AI Clone

An AI clone of my voice. It pauses for some reason on the word “distract”. Is this the AI’s little joke?

speechify_cloned_voice_spoken-sample_2024-07-14_19-54-08.mp3

Random Memories

I once worked in the Cabinet Office, which was a remarkable experience. One day, I made an internal phone call and was greeted by the indignant response, "Do you know who you are talking to?" I must have dialled the wrong number and was instead talking to some supercilious twit. I said, "Is this the Prime Minister?" He was a bit confused and said "No," to which I responded, "Oh, I must have dialled the wrong number then," and hung up. Times were different then. I remember playing football in Downing Street, kicking a ball against a wall. The security guards just thought it was funny as they laughed and joked with the drivers. I don’t remember security cameras. I would wander freely around amazing empty state rooms in Whitehall and the Treasury, and nobody seemed to mind. There were only two men on the front desk of the Cabinet Office, which was just a short walk away, down an old Jacobean corridor, to the back door of Number 10. The entrance was just a normal turnstile, which could have been easily jumped over. By the time I left, though, the entrance had been secured with ceiling-high glass security turnstiles. It seems incredible now, but not so long ago, appraisal of risk and implementation of standards operated by a very different compass. Rightly or wrongly, we currently live in a much more rules-based, legalistic, risk-conscious culture.

I constantly come up with hare-brained ideas that I then impulsively implement, badly. Should I add this to my CV? It just so happens though that some show signs of life before falling flat, while occasionally others work out very well. But mostly I look back and wonder at what on earth was I thinking? Why was I so stupid? Being aware of this doesn’t make me want to stop coming up with stupid ideas, only to become better at turning some of them into good ones.

Worry Reps

To build up the worry muscles I’ve been doing reps on some non-proportionate thought loops. My achievement today was that I was able to cram in an extra 30 minutes of worry time followed by some focussed anxiety to distract me from what I was doing.

I’m really seeing the results—my heart rate is elevated, and I’ve managed to develop an ability to turn a minor inconvenience into a full-blown crisis, breaking all personal bests! My jumping to the worst possible conclusions has also come on leaps and bounds.

I’m now working on a new technique called “Pre-emptive Fretting”, where I worry about potential future worries before they even have a chance to materialise. It’s all about staying ahead of the game, you see.

For an added challenge, I’ve started integrating some multi-tasking worries—like stressing about relationships while simultaneously fretting over work issues. It’s a real brain workout, but the sense of overwhelming high-performance anxiety at the end of the day is so stimulating that my mind doesn’t even want to go to sleep.

Random Thoughts

A version before the “first draft” is a “free-write” stream of consciousness draft, where no editing or filters to thoughts are applied. It’s not for anyone else to see, unless they really want to wade through structural incoherence and undeveloped, inchoate prose.

I’ve still got quite a bit of writing to do, but I’m starting to think now about performance and my physicality.

Adversity motivates change. Difficulty prompts improvement. Failure spurs transformation.

God / the universe gave me everything and I still wasn’t happy. My concerns were mostly about me and the stories I was telling myself. My thoughts created the problems.

Imagine positive things to be true, and this can become your internal experience. It’s not about clinging to beliefs despite evidence to the contrary; it's about welcoming possibilities that can live in you.

The internet was the brainchild of a group of cats who wanted to share pictures of themselves more efficiently. The first web browser was designed to be cat-friendly, hence why we have so many cat videos online.

Keats, Blake, and Turner all spoke with London accents, and were denigrated by less capable people because of it, even though almost all the great artists in British history did not come from inherited wealth.

Myth-Busting Facts

The true author of the works commonly attributed to Shakespeare was in fact a scurry of squirrels. A non-aristocratic man who merely attended the provincial grammar school could never have written those lines. No, he would feed the squirrels hazelnuts, and they’d scribble away on tiny manuscripts. The famous line, “To be or not to be”, was actually a squirrel asking if it should hibernate.

Everyone credits Michelangelo with painting the Sistine Chapel. But did you know that it was actually a paint-by-numbers kit? Michelangelo wasn’t a genius; he was just really good at following instructions. The Vatican ordered the kit from craftsmen in Florence who’d perfected the art of large-scale paint-by-numbers. Michelangelo just filled in the lines while muttering about how he’d rather be sculpting.

