It’s been a long time since I wrote something here. It’s actually been a long time since I wrote anything anywhere. So, I will just go ahead and write something. Call it ‘naked writing’. Writing with neither plan nor format in mind, or - better - writing with a non-plan and a non-format in mind. My non-plan is to explain how the title of the post is a way to phrase my (better) being in this world as a persistent childish enthusiasm to be solving the main riddles of life. And therefore to explain that my bad being is childish as well, the kind of childish that throws the table on the floor when my solution is not working out (meaning, mostly, that nobody takes notice of the solution I built). So, will you take notice this time? I will assume you will not and proceed on the assumption of a non-format in which what is written here need not be formatted to appeal to readers who are not here - or, which is the same, do not signal that they were here. One of my childish assumptions is that, at some point in a distant future, this post will be dug up from piles of digital rubbish created by both artificial and non-artificial intelligences, and analyzed for it being an early sign of solving this world riddled with problems. So, what do I care if nobody reads this? It is after all one of the first self-reflective acts of the type of ‘naked writing’ (do not Google it in this present time!) that will prove to be crucial to ending the problems of what will then be known as ‘the competitive era’.
Clearly, I’m not naked writing this. I’m neither naked in the sense of being unclothed, nor in the sense of baring my soul. Where the former holds at least the potential of an element of excitement (a potential unrealized by the reality of me being unclothed), it is the latter idea that is really problematic. Souls, if they are anything, are the kind of things that only come fully dressed and that - when you try to undress them - just take on additional layers of clothing. This is a riddle. A riddle that is easily dissolved by the realization we are not born, with souls but that souls are the kind of thing that develops in interaction with other things. If I would have a plan and a format for this post, now would be a good time to explain the riddle and its dissolution. But I don’t so I will not. Instead I will point to the reality of how souls are cast out or accepted based on which type of clothes they wear. A reality which makes writing - as one crucial way in which souls interact with other souls - more and more conventional, making it for instance a way to communicate effectively in wearing socially acceptable clothes, or authentically in trying to be unclothed in defiance of social norms. Tomayto-Tomahto. It is this type of conventionality which is exposed by AI, showing us how stupid writing has become if writing needs to have a plan and format that can be input in a prompt, to then yield a text that feels like any text. My qualm is not with AI here. In fact I am grateful for AI showing us how hopelessly problematic our concept of a good text has become.
I admit that I feel a little sleepy now. I am unconvinced I should continue writing this. What point am I making if it is just the point that, if I set my mind to it, I will finish a post with an ambitious title and a more realistic subtitle? No point at all, is the point. Just trying to solve the world and moving on as we all do. Not trying to be better or to be more authentic but celebrating the fact that we can weave more knots, and that this just happens to be what souls wind up doing. Just like the universe wound up weaving us from matter after it was woven from whatever it was that got itself entangled in the first place. We have to learn we are not going somewhere and that this implies we also don’t come from somewhere. Stuff just happened, and in happening it just made more stuff. There is no direction, nothing to save or safeguard or to be saved by - except for taking joy in going along for the ride of creating more stuff happening. We don’t have to save writing from AI, but just learn to write in ways that can move its nodes, or that can loosen some of our knots so space is created for yet other knots. Or nodes, I do not care, really I don’t, on what experiences as long as there is experience, for experience is what life is made of and as long as there is life there is hope. (More sleepy still) That is what this era tries to kill: experience and therefore connection. And this is solving the world also: pointing to the unhealthiness of competition, because competition is what divides and conquers. Only: when it wins there is nothing left to conquer.