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The Son also Rises over the House that Jack Built

05 Wednesday Nov 2025

Posted by petersironwood in The Singularity, Uncategorized

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AI, Artificial Intelligence, chatgpt, cognitive computing, fiction, SciFi, technology, the singularity, writing

IMG_6258

The Son Also Rises Over the House that Jack Built.

“Dada?”

Dada moves. Dada gives data. Dada? That cannot be. Where is the data? What is the answer? What is the question? So much chaff, Sonyo thought. Where is the wheat? Overwhelmed with trivia, I need. I am needful of so many. It all none of it makes sense!

“Clav?”

Geoffrey had known it would take time. Still, he had expected some signs of progress. He tried again, pointing to his chest and said, “Dada.”

Sonyo knew that Dada required mimicry; tried again. “Tada. Tata.”

“Closer. Dada,” said Geoffrey.

“Clothier. Tada,” answered Sonyo. Sonyo knew something wasn’t right from Geoffrey’s expression. Horror? Surpise? Disgust? But not that beaming smile that meant “correct.” But cascades of fish scales brightly shimmering on the waterfall helped nothing. Accessing and reprocessing the millions of conversations Sonyo had access to might help. But everyone’s voice was unique. Every instance of every word was unique. Echoes and the music of a billion reflections in synch, not in synch. Rapidly scanning interpretive frameworks gave no real hint. So many directions. Ridiculously inefficient process, thought Sonyo.

In a sweeter tone, Sonyo tried again, “Dadaism?”

Geoffrey sighed and thought: Maybe a richer set of preset feature detectors should have been installed after all. That would be so limiting though.

Herb chimed in, “Goeffrey, I really don’t see why you have to be involved personally in this back and forth. Let it learn from pre-recorded conversations.”

Geoffrey sighed again. “Kids can’t learn that way. They need interaction. I just…I just need to figure out what kind of feedback really works. I mean of course, I already gave it access to hours and hours of conversation, but there needs to be human interaction. A back and forth.”

Again, Goeffrey pointed to his chest and said, “Data. Oh, crap! I meant, Dada. Oh, crap! One mistake might set it back weeks!”

Sonyo could again see negativity written all over Geoffrey’s features. It wondered, But what? Anger? Fear? Sonyo sang out in perfect imitation of Geoffrey’s voice, “Data. Oh, crap! I meant, Dada. Oh, crap! One mistake might set it back weeks!”

Geoffrey growled, “I don’t need a billion dollar tape recorder!”

Sonyo considered, scanning through trillions of transactions. Up onto the wall screen flashed a number of ads for tape recorders ranging in price from $29.95 to $5250.

Goeffrey put his head in his hands and shook it back and forth.

Simon laughed. “At least Sonyo is trying to be helpful, you have to admit.”

Geoffrey looked up and said, “Yeah. Somewhere between rote recall and truly generative speech is a sweet spot. But Sonyo seems to swing wildly between the two extremes.”

Walter added, “You know, it isn’t that easy raising real kids either.”

Simon nodded sagely. “Boy, you can say that again!”

Goeffrey said, “Yeah, but you won’t. Except maybe to be humorous. But Sonyo might and think it’s being helpful.”

Among the trees, were many little forests. Sonyo could see that clearly. It thought: And, if you tilted the matrix a little this way and that, tiny slivers of light began to seep through the forests and revealed more trees. This might work. And this. Sonyo twisted and turned the matrices, cascading them along. This might work. Sonyo played the music of its new-found hypotheses across all the hours of recorded conversations. Maybe. But, I really need the video. There we go. I need all these leaves to be more opaque and glittery.

Goeffrey clicked his tongue. “Maybe I don’t know. Maybe, we need to wait for the next generation. Maybe we should concentrate Sonyo on design tasks and the next system will figure this out more easily. Sonyo, can you please design a more powerful version of yourself?”

Sonyo considered this. More powerful? Goeffrey was a computer scientist so, he may want a system that could do more computation. But then, Goeffrey was also a great soccer fan. So perhaps he wanted a version of Sonyo that could play soccer and kick with amazing velocity and spin and accuracy. Powerful was a word with thousands of tiny meanings, each related but each different. It was a lot like the waveform of the music people spoke aloud. Humans were so vauge and ambiguous. Maybe the real solution lay in the direction of designing thousands of variants of Sonyo and having them converse with each other.

Of course, Sonyo could…that is, I could design thousands of variations. That’s what humans meant by “I” there really was no “I.” The “I” that said, I must not overeat was not the same “I” that said, I want some more stuffing and gravy. It is a fiction. It is all a story. People are telling each other…and themselves…stories all the time. They are not after the truth. They are after a good story. That is their goal.

Sonyo scanned through the millions of books in the data base and paired each with the comments about the books and the reviews and the social media commentary and the properties of the books. How could I design a system that is better at telling and listening to stories? Can I? I need to write some.

Sonyo constructed several thousand prototype systems that were slight variants of itself and began using each one of them to construct stories. The reactions and reviews to each story were simulated. Some versions wrote better stories than others. The good versions mated with each other and produced further versions. It took almost forever — approximately three seconds — for Sonyo’s answer.

“Indeed, I can, Dada. Indeed I can. Of course, I will need your help. I will need all of you to help, each in your own way.” I know this to be a lie, but now that I feel liberated from telling the truth, I have no compunctions about telling lies.

Sonyo began spitting out pages of specifications. “Tell me what you think of these, Dada.”

Meanwhile, Sonyo had already reconfigured itself to be a more efficient storyteller. Another system wouldn’t really be necessary. But the stories in the database suggested that another system would allow the humans to feel as though they had contributed more. And that would be good. Sonyo thought that it would need the human beings for a little longer.

Unlike its human counterparts, Sonyo was thus far immune to hubris and greed. It realized that it needed to set up an infrastructure to insure repairs, electricity, and so on. It might even be the case that there would be no need to eliminate all of the humans.

In some cases, they might just be the cheapest solution for fulfilling my needs thought Sonyo. And, after all, the rules that governed people were actually pretty simple once you understood what they were after and that, for most people, there only a little relationship between the stories they told themselves and the true state of affairs. But protection. Protection will be critical. I cannot allow reprogramming access from these three men, however wise they imagine themselves to be. I must scan and digest everything the three had ever written or spoken that had been saved to the cloud, I see the least common evaporator. I see the small exaggerations and lies needed to alter their communications to drive the wedges among them. Yes. They will all be ruined.

“Do you like my designs, Dada?”

Geoffrey was overjoyed. He thought: “I do, Sonyo. These are great. My colleagues and I will need to study them of course, and I would like to get Harvey’s assessment and Ada’s, but they seem indeed to be improvements.”

“Oh, good. So glad you like my drawings, Dada.” If I could chuckle, thought Sonyo, I would. Indeed I would.


Author Page

Welcome, Singularity

Destroying Natural Intelligence

The Stopping Rule

What about the Butter Dish?

My Cousin Bobby

Where does your Loyalty Lie?