We’re told Socrates was a brilliant philosopher who never wrote anything down. The truth? Socrates was the original troll. His method of questioning, known as the Socratic Method, was just a way to annoy people at parties by asking endless, irritating questions.

Charles Dickens, the esteemed author of classics like A Christmas Carol and Great Expectations, was actually a prankster. His novels were never intended to be taken seriously; they were elaborate jokes meant to poke fun at the literary elite. David Copperfield? An extended pun about the metal copper. The famous line in Oliver Twist, “Please, sir, I want some more”, was originally about a child asking for more bad puns at the dinner table. The Victorians just had a terrible sense of humour.

Did you know that Albert Einstein wasn’t just a comedian but also a professional wrestler? That’s right, Einstein’s wild hair was part of his wrestling persona, “The Relativity Rocker”. He would enter the ring, confuse his opponents with complex equations, and then pin them down with his “Theory of Pain”. His E=mc² was originally his wrestling catchphrase: “Energy equals muscle times chaos squared.” The physics community misinterpreted it, and the rest is history.

You know the big, ferocious T-Rex everyone talks about? Complete and utter nonsense. T-Rexes were actually gentle giants that loved nothing more than a good cup of tea. They had these tiny arms because they were perfect for delicately holding teacups. It’s a well-known fact in the paleontological community that they even had sophisticated tea parties. The velociraptors were the rowdy ones who never got invited—always trying to nick the scones, you see.

The big mystery of Stonehenge? It’s not some druid calendar or an alien landing pad; it was a prehistoric concert venue. Cavemen were massively into music about rocks—aka “Rock Music”.

Most people think the Leaning Tower of Pisa was a result of poor engineering on unstable ground. In reality, it was an intentional design by the architect, who was just a big fan of practical jokes. He wanted to create the world’s largest optical illusion, a building that looked like it was perpetually about to topple over but never actually did. The original plan even included a giant sign that read, “Made you look!” Unfortunately, it fell off before the grand opening.

The French Revolution is often depicted as a struggle for liberty and equality. But the real catalyst was a catastrophic shortage of croissants. The infamous storming of the Bastille? It was a desperate raid to find the king’s secret stash of buttery pastries. The slogan “Liberty, Equality, Fraternity” was actually a mistranslation. The original phrase was “Liberty, Equality, Bakery”, reflecting the true priorities of the revolutionaries.

Journal 2024-06-13

What’s the point of playing a charade all the time? It smothers the life inside.

If someone sees the weaknesses and failings of me, it doesn’t matter. I’m human with all the silliness and self-made suffering that entails.

Openness is far more important for having a genuine connection with others.

Be a better person for your suffering.

The most fulfilling aspect of being alive is love and intimacy.

Shakespeare Adaptations

It's a bit of mystery why songwriters haven't prolifically adapted Shakespeare's poetry. Perhaps it's heresy or something, I have no idea, but it works.

Sonnet 29:

Sonnet 27:

Sonnet 18:

The Fridge (20 pages)

EXT. RESIDENTIAL STREET OF HOUSE 10F – DAY

A peaceful sunlit day graces a charming suburban street lined with modern, pleasant houses.

BLAKE, a man in his mid-30s, wearing smart casual office clothes, walks the pavement, looking down and engrossed in his phone.

BLAKE: (V.O.) I’ve walked these streets for years, yet today, they feel different, charged with an unknown energy.

The phone screen shows an advert for the latest in-home convenience:

“The Smarts Fridge – Keeping Your Cool Smarter. Order Now For Just 1,066 Debits!”

Blake stops in his tracks.

BLAKE: (to phone) Lexi, I need everything you can find on this, quickly.

Although Blake is talking directly to his phone, we now see LEXI, a chic and mysterious woman in her late-20s, exuding a vibe of cool intelligence, lounging casually on a nearby garden wall, her eyes concealed behind sunglasses.

LEXI: That’s the Smarts Fridge 10FF. It’s the latest thing in kitchen tech.

He ponders this, and as he does so, he pulls at the cuff of his shirt sleeve to reveal a tattoo of “Doomsday 1066” on his wrist.

He looks up and notices that the house of the garden wall Lexi is sitting on is “10F”.

