There's No "Turing" Back: On Navigating the AI Shitshow
I’ve always loved language and voice. Language and logical thinking was a way for me to connect to my English teacher father. I learned to wield words in a man’s world because I witnessed my mother shrink again and again into the background of my dad’s intellect and I was determined not to succumb to the same fate. When the day came that I could overpower my own dad in a debate, I felt both a thrill of power and a sinking disappointment. I had found my voice, but something had been lost in the process.
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Paving Over the Sacred
How we use language affects how we see the world, and how we see the world and relate with one another changes how we use language. But now that people are writing with AI, all that variety of individually developed voice and place-based and experience-based organic expression and growth of language is being strangled into one limited, blended up, bland, lifeless voice—the AI voice. Which in turn, if we are reading much of it, influences our own capacity for thought and articulation.
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Tips For Writers Using AI
My preference would be to edit real human writing. What I enjoy doing is helping people unlock their own voice, find ways to articulate their own organic wisdom and unique clarity, so they can offer that to the world. There is a kind of spiritual process that can be accessed in the struggle and effort required to find words to even partially convey something from the human mind and heart. I hope to be able to continue helping people engage in that process.
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Human Editors Are Hands Down Better than AI for Every Aspect of The Writing Process
What I want to say to any and all writers is: Just use your own voice. Your voice is good enough. Messiness and even lack of certain skills in writing are ok.
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Artifact
She is old and brings with her
an old knowing
She brings it through storms of time
and rests with it here on my shelf.
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Love poem to my dog
She smells of sweet wood and grass
shaggy hair multi-toned in auburn and fawn
big dark eyes rimmed with black
deep as the night sky.
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first contact
The visible body and the invisible body entwine
the space between them woven through with
a continuous thread of longing
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Alive
Another country, another place, but the same
humans, everywhere, and conflagrations
beauty and ashes mixing, rising in the air
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New Beginning
It is heaviness taking flight
The way the body decays
The way elements disintegrate
Like iron to rust
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Away
We are not the same, but we meet here
in the ineffable simplicity of being.
It’s a secret chamber in the heart.
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Wheel of time
Somewhere
a dog is drinking from the gutter
a thunderstorm brings rain
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grief trail
Maybe the time has come to grieve
lay down my armaments like yellow leaves of
Autumn and loose detritus after the snow
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A walk in the forest
It’s more wealth than I can fathom
So I walk in humble awe, stopping
Now and then to smell its fragrant musk
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Janani
Some call her limitless sky, mother of wisdom, the source divine
Some call her earth, and fruit and plenty, mother of hearth and home
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Pilgrimage
Standing at the edge
waves lap at my toes cold
and foamy, pull sand gently
from underneath and
something else tickling
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quietude
a circle of ravens in the distance
their loud calls muted through the cool air,
a lark sparrow chitters in the pine tree while a
towhee scratches in the blanket of needles below
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simple radiance
this time, walking over earth, I saw it
the pale luminescence in stone and leaf
it wasn’t new—more like older than time
and wider than the things themselves
my body was exhausted, so I didn’t expect
to go very far, just past the forest service gate
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