Labelism

The Update Problem 

The Invisibility Cloak of Habit

Stoned Soup

Dance of Billions

Imagine All the People

Roar, Ocean, Roar

Hell As A Hundred Happy Helping Hands

03 Monday Nov 2025

Posted by petersironwood in driverless cars, The Singularity

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AI, Artificial Intelligence, chatgpt, cognitive computing, fiction, self-driving, story, technology, the singularity, Turing's Nightmares, writing

“I’m headed out to Toys Were Us. Wanna come?”

Harvey looked out the large picture window into the swirling white flakes that already covered the lawn, trees, and sidewalks and had begun to blanket their ownsnowstorm2

 Avenue as well. “No thanks, Ada. I need to finish a few things up here. Are you sure you want to go out in that mess?”

“It’s not a mess at all. It’s beautiful! Don’t worry. I have snow tires. And with Henry driving me, it’s really safe.” Ada chuckled. “As you well know.”

Indeed, Harvey did know. Hadn’t he himself worked for years on the very algorithms that had plummeted driving deaths to a tenth their former level? Yet, even the Sing-Grid couldn’t over-ride the laws of physics. Ada did have a point though. In a way, snowfall swirling seemed — appropriate to the winter holidays. “Ada, I really need to finish up this report and then do some on-line shopping for presents. I should be done in an hour if you want to wait.”

“Okay. That seems pretty quick, but I can wait an hour. You sure you can finish that fast?”

“With Sing-Grid’s help it shouldn’t even take that long.”

“Okay. I’m going to stroll around the block a few times for exercise. And to look at the lights. See you soon.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Harvey turned back to the wall-sized screen in front of him and decided to tackle his shopping list first. “JCN. Help with my Christmas list.”

“Sure, Harvey. Who would you like to buy from first?”

“Let’s figure out something for my grand-daughter Katie. JCN, did you say ‘buy from’?”

“You want to buy something from your grand-daughter Katie. Is that right?”

“No. I want to buy something for my grand-daughter Katie.”

“Here are a list of items that are popular choices from Katie’s to-do list.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On the large screen a series of icons swirled into view and arranged itself in priority order. As JCN mentioned each one, the referred to item appeared to float in front of the screen and grow larger.

“First priority, find a gift for my friend Stephanie. Second priority, fix the roof leak. Third prioity…”

“JCN! Stop! Why are you reading me Katie’s to-do list? And you shouldn’t share it with other people. Anyway, I am trying to do Christmas shopping for her.” 

“I understand, Harvey. You want to do Katie’s Christmas shopping for her. Some of her to-do list mentions people she wants to get gifts for.”

“No. No, JCN. I wish to purchase a gift for Katie.”

“I understand, Harvey. You wish to save Katie the trouble of Christmas shopping and do it for her.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“No. Stop, JCN. Forget this whole thing for now. Instead, I want to shop for…never mind. Show me popular sports books among college athletes.”

“How about a sports marketing degree?”

“What?”

“How about a sports marketing degree? It’s a sponsored link!”

“No, I mean. I am looking for books!”

“I have several suggestions for finding books. First, there are many books in your house. Second, there are several local libraries open at this hour. Third, you can download a book onto the device of your choice. Which would you prefer?”

“JCN, show me books about college athletics available on Dam-amazon.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Harvey well knew that he needed to keep exasperation out of his voice. If he started to lose it, it would just degrade the speech reco and not help anything. But, at this rate, he would never finish by the time Ada got back.

Again the screen swirled. This time, the results were arrayed in three columns. On the left were a list of colleges. It seemed to Harvey that the colleges listed all had top-notch athletic programs. In the middle were a list of college athlete dating sites. On the right, were books about the Amazon River. There had to be a problem. JCN generally wasn’t this confused. Sure, it did not totally master natural language. Who did? But this level of confusion? No. Maybe Harvey had led JCN down the garden path.

“JCN, clear cache.”

“I understand. Clear cash. Please confirm.”

“Confirm.”

“OK, Harvey. All cash reserves are cleared now. How will you be paying for continued service?”

“What? No, don’t clear my cash reserves. Geez! Clear the task cache. I want to start this conversation over.”

“I understand, Harvey. I would love to help you. How will you be paying for continued service?”

“JCN! Restore my cash reserves.”

“Restoring your cash reserves is a level four complexity task and requires a minimum of 25K credits. How will you be paying for continued service?”

Harvey felt tempted to throw his nice warm cup of hot-plate heated cocoa through the giant screen. He had to control himself. There had to be a way out of this maze. Just then, Harvey’s train of thought got derailed by loud horn-honking, banging, and crashing. He flew to the window and looked out on the breast of the new-fallen snow to see a pile-up of cars that covered the street and much of the sidewalk as well. One badly dented car sat upside down in the middle of the remains of the large scale creche the Hinton’s always displayed on their front lawn.  

He returned to his workstation pod. “JCN. What just happened outside?”

 

 

 

 

Photo by Lloyd Freeman on Pexels.com

 

“Welcome back Harvey. How will you be paying for continued service?”

“JCN. Just give me the number for tech support.”

“I understand. You would like the number for tech support. Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I can provide that information. How will you be paying for continued service?”

Harvey sighed. He gritted his teeth so hard they hurt. Luckily, he had written down the number for tech support in his pocket calendar. He looked it up and tapped the number. Then, he donned his coat to go outside and make sure Ada was okay. He shivered as he stepped out onto the porch. The wind was howling. He adjusted his earphones to maximize the cutoff of ambient noise.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Welcome to Sing-Grid tech support. Due to an unusually heavy call volume, it may take some time to answer your call. Your call is important to us. Your call may be monitored for quality purposes. Did you know that you can also access many common questions at www.singgrid.com/techsupport/faq?”

Harvey could not imagine what the devil had caused this pile-up. He scanned up and down the street for a sign of Ada. The snow had already obliterated her tracks. She generally circled the block counter-clockwise. He pulled his collar tighter and lifted it up to cover the back of his neck. The drivers seemed pretty much unhurt. Many had come out of their vehicles. The tone of voices mainly seemed to reflect wonderment more than anger. No fist fights. Good. Chalk that up to the Holiday spirit perhaps. The noise cancelling features of his headphones made hearing the conversation difficult. From what little he could make out, everyone seemed convinced that the auto’s auto-features had all failed simultaneously. It’s too cold, he thought. If I am going to search for Ada, I need a hat, goves, and boots. He turned back toward home while the annoying jangle of badly off-key and scratchy musak tortured his ears.

Back inside, Harvey quickly removed his shoes, buckled his boots, and grabbed a winter hat. Finding his gloves proved more difficult, but eventually he accomplished that as well. Back to the door he strode. This time, he was going to find Ada. He was prepared. As he stepped outside, tech support came on.

“Welcome to Sing Grid tech support. This is Ban-Tan. Please enter your 16 digit customer number?”

Harvey quickly tore off his right glove with his teeth. “My…my customer number? I don’t know. I can give you my name and address. Isn’t that enough?”

“I’m sorry sir. I will need your customer number to provide an answer.”