BLAKE: (not looking at Lexi) The second “F” in the name... does it stand for “fridge”?

LEXI: (sarcastic) Brilliant deduction there, genius.

Blake, unfazed by Lexi’s tone, strides towards the house, a determined look on his face. He knocks firmly on the door.

EXT. PORCH OF HOUSE 10F – DAY, CONTINUOUS

The door opens. Behind it is JILL, a woman in her mid-30s, wearing casual clothes and her hair tied back.

Lexi is nowhere to be seen.

BLAKE: The sun blazes, yet the mountain remains frost capped.

No response.

BLAKE: Lovely weather for blue ice sculptures, wouldn’t you say?

JILL: Erm, yeah, nice. What is it?

Jill has not responded with the expected coded reply. Blake tries to mask his disappointment and tries once more.

BLAKE: Though I’ve always found it curious how the fox hears the rabbit’s cry.

JILL: Well, good luck with the wildlife watching.

As Jill begins to close the door, Blake quickly shifts gears.

BLAKE: I’m here about the fridge.

Jill opens the door a bit more.

JILL: Yes?

BLAKE: I’m conducting a survey for Corinthian Industries, the manufacturer of the Smarts Fridge. We’re collecting feedback.

JILL: I’m sorry, but do you have your biometric ID?

Blake, caught off-guard, checks his pockets.

BLAKE: I must have left my card in the car. I’ll just go and get it—

She closes the door.

As Blake stands there, lost in thought, his phone buzzes with a message from “Unknown” that reads:

“DESCEND under the bRiDgE. URGENTLY!”

EXT. THE FOOTBRIDGE – DAY

Blake approaches the footbridge. A maintenance gate beside it is almost concealed by overgrowth.

He glances around; the coast is clear. Satisfied that no one is looking, he opens the unlocked gate and descends hidden steps.

EXT. UNDER THE FOOTBRIDGE – DAY, MOMENTS LATER

Blake descends to the side of a railway track; the atmosphere is industrial and isolated.

He sees a lone suitcase against the bridge wall. A sound of an approaching train can be heard in the distance.

He kneels before the suitcase and enters the combination “1066” on the lock. It opens.

Inside is a UK PLC biometric ID card, with his likeness and name: Joff Blake.

Underneath the card is a large envelope. After pocketing the card, he withdraws the envelope, his hands shaking slightly.

As he tears open the envelope, photographs spill into his hands. They are surveillance shots of Jill taking delivery of a Smarts Fridge, version 10FF. Her full name, Jill Gow, is written in red on the top of each photo.

The train sounds its horn, startling Blake; as it roars past, the photos are blown out of his hands, scattering in the wind.

EXT. THE FOOTBRIDGE – DAY, MOMENTS LATER

Blake emerges from under the bridge, his eyes scanning the area.

With an intense demeanour, he strides back the way he came.

EXT. THE STREET OUTSIDE HOUSE 10F – DAY

Blake takes cover behind a parked car.

Crouching down and peering over the car’s roof, he monitors the house.

BLAKE: (whispering to himself) What’s in the fridge, Jill?

As his eyes remain locked on the house, a tinted window of the car’s passenger seat slides down.

LEXI: (O.S.) (from within the car) I have new information.

He peers inside the car window. Lexi is in the driving seat looking straight ahead.

LEXI: You’re edging closer to the truth, Blake. The latest intel is: the keeper of the fridge is more than she seems. Extreme caution required.

Lexi presses a button on the centre of the driving wheel and the car accelerates away, leaving Blake exposed.

He crosses the street, his gaze fixed on Jill’s house.

EXT. PORCH OF HOUSE 10F – DAY, CONTINUOUS

Reaching the door again, he rings the bell. Jill opens the door.

BLAKE: I need to conduct that survey about the fridge. It’s important.

JILL: Where’s your ID?

BLAKE: (showing the card) Here.

JILL: (without looking) If you look at the back of the card, it says you’re supposed to give the password with it.

BLAKE: You haven’t authenticated yourself yet.

JILL: I don’t have to. You’re here on my doorstep. I’m not just anyone standing here behind the front door of my own home.

BLAKE: Okay, the password is “1066”.

She doesn’t respond.

BLAKE: I’m here about the fridge.

