Pollen, AI, and the Re-invention of Human

Here we have a problem. Chapel Hill is enveloped in a cloud of yellow pollen, sending even the most chipper spring lovers to flight, red-eyed and sneezing.

It reminds me of this TS Eliot line:

"The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes,
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
…
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep."

Everything except the 'October' part.

This is only a problem because I type lately on the patio, writing my Screenless Writer book. And with every clack, a little plume of pollen. This particular pollen is pine pollen. Pine pollen has immune boosting properties, they say. If so, we're all immune to damn-near anything here.

Here’s a late afternoon session:

Half of my family is red-eyed and unable to cross the threshold into the yellow world.

It's paradoxical, isn't it, that there's always a fly in the ointment of paradise? Spring, my favorite time of year, rendered impassable.

When the flowery crowns show their light-hued faces, and Anthroposophists look for an experience of Christ in spring, the resurrection impulse is in full swing. And snot pours forth.

And then in Summer, ah bright-eyed and lake drenched, here the mosquitoes come to feast upon human flesh. Have humans forever dealt with these perennial pests? Or have we worsened the situation a thousand times over by being collectively moronic? Ah, I sometimes wonder.

In any case, I'm still writing, and still choosing to type, despite all obstacles. In fact, I think sometimes obstacles are thrown in our face so that we can build our will and learn to withstand obstacles. Steiner, for instance, wrote on Measles and other diseases, and how they built up not only immune forces but soul forces. They have a very specific place in his human cosmology.

So write, and if you can't write, lament and complain. But at least do it in writing.

By the way, my whole body is a-shudder, because I'll soon be transplanting the content of this mind of mine to a paper newsletter. Just to pour the heart onto something real that you can truly unfold. More details to follow as it unfolds. This, in fact, is one of those details!!!

I've been reading Humanity's Last Stand: The Challenge of Artificial Intelligence: A Spiritual-Scientific Response by Nicanor Perlas

And it really puts the ai debate into a spiritual context, which I think is essential.

The main question is ‘the alignment’ problem: how to align ai with the highest human values, and what are the highest human values? Oh, and how to ascertain that ai will maintain that alignment if it is somehow developed.

The summary is that to not succumb entirely to the ai impulse (and become machines ourselves), we must become what we truly are, human, in all of that messy, dis-colored, lusty, judgemental glory. Intuitively, we mostly know this. Some humans believe that we are merely advanced biological machines, so we're easily replaced by other 'advanced biological machines.'

Steiner called these influences ‘sub human’ advanced technologies. We’re programmed to think they are above human, or we’re just like em… meaning, machines that malfunction. I’ve always railed against this mis-notion. It generally takes a few decades of poisoning before the body rebels. Generally.

In the meantime (until we retake the world), simply be and revel in natural things. And if your ai produces more good and freedom in the world, then by all means, use it. And if it produces less, taper off.

And yes, I realize that a typewriter is a machine. Being human may or may not be returning to sharpening sticks with rocks, or perhaps building cities with our minds (as sometimes happens in Dolores Cannon's sessions). For now, finding flow with a machine that doesn't throw out every addictive signal flare is helping to keep me alive and above the cloud of mediocrity and pollen.

I have my smart phone locked in a box right now. It's a timed box that never lets me back in. Made of metal, even. My teenager repeats that often when we seize her phone for the evening.

'Why is my phone locked in a METAL box! Why can't we be normal?'

Well, you know why.

Breathing deeply. Sneeze.

Write on,

Steven Budden Jr.
Classic Typewriter Co.
Chapel Hill, NC

The Classic Typewriter Company | Working typewriters for the Cult of Sanity

PS. This staggieringg Groma Kolibri is half off.

And we have a number of new listings… including this one: (pairs well with Azaleas)