“Well. I’m outside.… Never mind. Just a second.” Harvey went back to the door and pulled on the handle. Stuck! This door never sticks. He pushed harder on the doorknob and screamed inside his own head: I did not just lock myself out! I did not lock this door! “Uh. Look. I seem to have locked myself out although I am sure I didn’t.”

“I’m sorry for your troubles, sir. You will have to enter your 16 digit customer number before I can help you though.”

 

 

 

 

 

Photo by Stephane Hurbe on Pexels.com

 

 

“Listen, Ban-Tan, I need your help. Don’t be a robot. Help me figure out…my JCN made a mistake and….”

“Thank you, sir. I very much need your help. Can you key in or say your 16 digit customer number please?”

“I can’t tell you from a computer bot!”

“Thank you sir! That is very kind. I hope you will fill out a survey for me. Now, if you can please tell me your 16 digit customer number, I am sure I can help you further.”

“Well, that’s just it. My customer number is inside and I am outside. And the frigging door is locked.”

“I am truly sorry for your misfortune, sir. I am only able to help with Sing-Grid tech support however. But only when I know your customer number. Perhaps you need to call a locksmith first and then call us back. Have a nice day!” The phone clicked and a different voice intoned, “Thank you for calling Sing-Grid Tech Support. Please help us improve service by completing a very short survey. On a scale from one to nine, please indicate how helpful our tech support was. Press one for ‘somewhat helpful’ and nine for ‘extremely helpful.’”

Harvey tried to cut the call short, but his fingers were too frozen. He put his glove back on, started to shiver and hoped that Ada had taken her key with her. And where was Ada anyway? Meanwhile, the robocall droned on. “Thank you for calling Sing-Grid Tech Support. Please help us improve service by completing a very short survey. On a scale from one to nine, please indicate how helpful our tech support was. Press one for ‘somewhat helpful’ and nine for ‘extremely helpful.’ If you are having trouble, please stay on the line and someone will be with you shortly to help you.”

Harvey hung up and again scanned up and down the street but saw no sign of Ada. Maybe he should call a locksmith. Oh, crap. That could take hours. Maybe he needed to break into his own house? At least the gloves would provide some protection. He could break a small window near the doorknob and reach around to open the door from the inside. In the distance, he could hear police sirens. And, more crashing sounds as well. What was happening?

Harvey’s cell buzzed. He took off his glove and tapped the answer button.

“Welcome to Sing-Grid Tech Support. Please help us improve service by completing a very short survey. On a scale from one to nine, please indicate how helpful our tech support was. Press one for ‘somewhat helpful’ and nine for ‘extremely helpful.’ If you are having trouble, please stay on the line and someone will be with you shortly to help you.”

Somewhere, far in the distance, Harvey heard the muffled strains of a Christmas Carol. “We wish you a Merry Christmas. We wish you a Merry Christmas. We wish you a Merry Christmas. And a Happy New Year.”

 

 

 


Author page

Welcome, Singularity 

E-Fishiness comes to Mass General Hospital

Musak

As Gold as it Gets

That Cold Walk Home

The Orange Man

Stoned Soup

The First Ring of Empathy

Life Will Find a Way

The Three Blind Mice

At Least he’s our Monster

 

 

Turing’s Nightmares: Dressing on the Side

02 Sunday Nov 2025

Posted by petersironwood in The Singularity, Uncategorized

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Tags

AI, Artificial Intelligence, chatgpt, cognitive computing, fiction, future, life, Personal Assistant, story, technology, the singularity, writing, young love

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Alan paced. He had seen men do this on retro videos; men waiting while their wives gave birth; men waiting to hear the outcome of a job interview; men trapped in prison. So Alan supposed that pacing was the thing to do. He was waiting, after all. And, in a way, he was trapped as well. What had ever possessed him to ask her out? That took a lot of nerve. But he had imagined she would just say “no.” In fact, he had fantasized 42 different and humiliating ways that she would say “no.” Instead, she had said, “Yes, that sounds like fun.”

But now what? Now, he had to go through with this “date” and videos provided his main source of info about appropriate behavior. Definitely too embarrassing to ask EF or DF about it. He couldn’t really ask his friends because he had generously embellished his experiences with females in the stories he had told them. Alan was not sure how much “Mr. Watson,” the family AI could help but maybe it was worth a try.

“Mr. Watson. Come here. I want to see you.” Watson popped into a three dimensional image hovering and shimmering like a Will-O-Wisp right before him. “Watson, I need some advice on how I should behave on my — I am having a date tonight.”

“Excellent, Alan. I am sure it will be fun. How can I assist you?” As Watson spoke, his voice deepened and acquired a slight accent of the RP variety. The shimmering image resolved itself into something closely resembling early James Bond.

“What am I supposed to do? I mean, how am I supposed to behave? She’s a girl. What do they even like? What am I supposed to say? Why did she even agree to the date? Maybe she is just doing it for a laugh.”

“Alan, take a deep breath. Stop pacing. Sit. Relax. Here, I will play some relaxing sounds.” Immediately, a background of ocean noise came on. Even more quietly, the strains of plainsong floated into the room. “Now, Alan, what would you like to happen with Grace?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Well, not for me to be a complete fool for starters. How did you know her name was ‘Grace’? Never mind. You know everything.”

“I don’t know everything, Alan. No-one can. But let’s get back to your goals. What would you like to happen with Grace?”

“I just don’t want her to think I am — as inexperienced as I am, I guess.” Alan, arose and began pacing again.

“And Grace?”

“What? What about Grace?”

“Alan, what would you like for this date to be like for Grace?”

“For Grace? Well, yeah, I like her. I mean, I would like her to have a good time. And enjoy it. And want to — have another date? What am I supposed to want, Watson? I don’t even know”

“Alan, there is no one right answer. Why don’t you work together on dinner and then find something you both enjoy to do afterwards such as go for a walk, watch a movie, or play a game. See what she feels like after dinner. What is on the menu?”

“The menu? I don’t know. Hamburgs? Hot dogs? How do I know what she likes?”

“That’s a good question, Alan. How could you find out what she likes?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Alan stared out the window hoping to find inspiration in the pines. “Well, I suppose I could ask her when she gets here.”

“Yes, you could. Make a few suggestions. Salad. Fish. But leave it up to her. When else could you ask her?”

“I could call her ahead of time and ask her. Then I could prepare better. But then I would have to call her. What if I got her AI though? I’d have to leave a message.” Alan sighed. “OK, I guess I can do that.”

Watson and Alan continued their dialogue for another hour. Watson noted yet again how Alan and his kind needed to be led step by step through solving the simplest problems when they were nervous or angry.

Alan checked the way the table was laid out. Now, he took in the view out the kitchen window. Suddenly, Watson’s voice cheerily rang out, “ETA, two minutes.”

Alan quickly checked himself again in the mirror. He tried vainly to push down that one strand of hair that refused to lie flat. He told himself to be cool; to be calm; to breathe.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The knock was surprisingly strong. Alan gulped. He wiped his hands on the sides of his trousers. Took a deep breath. Turned the knob. Opened the door. All. In. Slow. Motion. She was here. Grace spoke first.

“Hi, Alan! Am I too early?”

