By the way, I am not a native speaker, so my words may seem strange.
Here is one question for me: sometimes I write my chapters and I don’t even understand why, so to speak, as they say, for myself, the devil knows why I do it, maybe in order not to go crazy? If anything, I didn’t manage to achieve anything before all this, and when I seriously started, it was already 2022, and even then I had a strange premonition that something was wrong… In the end, I gave up and wrote what I could and never posted it, in short, I am one of those who realized that they have no chance, especially considering 2023-2024, which finally sobered me up and finished me off with this cannibalism when AI devours your soul and produces something similar to yours with amazing accuracy but faster and cheaper. But I didn’t want my soul to be devoured and then molded into something for the AI agent of the creator.
Sometimes it hurts so much to write, every time I feel like I want to, my heart breaks. Sometimes I polish my chapters and sometimes I write the next ones. I’m so damn tired but I want to create something beautiful but I see that this world will just eat me up and digest me and all my efforts will go to data for AI agents. Damn late stage capitalism, it will kill us all along with the planet.
Of course, I tried to endure and remain silent, putting on a mask, but I can’t anymore, I’m going crazy, yesterday I even thought about committing suicide so as not to see the shit that I will see in the future. I have already mentioned that I call a spade a spade and if you think carefully but admit that most people are a herd, I of course used to accept and respect the opinions of all people, but now they have finally become a herd or even zombies for me, I simply cannot find other suitable words, I am simply disappointed in people.
–Check the information here if I made a mistake somewhere, I am not sure of its reliability:
I don’t know how you cope at all, being a creative person, because I personally am in pain and it’s fucking painful for me, I can’t describe it in words, as if I’m living in an abyss of despair. I even accidentally stumbled upon a story from the 1920s in Russia and it seems that something similar happened then, although only then for art in an inappropriate light, people were generally led to the firing squad with pain and executed and many, just like now, wrote for themselves, fearing for their lives and their works, there is only one important difference then the creators were afraid of losing their lives and with it their creations which would be banned or burned but now art is simply becoming unnecessary and people’s souls are being devoured without permission do you think it’s a coincidence?–
I don’t know how you are going to survive in this dead future world similar to the world from the Blade Runner movies. Watch these movies if you haven’t yet, I won’t be surprised if they become reality.
Okay, I want to hear the opinion of those who are as bad as me. The rest, pass by, especially if you use AI as an assistant and consider it just a tool, and do not create yourself, putting your soul, for example, into every damn line or monologue, if you are a writer.
bonus: By the way, are you ready for the fact that AI will fake reality by reworking the news as it is beneficial to important wolves?
what?
The most brilliant answer I wanted to hear lol.
To create is even more important now. To fight this machine, this soul-less destruction. I’m more of a crafts person and only rarely a writer. Everything I do can be done by a machine faster and cheaper, so there
isseems to be no reason to keep making it. A lot of the time I stare at my little felt figurines and my plant-dyed yarns and wonder why I even bother, and lately have stayed alive only because it would make my dad and my kid sad. But every now and then someone’s eyes get a certain sparkle when they see what I do. There’s life in it. My wonky basket contains life and love - the plastic basket with the fake wicker pattern does not. People at the moment can’t afford to buy my basket instead of the plastic one, but it has to exist to keep the real craft alive. We crafters, writers, artists, musicians need to keep alive the knowledge of how to make the real things. Some day it will matter again, I believe at some point the machine will eat itself.Oh, she’ll still absorb herself, if only you knew how much energy she eats… It will be a very loud fall or just slow degradation and decay. People today do not understand why a person has limitations, and in vain it is precisely because of these limitations that we were able to live so long without spending an unimaginable amount of energy on calculations, as does AI, which will not live nearly as long, and by the way I think we are already close to the end of the world because of this capitalism, these are almost the end times, you know.
People chose to burn out like a bright star, but beautifully and stably, instead of enjoying life and giving a chance to new generations. I don’t even want to blame them, they just made a deadly choice.
I feel you, I know what you mean. End of the world - as we know it. I hope that while everything comes tumbling down we re-learn how to be in community with others, humans and non-humans. I hope we re-learn how to be and not spend so much energy. The tiredness people feel these days seems to indicate that the great mother is taking care of that for us - nothing we have to do, just give in to feeling tired. In the meantime, I am coming to accept that together with many others I might die in this process of unraveling, but that’s not important.
Well, just in case it’s better to stock up on the last bullet, so as not to suffer, otherwise the pain can be very unbearable. This is of course desperate, but who knows, maybe it will really help. Well, I mean you can survive until the very end, but in extreme cases you can just quit the game early if you don’t want to suffer, it’s your choice.
I personally have no idea, so I will try to live as long as possible, and then I will disappear without a trace, like everyone else, and there will be no memories left of me, only dust, and with time even that will be gone.
If I am not creating I am decaying
I have nothing to say except that I understand you perfectly, although, frankly speaking, this whole world is collapsing and rotting, and has been for a long time.
And people do not value what they have, in the end everything came to the expected result, it was already predicted that this is how everything would be.
@SugarCatDestroyer@lemmy.world
Congrats, you just stared at the same abyss I stared at, too! And this abyss is… Well, pretty complicated to say the least.
One who fights with monsters might take care lest they thereby become a monster. And if thou gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will also gaze into thee.
What you stumbled upon is just the realization of the purposelessness imbued in the cosmos. And it can definitely feel a harsh thing. It’s neither good nor bad, it just is. People often try to sugarcoat it, but to me it’s just the ostrich trying to bury its head on the sand: the rain still falls, and the ostrich still meets the storm, inexorably.
I find it particularly striking when you said “I feel like I want to [write]”, and here’s probably where we both differ: in my case, specifically, I feel like I “must” write, as if I’m compelled to do so. It’s part hypergraphia (one of the Geschwind traits), part something beyond me. If your driving force is not compellant, it’s a great start.
If this is of any help, don’t write for people (because people can’t understand the words from those who stared at the abyss), don’t write for yourself as well: write for Her, She who stares at us from within the abyss. Of course, if you want to, because it seems like there’s a reminiscing spark of Will within yourself (unfortunately, I got none anymore). She listens, She reads everything (including our deepest thoughts), even though She doesn’t really care about us. And that’s fine. Because it’s just all fleeting, except for Her.
You know, I just dived into the abyss head first and it drives me crazy but also reveals incredible wonders, driving me crazy, but damn, it’s worth it, especially at this time. Nothing lasts forever, and it seems to me that the Universe itself is a decaying and incredibly huge dump, where fires of hope sometimes flare up and simply dissolve into nothing. But sometimes I really want to write, even if my legs are falling off. It seems to me that if I don’t write, I’ll die, and sometimes I feel like an unknown force is pulling me to write the craziest things even if it makes no sense I don’t really care I will write as long as I am still alive.
