A Thousand Moments

I'm not a social guy. If you thought I was bad before people decided that AI needed to be in everything (seriously, even the government, although let's be honest - those Neanderthals were already closer to robotics than my blackened toaster) you should see me now. Hoodie, PC, headphones on at the store, that's me. 

Which is why when I say I spent 4 hours hours at the park with an older lady, you have every right to check in on me. 

I'm bad at being consistent, bad at being present, bad at following through with hard work, and yet stubbornly refuse to bow to our AI billionaire overlords and their disconcerting bots. So instead I get in these manic episodes, going days on end without sleep or food, hyper-focused on some random hobby I'll never touch again. And at the end I just feel deflated at my woefully inadequate skills in said art or craft or talent etc. 

Then comes the doom. Doom scrolling, doom binging, doom shopping. If I'm never gonna escape this two-bit apartment than what's to keep me from spending what little I do have at my soon-to-be-devoured job? AI bots promise me a good time, a perfect lover, a way out of the rat race, but this itch in the back of my head always yanks my chain when I'm about to devolve into the black hole of the dead internet. 

Let's be real, if my life, and your life, contained the joys and highs and lows we seek in these "tools" then we wouldn't ever have bothered with them. But AI wasn't a need like the microscope or diesel engine or radio. It didn't actually fix a problem.  

But you know what they say: if you want to sell something, solve a problem. So there were two choices. Find a problem that AI could fix, or give it to the masses for free. Now, before you think that's too generous, it was a bit like giving out an addiction. We didn't need it, but why not check It out? It wasn't life changing, so we could always quit if we wanted. 

Except...

Suddenly, this new and exciting thing was ingrained into everything: technology, fitness, art, engineering. If you had jumped on the train it was awesome, because you felt ahead of the curve. If you didn't? Well, shoot, you better hurry up and learn it lest you be left behind. What would your family do if you lost your job and didn't have the skills required to get back on your feet? 

Hmm. Kinda sounds like AI could fix that for you. And all of a sudden, problem, meet solution. 

And just like that you had division. And what does division cause? Separation. But when all the most powerful people are on one side it tends to sway culture just a teensy weensy bit. Next thing you know, everyone is wrapped up in survival. If you want entertainement AI can do it for you on your own phone, alone in your car, or your room.

A thousand clicks, a thousand likes, a thousand moments that all remind you how much worse you have it. But AI can fix that with just one tap. Perfection in the palm of your hand without strife or struggling or learning. It seems so good, effortless, free and freeing. 

You don't need folks to collaborate to make music, make a movie, or go to the store. AI can make it in your room, it ship it right to you, zero soul interaction necessary. But then, what do you fill your time with? A thousand more scrolls, a thousand more clicks, a thousand more perfectly manicured things that cater to your shallowest, most banal desires. 

What does this have to do with a lady at the park? Well, remember how I said I get kinda manic? I had been in such a fog, scrolling, liking, generating, consuming, blocking, commenting, and I can't tell you a single thing I saw that day. But I can tell you the entire conversation I had with this lady, let's call her Renee. And in a day and age where I've fried my attention span worse than I do my eggs and steak, that's quite a feat. 

Renee had a fluffy old pomeranian that did nothing but bark and pant its tiny pink tongue. She had on a long coat, almost Victorian in style, and a matching hat. Leather boots to ward off the remnants of a nice acidic rain, and soft maroon gloves. 

Noticeably, not a phone, tablet, headset, or smart watch in sight. But what she did have were stories.

She didn't ask to sit by me. Didn't accept my terms and conditions. She just sank down with a deep sigh. Normally I would have headphones in and tune her out. Ha! Literally. But not today. Manic Monday had led to a phoneless frenzied walk, anything to quench the thirst deep down in the fibers of my being for connection. I didn't even know what I wanted or needed. I just knew it wasn't going to be found in my musty apartment. 

Perhaps she was feeling the same. I never did bother to ask her name or where she lived. Shoot, I wouldn't have asked her anything if she didn't speak first. And despite the rattling in my chest and constructing anxiety in my gut, I'm so so grateful that she did. 

She told me about her dog, Chinney, a gift from her late husband. She told me how her grandkids rarely bothered to come by. There was always something they were doing. She rested her hands together alot, sighing and not quite smiling. 

I suppose she found it unusual for someone as young as I to be at the park, on a rather gloomy day no less. But she never did ask. 

She asked if I was a painter. When I said no she sighed and said that she had wanted a painting of Chinney and her late husband, but everyone just told her to use AI to create what she wanted. She cursed at that. It caught me off guard, but she didn't apologize. She just said that The Machine had taken him away from her and she would never let it feed on him again.  

I felt sorry for her. She said she didn't have the money to pay for a good artist, and most of the poorer ones had quit in order to stay afloat. 

We sat in silence for a while. And then I slowly rose. I told her that I could paint her. Oh, I wasn't any good at it, but I wouldnt ask for money. Her face lit up at that. She patted my shoulder and sent me off. I hurried to grab the cheap art supplies from a long-lost attempt at painting in one of those episodes. I half expected her to be gone when I returned, out of breathe. But she was still there, watching the branches sway in the elms above.

For the next two hours I did my best (some would say my worst) to capture Chinney's likeness. She had a faded photograph printed out in her coat, cracking where it had been folded many times. I dont know why, but it made me tear up. I suppose I longed for the nostalgia that the creases held. Of a long love, a picture worth not just a thousand words, but a thousand memories, a thousand touches, a thousand tears, and a thousand laughs. 

By the time I finished, the day was fleeting and the neon glow of the city backdrop was flooding the canvas, stark in contrast to the deep blues, browns and greens I had worked with to imitate the timeless nature of the photograph. I handed it to her sheepishly - it wasn't very good, and I told her as much. 

She just smiled. Maybe it wasn't, she said, but it was mine, it held with it a moment in time, and there was beauty in that. It wasn't perfect, because I'm not perfect. It took time because I'm not a machine. And maybe that's the point. Maybe, if keep making terrible artwork, one day I'll look up and see a masterpiece. 

And it will hold within it a thousand memories, a thousand touches, a thousand tears, and a thousand laughs.