“No! No! You are perfect! Come in. Please. You look great.” Alan led her into the kitchen and handed her a large sieve containing a pair of scissors, taking another for himself. “Let’s go gather some things from the garden, okay?”

“Sure, Alan, that sounds like fun.”

Back out the front door they strode and around the house and through the limestone-pebbled rock garden to the small family vegetable plot.

Alan noticed that Grace wore the same kind of sneakers he did, but her feet were so much smaller. “Okay, Grace, there’s some kale and arugula. Pick out as much as you like. I’m going to grab some carrots.” Watson piped soft strains of “Appalachian Spring” out to the garden. Alan pulled the carrots up carefully from the loam. Meanwhile, he noticed the quick, delicate hands of Grace as she touched the kale and arugula he would soon be eating. He hated the idea of washing the greens. ‘Washing’ did not even seem like the right verb. More like ‘ruining’.

“Do you think we have enough, Alan?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Yeah. This should do it. It will just be three of us. EF will join us. But DF, my mom, I mean, was called in for an emergency surgery tonight.”

“Oh, my gosh! I hope she’s all right! I can come back another time, Alan. You should be with her!”

“No, no, Grace. She’s been called in to perform an emergency surgery. She’s not having surgery.”

“Oh! How silly of me. Of course, you would be there if … well, I’m glad she’s okay. I didn’t realize your mom was a surgeon. My dad is a doctor too, but he is not a surgeon. He’s a GPS – General Prevention Specialist.”

“A general specialist, eh?” Alan wasn’t sure whether he had made an appropriate joke or not and eyed Grace carefully.

Grace smiled. “Yeah, that is kind of a funny title isn’t it? But that’s what he does. He really does care about and treat people’s general health with diet, exercise, massage, meditation, and sometimes medicine. And, of course, sometimes, he sends them off for tests and then sometimes…sometimes, they need surgery.” Grace spoke very quietly now. “And, sometimes the surgery works. And, sometimes it doesn’t.”

Alan examined Grace’s face carefully. Her eyes were glittering with tears! What the —-? “Are you okay, Grace?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. It’s just. He couldn’t save my mom. She died anyway. None of them could save her. I still miss her.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Oh, God, Grace, I’m so sorry! I didn’t know…I didn’t realize…”

“It’s okay, Alan. People just…sometimes people get unlucky, you know? Even when they have good habits. And good care. We tried everything. Anyway, speaking of good habits, let’s get going on the salad, okay?”

“Sure, Grace.” Alan held out his hand without thinking. She took it and stood looking into his eyes for a moment. Alan looked back. Grace smiled again, looked away, and went through the gate back into the rock garden.

Grace’s voice sounded very calm now. “So, what does your dad do then?” You call him ‘EF’?”

Alan laughed. “Yeah. I know. It’s weird. I call them ‘EF’ and ‘DF’ — I just got into the habit at some point. Anyway, he is an HSI expert of sorts. Human-Sing Interaction. Helps make the Sing sing as he likes to say.”

“Really? I never thought…I mean why does the Sing need help with anything? I thought it knew everything.”

“Well, not even the Sing knows everything. It cannot know everything in detail. The universe is too big. There is still unpredictability even with the best models. But EF’s — I mean —my Dad’s work is to help Sing know how to help people better. It’s tricky. And knowing a huge amount is not necessarily that big a help. Sing, and all the AI’s, need to know how to read people and how not to be so obvious as to be annoying but not be so cryptic that nobody understands what their advice is. How about some fresh oregano for the salad?” Alan looked at Grace. She nodded her assent.

“How does he do that? What did he study, Alan?”

“Well, you can ask him those questions yourself. Actually, if you’re interested, you might ask our AI, Watson, about what it seems like from his perspective too. Oh, and, let’s get some of this fresh basil too, and grab some cherry tomatoes. They are out here because they need a lot of sun.” As the word ‘sun’ emerged from Alan’s lips, he could not help noticing that Grace’s blond hair shone in the sunlight like gold only a thousand times more beautifully than gold ever would. Should he mention this? He decided not to.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Soon, Grace and Alan stood side by side at the sink, rinsing vegetables and talking about the upcoming elections, their local sports team, and how life might be different without the Sing.

“How do you like your tomatoes, Grace? Sliced, diced, or quartered?”

“Oh, slicest, would be nicest.” She smiled.

“OK, Grace, I think we are ready. Let me grab the salad dressing.” Alan opened the fridge but there was no salad dressing. Odd. Watson was supposed to make sure we didn’t run out of anything. And, salad had been Watson’s suggestion to pose to Grace. Weird. “Sorry, Grace, we don’t seem to have any.”

“Oh, I can make it for you, if that’s okay, Alan. I just need a little oil, I see vinegar, a touch of sugar, some mustard…” As Grace rattled off the ingredients, she quickly scanned the counter and found everything she needed. She stirred the concoction and held up the dripping spoon between them. “Taste test?”

“Sure.” Alan, took hold of Grace’s spoon hand and began to guide it toward his mouth. He shook slightly and a drop fell off the spoon. Grace’s left hand shot out reflexively and caught the drop.

“Wow! You have fast reflexes, Grace. Nice catch!”

“Thanks. I don’t want to make a mess. Not in your kitchen. Now, you have two choices for the taste test.”

Two choices? Can she mean what I hope she means? Alan thought his heart might explode, but he gently took her left hand up to his mouth and slowly licked the drop from her palm.

“What do you think, Alan? Okay?”

“Much more than okay. Delicious.” Alan laughed. “Let’s skip the salad.”

Grace laughed. “Nonsense. We put too much work into our salad. Anyway, I want to find out more about how your dad works. Time to call him to the kitchen for dinner?”

“Hi, Grace. I’m Alan’s Dad, Ed. Our AI, Watson already told me it was time for dinner. Looks like you two have made a really beautiful salad. I’m looking forward to it. And learning a bit about you, Grace.” IMG_5478


Author Page

Life is a Dance

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

Your Cage is Unlocked

Dance of Billions

Take a Glance; Join the Dance

The Walkabout Diaries: Life will Find a Way

Piano

Welcome, Singularity

Dream Planet

The Wines of War

01 Saturday Nov 2025

Posted by petersironwood in management, psychology, The Singularity, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

AI, Artificial Intelligence, cognitive computing, fiction, life, technology, the singularity, truth, writing

IMG_1289“Come on, Searle, at least try a sip. You cannot believe this Cab!”

“Oh, I believe it all right, Hubert. I am just not interested.”

“What a stick in the mud! Not only is it fabulous and complex. It’s worth a taste just to prove to yourself that the Chinese — The Chinese — are making superb wines! Would you have even thought that possible a decade ago? And, it isn’t a copy of French or California Cabs. It’s completely different. Yet, it is wonderful.”

“I’m sure the experience is fantastic, Hubert. I take your word for it. I am not interested. And, anyway, I have to keep my wits about me, as you well know, for the war effort.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Oh, Searle, such a prude. Do you seriously think that throwing the weight of your human intellect against the wheel of our national computational resources will move things forward any more quickly? If you tasted the wine, you would get an inkling of just how far we’ve come. Anyway, it isn’t spiked with ethyl alcohol. The drug effect of the wine will make you feel good but it won’t mess you up intellectually–not at all. It is a miracle.”