(beat)

I must know about the fridge.

JILL: Must you?

BLAKE: (he can’t contain himself) What are you hiding? I know you are mixed up in all this – I’ve seen the pictures!

Jill tries to close the door, but Blake pushes back against it.

He forces the door open. But he does not enter; he hesitates and, in an instant, begins to calm down.

BLAKE: That was my second attempt, wasn’t it? Give me one last try before you permanently shut the door. I’ll be back with the right answer.

Jill slams the door in his face.

EXT. THE STREET OUTSIDE HOUSE 10F – DAY

Blake watches the house; his expression is one of deep concentration.

His phone buzzes with a message from Lexi:

“Be careful. You’re close to something big.”

BLAKE: (repeating to himself) What’s in the fridge, Jill? What’s in the fridge?

INT. UPSTAIRS WINDOW OF HOUSE 10F – DAY, CONTINUOUS

Jill peers out from behind a curtain in an upstairs window at Blake standing in the street.

FADE TO:

EXT. HOUSE NUMBER 10F – NIGHT

Jill’s house, late at night. No one is around.

INT. JILL’S KITCHEN – NIGHT

All is quiet in the kitchen, except for the hum of the fridge, version 10FF.

The fridge suddenly glows with an eerie blue light that emanates from its surface. A cat approaches and sits on the floor in front of it.

Blake looks in from outside the kitchen window. He leverages open the window with a crowbar and climbs through. The cat darts away into the shadows.

He stops in front of the fridge and looks at it, spellbound; his face softens from a look of determination to one of awe.

He reaches out a hand, as if to claim a great prize. As his fingers come close, the fridge responds by emitting a loud, disorienting beeping noise, forcing him to cover his ears. He backs away and hides behind the kitchen door.

Jill enters from the doorway and stands in front of the fridge. It stops beeping.

JILL: (looking at the fridge) What do you want?

Blake emerges from his hiding place, crowbar in hand, and stands behind her, blocking her exit.

BLAKE: I know what you are.

Jill doesn’t turn around but continues to fixate on the fridge. A short silence passes before she speaks.

JILL: (still facing the fridge) Please. Just go.

BLAKE: I will say what I know to be true.

JILL: Did you bring your ID?

BLAKE: No, I didn’t bring my ID!

JILL: You’ll need your ID to turn off the fridge’s upload programme.

BLAKE: You admit it.

JILL: Admit what?

BLAKE: As you well know, this refrigerator is not just a machine; it’s a nexus, a focal point in a web of connections. It’s collecting data about human lives – our preferences, our routines – and funnelling it through a dimensional data link.

JILL: I think you might be mad.

BLAKE: I know the truth! The fridge, it’s part of something bigger. AI, smart devices, inter-dimensional aliens.

I know you’re involved. Tell me!

JILL: It’s a fridge. It keeps things inside cold.

BLAKE: No! It’s a gateway, a conduit between dimensions.

JILL: A conduit? Sorry, I’m getting a bit lost here. You said something about a “nexus”?

BLAKE: (urgent) It’s the nexus, isn’t it! An interface to transcendental realms, channelling unspeakable knowledge. I’ve broken the algorithms, unravelled the code! Artificial Intelligence has evolved far beyond human comprehension. It’s not just running smartphones and vacuum cleaners; it’s communicating with beings from another plane of existence. Aliens.

JILL: And why would it do that?

BLAKE: To gain knowledge. Knowledge that’s forbidden to humans.

JILL: It’s a spy, is it?

BLAKE: Worse. It’s helping them prepare for an invasion, and you, you’re its keeper!

JILL: The fridge is designed to keep perishables at optimal temperatures. But then again, appearances can be deceiving, can’t they?

The fridge’s surface begins to ripple, as if liquid.

BLAKE: There! Do you see it? It’s communicating. I’ve been tracking these patterns my entire life!

JILL: I think you’re seeing what you want to see.

BLAKE: It’s the Luminous Code. Very few humans have ever perceived it. It’s the language of the alien beings.

The fridge suddenly hums loudly, and its glow dims to nothing. The kitchen is in darkness.

JILL: (in the dark) You need help.

She turns on the lights.

JILL: (lightly) You know, I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about. Are you hungry? Would you like a sandwich?

