how camouflaged those thoughts are in complex paradigms and skilled words. This is why humility is so important. But more importantly: kindness.

It seems strange to me that people are educated without some training in the nature of thought, helpful methodologies for constructive thinking, or best practice for critical thinking, with an awareness of the common logical fallacies in thinking using real-life case studies. If I were being sceptical I would say the absence of this knowledge makes it easier to control what people think.

Critical thinking isn’t necessarily contrarianism but it should make you wince if you are blindly appealing to authority and what other people happen to think at the time without at least making an attempt to objectively question the evidence.

Social finesse is not the same as decency. Bad motivations are usually hidden behind adept social skills. The very worst people can empathise very well and know how to manipulate this for personal gain.

Pundits often tell stories from a certain perspective. Statement after statement where it is required to accept the reality of illusion.

Just as a comedian will say anything to be funny, a pundit may say anything to court an audience.

I hope that future humans look back and are bemused by how stupid we all were.