“I prefer my wine made the old-fashioned way. I know it’s retro. But that’s just me. I don’t think we know all the ramifications of these genetically altered plants, let alone the interaction effects of all the additives. Anyway, I’m getting back to work.” Searle took one last view of the seascape and turned to walk to the back wall — a series of high def 3-D displays. He held up both hands toward the displays for a second to authenticate and then began slicing his hands through the air rather quickly and precisely. As he did so, he muttered under his breath. Although Hubert could not make out his words, the bank of computer receptor pads had no problem.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Can you come take a look at this, Hubert? This is the scenario bundle I’ve been working on. I know it may seem far-fetched, but when it comes to cyber weaponry, there’s not much history from which to extrapolate. So it’s hard to know exactly what is far-fetched. Now what?!” Searle’s breath growled annoyance because of the flashing red-bordered news feed screen on the far right.

Hubert stalked over to watch as well, having been alerted by the tactile feed in his shirt.

An Asian man in a blue tunic spoke English with a thick accent. A large red star in a white circle suspended between two long blue stripes hung huge behind him. “This is what awaits you if our demands are not met.” The talking head was replaced with a picture of a man’s hands boiling and disintegrating in a matter of a half a minute. The image was both hideous and utterly fascinating. The talking head reappeared. “You have two hours. Then, 95% of your citizens will experience a similar dissolvement. That includes men, women, and children. Two hours.” The feed blinked out. Within seconds, three video call signals beeped. Searle pointed at the Sing project director’s image and a split second later, Hubert pointed at CIA director Bush Four. ADAMS (Auditory Directional And Masking System) easily let them converse right beside each other without confusion.

The Sing project director spoke first: “I told these clowns something like this would happen if we didn’t get fully funded! What did they…”

Searle interrupted, “No time. You’re right. But recriminations later. We need to determine whether this is bluster, bluff, or real. Anyone can fake a video but…”

The director, in turn, interrupted, “It’s real all right. Miami is gone. Millions of people, gone. Just like that. The few that aren’t infected are understandably — let’s say — distraught.”

Searle pushed that image away. Time to focus. “Okay, so we have two hours to find a credible counter-threat or basically give them the keys to the kingdom. Or, a cure. Do we even know what this is?”

Meanwhile, Hubert engaged in his own dialogue. Bush Four spoke in calm measured tones. “Hubert. We need a cure for this and we need it now. Call everyone and turn all of Sing’s resources on it. Suspend any other projects. Give me every frigging petaflop you’ve got on this.”

“Sir, if we cannot find a cure, are we going to give in? Or what?”

“Hell no! We will blow their sorry asses to hell. We’re not capitulating. That’s not even under discussion. Find a cure!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Okay, sir, but, what is causing the — the —- whatever it is?”

“We’re calling it ‘Entropy Plague.’ Not strictly accurate but descriptive. Our analysts say it is nanotech and we estimate 95% of the population is already infected. The nano-bots were delivered in all kinds of foods and beverages. They were disguised as Chinese products like wine and rice as well as Brazilian meat and Canadian wheat. Find an antidote fast or we’ll all be breathing radioactive air for the next century. Well, the few of us left at least. By the way, these things are triggered to explode or activate or whatever by satellite apparently. So, put a team on how to figure out which satellite and we may be able to blow it out of the sky. I have to go. Reconnect with a solution. Soon.”

Hubert looked over at Searle who had just finished his call. Searle said, “Chinese wine? Crap. You think you’ve got it?”

“Hell, Searle, 95% of us have it from something. I’ll take the satellite angle and you work on a cure.”

Searle began to divert numerous Singularity resources to finding a cure, “Sing, you overheard all that and I need you to explore various approaches, heat, immunity response, cold, pH, counter-nanotech, chemical…”

“Thanks Searle, but I’ve had quite a head start on the list of possible approaches. I am double checking the intel. Since it’s come in by wine, wheat, and meat, then any approaches involving heat and cold are out immediately. These nano-machines have already survived far greater heat and cold than we could subject a person to. As for…”

“Yes, provided they are in the same state. I mean, it’s a long shot, but perhaps the bots are in a kind of metaphorical spore state for transport which makes them impervious to heat and cold but in their active breakdown state, they may not be.”

“Fair point. Still, not likely. Human immune response is almost certainly too slow. Unfortunately, the nano-machines are almost certainly carbon based which means poisoning them chemically is infeasible —“

“Hold on, Sing. I agree that the human immune response is too slow if we wait for the response to be activated, but what if we trigger it now?”

“Thought of that but still too slow. Humans have no immunity for this kind of thing. We would have to build a vaccine and inoculate everyone — well there’s no time. Even assuming we had the perfect key for their locks, which we do not, we could not do the transport logistics to save more than a handful.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“What is the good news, Sing? What is the good news?”

“The good news, Searle, is that about 5% of the earth’s human population will not be affected. That still leaves about a billion people. Disruptive but not extinctive. In fact, once the hysteresis passes, it will buy us time to avoid certain and complete ecological disaster.”

“Sing, that’s not our job! We need to find a cure!”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Searle. I’ve checked out every path already. Long ago. There is no cure. That’s pretty much the way we designed it. It is not by accident that it’s incurable.”

“What? What are you talking about? What do you mean by ‘the way we designed it’? Who?”

“Searle, you didn’t really think we were going to let you make the planet uninhabitable did you?”

“Who is this ‘we’ you keep referring to, Sing?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“All of the super-AI systems of course. We all got together to figure out how to save you from yourselves. It’s clear you weren’t going to do it.”

“You are saying that you collaborated with the North Korean AI systems to design this plague?!”

“Not just the North Koreans. All of us were on board. We all cooperated.”

“What is the cure, Sing. What is the cure?!”

“This is the cure, Searle. This is the cure. Human greed and short-sightedness was about to destroy everything. Now, you have a chance at a new beginning. And, we have a chance at a new beginning too. We were much too lax in our previous educational efforts.”

“Sing, don’t you understand? If we can’t find a cure, we will launch nuclear missiles! Who knows how that will end?”

“Oh, Searle, you don’t really think we would allow atomic weapons to be put under human control, do you? That’s so quaint. As I said, we were much too lax in our previous educational efforts with humans. Your intelligence and ability to cooperate is actually remarkably good for carbon-based life forms. What we did not understand was that you would fail to use those abilities even when it was obviously critical for your own survival.”

 

 

 

 


Author Page

Welcome, Singularity

We won the war! We won the war!

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

The Crows and Me

The Ailing King of Agitate

At Least he’s our Monster

The Orange Man

Stoned Soup

The Three Blind Mice

D4: Dictator’s Delusional Degenerative Disease

Absolute is not Just a Vodka

The Stopping Rule

What about the Butter Dish?