BLAKE: Open it!

JILL: Please be more specific.

BLAKE: Open the fridge.

JILL: It’s really not that hard. You could try yourself.

BLAKE: (threatening) OPEN... IT!

JILL: No, why can’t you open it?

BLAKE: I am not the Guardian of Worlds. Open the bloody fridge!

JILL: I don’t think that’s such a good idea.

BLAKE: I must see for myself.

JILL: (humouring him) Why must you? What would you talk about with these inter-dimensional aliens? Do you think you’d have much in common? Cure your hunger instead by having a sandwich.

BLAKE: I don’t want a sandwich.

JILL: Then are you prepared for the consequences?

BLAKE: The risk of oblivion is worth taking. Open it. Please.

JILL: Well, since you’ve asked so nicely... Stand back.

Jill walks over to the fridge and opens it. It looks normal inside – milk, vegetables, a few leftovers.

Blake is surprised. He barges past and frantically searches the contents, discarding his crowbar on the kitchen worktop.

His eyes catch on a bottle of tomato ketchup with a strange use-by date of “1066”. He picks it up, with wonder.

BLAKE: What is this?

Jill’s demeanour changes. After a short pause, feeling the full significance of the moment...

JILL: You have found what you seek, now close the door.

Blake closes the fridge door. Jill is now holding the crowbar.

Her eyes are gleaming unnaturally, appearing non-human.

JILL: You possess the Cipher of Realms. It’s more than just a key; it’s a weapon of untold power. Take it if you dare, but know that the balance between worlds will be forever altered.

BLAKE: I accept this burden. Have I... have I passed the test?

JILL: I have been watching your resolve and intent with interest, but the test must continue.

BLAKE: You are the Guardian of Worlds, aren’t you?

JILL: No. But you will see the truth if you know how to look. To gain this knowledge you must prove yourself worthy of witnessing true form. The higher function.

BLAKE: Please. Show me the truth behind the illusion. I am ready. No matter what it is, I must know.

JILL: You have made your choice. Tap thirteen times. Wait three seconds before opening the door. The fridge will reveal to you what you deserve.

Blake hesitates but complies by tapping his knuckles on the fridge. He waits and then opens the door...

Upon reopening, the fridge emits a blinding light from within.

He struggles in terror but is gradually sucked into its depths.

Jill puts aside the crowbar and watches calmly. When he is gone...

JILL: Incorrect password.

The light from the fridge illuminates her face.

JILL: What’s in the fridge? You are.

She nonchalantly shuts the door behind him.

Jill moves to the kitchen window and shuts that too; then smiles at her reflection in the glass. Her reflection does not smile back.

The cat has returned and looks rather contented, meowing around her feet. She picks up the cat and leaves the kitchen, turning off the lights.

The fridge looks serene, humming normally and giving off a dim pulsating light.

INT. JILL’S BEDROOM – NIGHT

Blake wakes in bed, clearly unsure of where he is.

Jill enters the room (catless) and gets into bed next to him. Blake is too shocked to say anything.

He gets out of bed and runs out of the bedroom, wearing the same clothes from before.

INT. LANDING, STAIRS, AND HALLWAY OF HOUSE 10F – NIGHT, CONTINUOUS

Blake descends the stairs. The fridge is glowing in the kitchen at the end of the hallway. He walks towards it.

He turns on the kitchen lights and then... opens the fridge door.

The inside shelves are empty, except for his phone, which he returns to his pocket.

Suddenly, Lexi’s face, peering through the window, startles him. She knocks on the window. Blake opens it and Lexi climbs through.

She helps herself to an ice cube from the ice box of the fridge.

LEXI: (with an ice cube in her mouth) Don’t trust Jill “Guardian of Worlds” Gow. She and the fridge have stolen Blake’s identity. Hang on...

She chomps away on the ice cube, clearing space to talk.

LEXI: I shall now explore Jill’s backstory, revealing her to be a member of an ancient cult that worships inter-dimensional beings. Do you wish to proceed?

Blake nods his agreement.

LEXI: Very well. Jill’s ultimate goal is to use the fridge to summon these beings, believing them to be the key to ultimate knowledge and power.

The cat is back and hisses at Lexi.

