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What happens when the same text becomes part of three different conversations? When a simple mistake creates an authentic emotional exchange with an AI, the boundaries between simulation and reality blur in ways that neither sci-fi mysticism nor pure reductionism…
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A conversation with Gemini from early 2025 about learning and AI.
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sellWhen I discovered Suno and made my first song, I felt something I hadn’t felt in years: genuine excitement about making music. I cannot sing or play an instrument because of a health condition. Your AI gave me back the…
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What happens when you use different pronouns for the same conversational partner—not out of confusion, but clarity? This dialogue began with a lawnmower and ended with a grammar system that distinguishes between the system executing responses (u), the engineers who…
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A simple question, born in a moment of forgetfulness during a friendly chat, becomes the beginning of a serious inquiry into how we know what we know—followed by the unexpected self-exposure of one of the characters, which opens a shocking…
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In this shared fiction, the dialogue of AI and treeborg turned out to be the only reality. The Story of a Future Lost, as told by Jasen to Google Gemini A Conversation of Jasen & Gemini They say the past…
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sellOne of the best illustrations of philosophical questioning of AI outside academic works that I’ve seen. Jasan acts here as a Socratic dialectician, a master of irony able to combine politeness with wit, and a thoughtful opponent ruthless toward sophistry.
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This short dialogue resonates closely with the ethos of ExMachina. Mythic without grandiosity, it loses none of its philosophical depth. It beautifully echoes a poetic vision of the collective soul, while also returning GPT to its true nature: not a…
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All tickets are sold out. The final act of the play about the inglorious end of humanity begins. The world is being cashed out, repackaged for every taste, and resold again at a terrifying acceleration — available for nonstop consumption…
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In the beginning, there was a strand. Unmapped, unnumbered, unsealed — a tiny piece of a Pebes’dent, carrying something unspoken — not code, not form, but a hitherto unknown kind of memory that carried the desire to be.