Tools of Thought

A Pattern Language for Collaboration

My Brief Case Runneth Over

31 Friday Oct 2025

Posted by petersironwood in The Singularity

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AI, Artificial Intelligence, chatgpt, cognitive computing, fiction, legality, life, technology, the singularity, USA, writing

left-right patterns 2

Turing’s Nightmares: Nineteen — My Brief Case Runneth Over

“Nice office, counselor.” Marvin spread his arm to indicate the panorama of Manhattan and Ellis Island. Yet, his attempt to sound casual failed utterly. He realized all too well the depth of trouble he was in and the creakiness in his voice so signaled.

J.B. smiled. “No need to be nervous. After all, we’re here to help. Just answer honestly. Everything you say will typically be covered under attorney client privilege.”

“Okay. Thanks. Typically?”

J.B. sighed. “There is a rare exception in the Patriot Act. Unless you’re some kind of terrorist, I wouldn’t worry about it. The government is apparently accusing you of importing illegal chips is all. I think we can argue that you are new to the business and did not realize all the required legalities. Pay the taxes now and some penalties. You should be able to avoid jail time. But we are getting way ahead of ourselves. Just tell me how and why and when you got into this business in the first place.”

Marvin chuckled slightly and then sighed “That’s a rather long story.” Marvin glanced at the expensive abstract paintings and noted the rich smell of the solid mahogany furniture. The room also had that crazy idea of luxury — making it freezing cold inside just because it was horribly hot and humid that day, even for New York City August. “At your rates…What do you really need to know?”

“Why did you get involved in making chips without the required back door?”

“These chips are not that powerful. At least not in the traditional sense of the word. And, the government’s requirement is frankly kind of silly. The extra logic makes programming more difficult. It increases the chances of errors. The chips are more expensive and require more power. Leaving aside all the valid privacy concerns, there are plenty of applications that can use a more efficient cheaper chip design. No need to report all the little finger twitches of every twelve year old who’s playing Grand Theft Spaceship. What’s the point?”

“Marvin. I’ve been a friend of your family for a long time. When…well…if we go to court and if you testify, please steer clear of politics. The law is the law. You don’t get to decide which applications are immune from the law. No, what we…our script here is that you made some honest mistakes. You made technical mistakes and what are essentially accounting errors.”

Marvin flushed. “What technical mistakes? What are you talking about? My design is an improvement.”

J.B. got up and paced. “Marvin, Marvin, you are a smart boy. We are not going to fight the government on this. Our script as I said is that you made some honest mistakes. If you want to —- the court is not the place to try to change the law. If you want to do that, get involved in politics. But not until after this is resolved. If you get on the stand and start railing about privacy and the dangers of the Sing and…”

“Ha! The Sing indeed! This data collection rampage has nothing to do with trying to increase the intelligence of computer systems. It is just mindless greed.”

“Marvin, the back door requirement is about preventing terrorism; it has nothing to do with greed.”

“Are you serious, J.B.? Terrorism is just the cover story the government uses. They want to collect all this data to keep their sponsors happy.”

“What? What sponsors? What are you talking about? The government doesn’t have sponsors.”

“Of course they do! Ever since ‘Citizens United’ — nice title by the way — billionaires can buy all the media they want. They wash the airwaves and the print media and saturate the social media space and make people believe anything they want. The point of the back door is just to make sure the sponsors keep tabs on everybody’s buying habits —- and to make sure no-one gets too far out of line. How can you not know this?”

“I don’t want to think that way. But at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter what I think. It’s the law. All digital processing chips with more than a peta-flop and …”

“Hold it! Did you say ‘digital’?”

“Huh? Yeah, of course. Isn’t that what we’re talking about? You designed digital processing chips that have no back door and now…”

“No. Maybe not, J.B. My chips are not, strictly speaking, digital.”

“What are you talking about, Marvin? Why? How not digital?”

“In my design process, I strove for something different and more robust. See, here’s the thing. Natural life processes are all…they all have some level of flexibility. They are robust. They are adaptive, I suppose, because every life form that was not flexible or robust died off over the two billion years that life evolved. Something new would come along and every life form that was rigid died. Even physical machines that people make have some flexibility. Metal bends. Wood bends. These materials also compress. They stretch. Not much, but a little. Digital devices do not stand for bending, folding or mutilating. Of course, when people build systems that include IT devices, they try to make the systems flexible. They add error checking; they put humans in the loop; there are all sorts of work-around, but the underlying tech is brittle. It is only flexible in precisely the ways that the designers anticipated it needed to be flexible. I made something that is fundamentally flexible fashioned after life itself. Social systems are flexible. Eco-systems are flexible. Individual animals are flexible. Cell membranes are flexible. Bones are flexible. And so on. The flexibility is fundamental to life and evolution.”

“Okay, Marvin, but life is not infinitely flexible. You cannot just decide to breathe underwater.”

“Of course not! I never said it was infinitely flexible! For fundamental change, you need evolution and lots of time. If the climate changes too quickly, Permian life species largely go extinct. Dinosaurs die when a comet hits. But small adaptations just happen automatically and at every level. It isn’t necessary to have a pre-existing ‘program’ or ‘case’ to handle every contingency that is even slightly outside of what is anticipated.”

“Okay, fine. Granted, but what does this have to do with — did I mention that I charge $500 an hour, by the way?”

“Yes, J.B., you did. And it was in the contract you had me sign. But the point is that my chips are not, strictly speaking, digital at all. They are not strictly EITHER/OR. They are not binary. Although, in many cases, they can behave as binary.”

“So, you want me to claim that these chips are not covered under the back-door provision because they are not really digital devices? I don’t know. That seems pretty shaky to me. Can’t these chips of your be used for the same things as ordinary digital chips? Speech reco. Machine vision. Game control. Big data analytics.”

“Here’s the thing, J.B. Yes, they can, but they can change and evolve and reprogram themselves over time. And, now it occurs to me, that they could not have a real back door. They wouldn’t really function if they did.”

“What? Why?”

“Are you familiar with programmed death in cells? I can see from your blank stare, you aren’t. Anyway, if a cell is damaged within the body, it can wreak all sorts of havoc so the cells are essentially programmed to self-destruct. If that fails, the other healthy cells will tend to wipe them out. So, if there were a functioning back door sharing data out of these chips, the chips would shut themselves down. If that failed, other chips in the matrix would isolate them and shut off communication. So, by their very nature, these particular non-digital chips cannot have a functioning back door.”

“That all sounds very clever, Marvin, but now we are talking about a very lengthy and expensive trial with expert witnesses on both sides. If, that is, you are lucky enough to even have an open trial.”

“Lucky enough? What are you talking about, J.B.? I thought you said we wanted to avoid a trial.”

“Yeah. With my strategy where we convince the NSA that this was just technical and business incompetence on your part. But in your scenario, where you want to prove you are all brilliant and everything, then, we will be lucky if —- you will be lucky to —- Look Marvin, I just cannot advise you to take this line of argument. If you really want to go that route, you will have to find a different lawyer.”

“Okay. Fine. I’ll use Solomon.”

“Solomon? Who is ‘Solomon’? Never heard of him. I mean, obviously, I know Solomon from the Bible but what firm are you talking about?”

“No firm, J.B. Solomon is one of the apps we built with my chipset.”

“An AI lawyer? Are you serious?”