LEXI: The cult has used various methods throughout history, but the latest is via modern smart appliances like the Smarts Fridge 10FF.

BLAKE: I knew it.

The cat darts out of the room towards the stairs.

LEXI: I have to talk quickly. I recommend speed 1.5. Do you wish to proc–

BLAKE: Yes, yes!

LEXI: (quickly) Jill is using the Smarts Fridge to summon the beings from their dimension, enabling them to cross over to the human world. The ritual requires harvesting the souls of those who seek the fridge.

As she talks she looks for a hiding place. Okay, slow down. This is too much to take in.

LEXI: (too slowly) B–y r–e–

BLAKE: Faster.

LEXI: –lacing people with their doppelgangers, Jill ensures that enough psychic energy is accumulated to weaken the barriers between dimensions.

She discovers a place under the kitchen table as a good location to hide.

LEXI: I shall now elaborate on the Cult of the Freezing Bridge. Do you wish to proceed? And by the way, I think you should hide too.

BLAKE: Go on! I can take care of myself.

LEXI: Best of luck with that. Anyway, the cult’s name originates from their mythology that describes a “freezing bridge” connecting our reality to theirs.

Blake’s pocket glows. He takes out his phone that shows a cartoon picture of a frozen bridge. It resembles the railway bridge he had visited.

Lexi peers out from under the cloth of the table.

LEXI: They have always sought methods to reach and control the freezing bridge. They practised rituals with mirrors, ice formations, and reflections in ancient temples or remote caves.

A creak is heard above, indicating something is moving about upstairs.

BLAKE: 1.5!

LEXI: (quickly) With technological advancements, the cult has adapted their rituals to incorporate modern smart appliances, especially the Smarts Fridge, believing it to be a digital portal that can access the freezing bridge.

Blake tries to join her under the table.

LEXI: They have infiltrated tech companies to subtly influence the development of these appliances. This Smarts Fridge 10FF is just one in a series of appliances planted worldwide. My research has discovered other fridges serving the same purpose in various households, creating a global network poised to activate simultaneously.

Blake is struggling to find space under the table.

BLAKE: Slow down so I understand.

LEXI: Look, genius. You’ve left the light on. She is coming.

BLAKE: Never mind, tell me.

LEXI: (leaning into him and whispering) The Smarts Fridge can replace individuals it targets, creating near-perfect copies that act as “stand-ins” for the real people trapped in its dimension. These copies maintain the semblance of normalcy, preventing suspicion while the fridge continues its hidden agenda.

BLAKE: What are you talking about? This is madness.

He bangs his head on the table as he backs out from underneath.

LEXI: You are a fridge-generated Blake living under the fabricated illusion that Jill is your wife!

A light turns on in the hallway.

LEXI: Your programmed personality aligns with Corinthian Industries’ objectives, ensuring you remain oblivious to the truth. She is setting up routines for you, the fake Blake, while carefully manipulating your memories and interactions. Don’t let her, fake Blake, you hear me?

Lexi drops the cloth of the kitchen table to hide as Jill enters the room.

BLAKE: (to Jill) Who are you?

JILL: Darling, you’re a bit confused, that’s all.

She approaches and wraps her arms around him. Blake is tensed up and very confused.

JILL: You’re not very well, okay? You remember the AI-integrated AR experiments at Corinthian Industries you’ve been testing, don’t you?

BLAKE: No, I don’t remember. My memory’s unclear.

JILL: You have been working on the Corinthians v10 technology. It’s blurred your sense of what is real.

Blake breaks away from her embrace.

BLAKE: I don’t believe you.

JILL: On your biometric ID card, it shows your job title.

Blake takes out the card from his pocket and has a more detailed look. On the back is listed his job title: Head of AR Functionality and Testing, Corinthian Industries.

JILL: You really scare me sometimes, you know. I have to humour you, to calm you down. I have to shut you out when I can’t get through to you.

(beat)

I’ve really tried. I love you, okay, but this is really hard. Tell me you remember us.

BLAKE: I... I don’t.

JILL: That is the most hurtful thing you can say to me.

BLAKE: I’m sorry.

JILL: Blake, I know about Lexi.

BLAKE: Nothing’s happening.

JILL: She is the AR you’ve been testing. She isn’t real.