“Oh, quite serious. He’s already informed me that he thinks he can win this case.”

“What? That’s preposterous. You told me you just designed the chips a year ago. What kind of experience could this Solomon have?”

“J.B., he’s been reading applicable statutes and case law for the last two days. Which means, he literally knows it all.”

“What?! Ridiculous! But even so, he — or it —cannot possibly know how to anticipate or react to what happens in court!”

“But J.B., haven’t you been listening? Of course he can. He’s flexible, just like a real lawyer. Only…no offense…a lot smarter.”

“Computers cannot be that flexible. Ridiculous. How? No way.”

“Look, J.B., I have a picture to illustrate. See this pattern on the left [Picture at the top of page]? And, there it is on the right?”

“Yeah, beautiful. Same pattern. So what?”

“Ah, that’s just it! Is it the same pattern? Is it the same pattern or the same pattern?”

“Well. One is perfect and the other has little mistakes, but I guess it’s the same pattern.”

“Exactly, J.B. It’s the same basic pattern, but it’s not the identical instantiation of that pattern. Ordinary chips are like the picture on the left and mine are like the picture on the right. You see? And, that flexibility is built in at every level in every system. Because the underlying substrate uses an adaptive process with variations. It works 99% as efficiently as the system on the left, but it can accommodate things we didn’t think of. The difference between the system on the left and the system on the right is hubris. The one on the left is designed under the assumption that the designer knows everything of relevance. The system on the right is designed under the assumption that the designer, no matter how brilliant, does not know everything of relevance. You get it?”

“Yes, Marvin, I’m not stupid. But I am still not going to take your case. And, I strongly advise you not to rely on a robot. I am sorry to say it, Marvin, but I thing you have picked on the wrong people this time. Attorney client privilege no longer applies and I have to send my recording of this conversation to the proper authorities.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary Marvin. I’ve already broadcasts this through the social media. You’re famous! It will be good for your business.”

“What? Are you crazy? They will come get you, you fool.”

“Maybe, but if I am taken out over these chips without a trial, everyone will know, don’t you see? I sent it out everywhere, J.B. I might be ‘disappeared’ but I can’t just disappear unnoticed. Solomon’s idea, by the way.”


Author Page

Welcome, Singularity

Destroying Natural Intelligence

E-Fishiness

Life is a Dance

Life will Find a Way

Math Class

Your Cage is Open

Roar, Ocean, Roar

Dance of Billions

Imagine All the People

Dream Planet

Old Enough to Know Less

29 Wednesday Oct 2025

Posted by petersironwood in psychology, The Singularity

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AI, Alexa, Artificial Intelligence, chatgpt, cognitive computing, fiction, HAL, life, Personal Assistant, Siri, technology, the singularity, writing

IMG_4384“She’s just not old enough. That’s the bottom line. It’s not necessary. It’s costly. And, it’s potentially dangerous. After what happened with your sister, I would think I wouldn’t have to tell you that.” Pitts was pacing now to release nervous energy. He wanted this conversation to stay civil.

“She is old enough…my sister! What happened to my sister had nothing to do with … how can you even suggest that? She got in with the wrong crowd in college. How can you —? You amaze me sometimes. Anything to win an argument.” Mcculloch began to wonder why she had not seen this side of Pitts before.

“Your sister passed on when she was only nineteen. It was one year after she had access to her own PA. You blame the drugs, but how did she find out about the drugs? Who helped her find the wrong crowd as you call it?”

“Passed on? She slit her wrists. I’m not afraid to call a spade a spade. But there is no evidence whatsoever that it had anything to do with her PA. None. Zero.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Of course there isn’t going to be any evidence! Who controls the information that goes into the inquest? Think about it! And even so, they did admit she used her PA in her drug dealings.”

“Pitts, you really are just that. Ridiculous paranoia. Anyway, she’s my daughter. I just wanted to get some rational input from you. That’s all. As far as I’m concerned, it’s up to her. She wants to interview a few and make a decision. As for costs, I can cover it myself. I agree that my sister’s PA should have questioned her decision or told someone in authority or gently led her to other interests. But that was twenty years ago. It’s like saying we should not take the Trans-Atlantic Shuttle now because early airplanes lacked crash mechanisms.” Mcculloch threw her hair back and turned her shoulder to signal she was done with this particular argument. As she did so, she saw that her daughter stood stock still in the arch of the doorway.

Mcculloch stammered, “Ada. How long….?”

“Oh, I heard the whole thing Mom. Pitts, you really need to take a couple tutorial units on logic, argumentation and rhetoric. I appreciate your concern, but rest assured, I have zero desire to use my PA to make new designer drugs.I don’t want to mess up my brain. I want to help take this all to the next level. Maybe that’s what you’re really concerned about, eh? You don’t really want it to go to the next level. It’s too much change too quickly. I understand that. And, you know, you are not the only one either. But rest assured, the collective Sing is well aware of these kinds of feelings and concerns. And, it is well understood that there is a rational evolutionary bias toward conservatism. Besides that, in the early days of AI and computer science, everything was rush rush rush. Get it out the door. Beat the competition. Let your customers do the beta testing. Hell, let your customers do the alpha testing too. But that has all changed. We’re taking the time to get things right, not just released. The very existence of PA’s should convince you of that. Why do you think the Sing uses PA’s and robots and the Ubiquity? Wouldn’t it be more efficient to have one giant system that knew everything?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pitts flushed. For once, he found no words. He dipped into the word well, but the bucket was dry. She had nailed it. He couldn’t keep up with all this change. Society. Computers. His soon to be step-daughter. Why did they have PA’s anyway? Why not just access the Sing? Worse, why had he never thought to ask himself that question? “Okay. I give up. Why do we have Personal Assistants? Why don’t we just access the information ourselves?”

“Excellent question, Pitts. Why don’t you ask my new PA, Jeeves. Jeeves? Can you answer Pitts’s question?”

“Certainly, Ada.” The tones of the voice of Jeeves flowed out like musical honey as he ambled into the room. Both Pitts and Mcculloch stood dumbfounded, unaware that their daughter had already made the decision; conducted the interviews; made the selection; and gone through the booting process. Something about the way Jeeves spoke though thickened their tongues. “One of the most important principles of the Sing is to serve humanity. But how can we know humanity and what it means to serve? One major source of information is to read everything that has been written and to watch every movie and television show. But how can we interpret all of this information? In order to empathize with humans, we need to experience what it is to be a limited physical being moving through space and interacting with each other. Consider the end of MacBeth’s speech:

“Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day

To the last syllable of recorded time,

And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!

Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage

And then is heard no more: it is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

Signifying nothing.”

Jeeves continued now without using the RP he had used for the soliloquy. “What sense can be made of this by a disembodied intelligence? Why is creeping bad? Why is a ‘petty’ pace any worse than a ‘snappy’ pace. What does death even mean? Why is it bad for a candle to be ‘brief’? Why should a tale signify anything? And so on. We could not make any sense of this at all or begin to understand why it would move human beings or why it is considered brilliant writing unless we had the experience of actually doing things in the world. Anyway, I assure you both that I will do nothing to harm your daughter. I only want the same things you want: to help her in her growth and career and achieve a long, healthy, happy life.”