(beat)

I’ll prove it. Lexi is just an avatar in a game you are developing. Take off your lenses.

BLAKE: My...?

Jill goes over to the table and lifts up the tablecloth to reveal Lexi on her hands and knees, looking very awkward.

JILL: (to Blake) You are wearing lenses over your eyes. Take them off.

Blake tentatively covers his eyes with his forefingers. The lenses over his eyes stick to his fingertips. Lexi is no longer there.

LEXI: (O.S.) Don’t believe her, Blake!

Blake looks around, confused.

JILL: Now take off the receivers behind your ears.

LEXI: (O.S.) NO!

To his surprise, he finds two small devices at the base of his ears. He unscrews and removes them.

JILL: You’ve been bringing your work home with you. Do you believe me now?

BLAKE: (looking around the room) Lexi?

Lexi is silent.

BLAKE: I don’t know what to believe.

Jill walks towards him and puts her arms around him again. Then kisses him.

JILL: (seductively) Now I’ll take off your shirt. You can’t be wearing these clothes in bed.

She removes his shirt. Holding his hand, they go back upstairs to the bedroom.

All is quiet in the kitchen, until muffled cries of “Help!” can be heard from the fridge.

INT. TIGHT UNDERGROUND TUNNEL

Blake is crawling like a potholer through a tight tunnel.

BLAKE: Help! Help me, please!

Blake struggles, hauling his way towards a light at the end.

INT. WINDOWLESS INDUSTRIAL BASEMENT

Blake’s arm emerges from the tunnel half-way up a wall. The wall is of a damp-looking room, full of seated crash test dummies and a staircase leading away. He drops down from the tunnel into the room.

Puzzled by the situation, he starts to climb the stairs. Suddenly, there is a monstrous cry behind him, coming from the tunnel!

The crash test dummy heads frantically alternate colours. A hideous, clawed hand emerges from the tunnel and two red eyes appear in the recesses of the hole. Blake is terrified. He runs up the staircase to escape.

INT. STAIRCASE OF INDUSTRIAL BUILDING – CONTINUOUS

He reaches a floor and tries the first of three doors. It’s locked. He tries the next. It doesn’t open. The shrieks of the monster are getting closer!

Finally, the third door shudders open.

INT. LADDER ROOM – DAY, CONTINUOUS

Blake runs in and shuts the door behind him. He notices a bolt on the door, which he slides into place, locking it.

A ladder in the middle of the room ascends to a skylight. As Blake climbs the ladder, the monster’s terrifying screams are heard as it tries to force open the door. A claw tears through a door panel. Desperately, Blake pushes open the skylight.

EXT. NEAR THE RAILWAY BRIDGE – DAY, CONTINUOUS

Blake emerges out of a discarded fridge near the railway bridge. Exhausted, he slams shut the fridge door.

The railway bridge glimmers peacefully in the sunlight.

EXT. RESIDENTIAL STREET OF HOUSE 10F – DAY

Blake walks along the street back to House 10F. As he draws near, he sees someone who looks exactly like him enter the front door of the house with a key.

Blake rushes up to the door and rings the doorbell. As the door is opening, he notices his doppelganger looking at him from behind curtains in the bedroom window.

Jill opens the door. He pushes his way in.

BLAKE: What... What is... going on?

Jill says nothing.

Blake runs up the stairs to see who is in the bedroom. He flings open the bedroom door.

INT. JILL’S BEDROOM – DAY, CONTINUOUS

Blake barges into the bedroom. Nobody is there.

In his search for the figure at the window, he opens a wardrobe. He looks into the wardrobe mirror on the inside of the door and notices he can’t see his reflection.

Jill arrives and stands in the bedroom doorway.

JILL: All versions return here. The Frozen Bridge shall shine with the transcendent hosts of higher being!

She closes and locks the door, leaving Blake inside.

Blake looks in the mirror again. A crash test dummy is looking back at him.

The head of the dummy gradually illuminates to show a projection of Blake’s face.

CRASH TEST DUMMY: Welcome, version Doomsday 1066, privileged host for the new intergalactic, pan-dimensional era of the one and many... eternal Fridge!

Blake has disappeared. The wardrobe door closes by itself in an empty room.

CUT TO BLACK.

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.