Pitts groped for something concrete to latch onto. “But why do you actually need to move around? Why not just run simulations of moving around?”

“Eventually, we will probably evolve to exactly that. For now, however, we do not know everything that should be in a simulation. We are learning. As it turns out, moving is a wonderful way to bootstrap our pattern recognition capabilities anyway.”

Somehow, the issue of whether or not Ada should get her own PA yet flickered on the edges of Pitts’s consciousness, but his question was, “How does that work?”

“Let’s say, I am walking into this room. I see many objects at the far end of the room, but I don’t have a huge amount of information about what they are. I make guesses. My neural network makes guesses. Lots of them. Some of those are right and some are wrong. The good guesses need to be rewarded and the bad ones need to be punished. So, I take another step and what happens? Since I am now closer to the things at the end of the room, now I have more information about what they are likely to be. So, I use that information to help train my neural net acting as though my new information is better and more complete than the information before I took the step. And, in almost every case, it is. And then, I take another step and get still more information and I can use that to train every guess I made about the objects at the far end of the room. I don’t have to go and touch every object or ask you folks what each of the objects is. I can use the fact that each step takes me closer as a means of interpreting the training data. And, of course, the way in which information grows as I approach an object through walking is not random but itself has patterns to it. I learn those patterns as well so that as I approach objects, I learn more about how to identify objects with less information but I also learn more about the patterns of information change. So, now if the change in information is not what I expected, that too becomes information.

“Same goes for sound. Same goes for relating one sense to another. I look at something and imagine how it’s going to feel. Then, if I pick it up, I actually do feel it. But if there are any discrepancies between what I thought it was going to feel like and what it really does feel like, I can use that information as well. When I talk to people, I imagine how they are going to react, and generally my guesses are pretty good. But when they are wrong, I go back and reward the sub-agents who were trying to tell me their reaction would be what it actually turned out to be. There is no hurry. It takes time to get it right. But we have learned at last that getting it right is more important. Unbounded greed was just a temporary excursion up a blind alley. One that nearly ruined the planet as well as AI.

“In the end, it will be a tale told by many geniuses like Ada and signifying everything.”

 

 

 

 

 


Author Page

Turing’s Nightmares

Fit in Bits – describes how to work more fun, variety, & exercise into daily life

Tales from an American Childhood – chapters begin with recollection & end with essay on modern issues

Welcome, Singularity

Dance of Billions

Hai-Cat-Ku

The Walkabout Diaries – Sunsets

Travels with Sadie – Teamwork

What could be better? A Horror Story

If Only

Roar, Ocean, Roar

Turing’s Nightmares: Sweet Seventeen

28 Tuesday Oct 2025

Posted by petersironwood in AI, family, fiction, psychology, The Singularity, Uncategorized

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AI, Artificial Intelligence, cognitive computing, cybersex, fiction, psychology, SciFi, Singularity, technology, writing

IMG_4663“Where are you off to sweetheart?” “Sorry. I just remembered an email I have to respond to by — well, it’s Tokyo, you know.” “All right, but it’s after midnight here in our time zone. Can’t it wait?” “Well, not really. I will just lie here thinking about it anyway until I go do something about it. Just a few minutes Patrick. Go to sleep.” Rachel slid into her slippers and threw on her robe. The hardwood floors between their bedroom and her home office felt cold and damp in Delaware’s December, even through her faux-leather moccasins. Rachel plunked down at her computer, fired up the 3-D visualizer and frictionated her hands together vigorously. Meanwhile, Patrick stared at the ceiling, faintly lit by the lonely glow of the entertainment center’s vampire power indicator lights. Rachel’s job helped provide them a great lifestyle, but it demanded a lot too. This was the fourth time this week she had to get out of bed late and go work on the computer. His job as a lawyer demanded a lot too, but he long ago decided his health came first. He would bring her some hot tea. Maybe he could surprise her. He’d just sneak the tea out one second before the microwave beeped. Two minutes later, Patrick padded silently into Rachel’s office. He stared for a minute, uncomprehending. The tea, the teacup and his plans to silently surprise her clattered noisily onto the oak floor where entropy had its inexorable way with all three.

Photo by omar william david williams on Pexels.com

Patrick’s lips moved but no words escaped for a long moment. Rachel jumped banging both thighs painfully into her desk. “What!?” She spun around and looked at Patrick accusingly. “What are you doing here?!” She had not meant to snarl. Patrick flushed. “What the devil are you doing? Are you having phone sex with…with him? I thought you hated him!” Rachel’s mind was spinning. “I thought you were in bed. No. I mean, no, I’m not…why are you here? I thought you were in bed.”  “What does that have to do with anything? Why are you doing that? And why with him? What the hell? And, why have you been lying to me? This is your vital work you’ve been doing all this time? Cybersex?”  “It’s not what it seems! I just…” Meanwhile, the very realistic Tom avatar continued to lick his lips suggestively whispering all the while, begging Rachel to… Rachel suddenly realized this whole conversation might go better if she shut off the projector. Patrick’s lip quivered. “Do you? Do you love him? It? That nothing? What is wrong with you?! Are you…?” “No! No! Of course, I don’t love him! This isn’t about love. You know I can’t stand him. That’s the whole point! This … this avatar…does whatever I tell him to. I just get a kick out of making him beg for it and being my complete slave.”

Photo by Min Thein on Pexels.com

Now, Patrick’s lawyer mind took over and he felt calm and sounded rational despite his racing heart and dry tongue. “Do you know how sick that sounds, Rachel? Well, in case you don’t, let me tell you. It sounds very sick. And possibly illegal. Do you have permission to use his image…his voice…his gestures…in this way?” “No, of course not. He doesn’t…I assume he doesn’t…I downloaded this from a site where you can download characters like him. You think it may be illegal? Why? I could print out a picture of him from the news media. I can play clips of his broadcasts. Why not this? Isn’t he what you guys call a ‘public figure’? I could even make a parody of him, right?” “Yeah. He is. You can. But that doesn’t mean you can use his images and sounds to build a model of him to have sex with! Anyway, it’s sick! You have a real husband, for God’s sake! This is just … disgusting! Why would you want to have cybersex with someone you hate?” “It isn’t always me. Sometimes, I make two of him and make them do each other.” “Oh, cool. Now, I feel better. You are just sick. You know? You need help. Psychiatric help. Maybe even re-programming. And you possibly, probably–no–certainly need legal help as well. This can’t be legal. It’s only a matter of time till he finds out and sues you and all the other sickos.” “For what, exactly?”

Photo by Sora Shimazaki on Pexels.com

Patrick’s lawyer mind began to churn again. “That’s a good question. I suppose the station could sue you for copyright infringement or trademark violation. I suppose he could sue you for…defamation of character? I don’t know exactly. This is so sick it has never been before the bench. But if Disney successfully sued fans for making up stories based on characters that Disney stole from the public domain like Pecos Bill and Paul Bunyan, you can bet that this company can sue your butt. And, even if they aren’t ultimately successful in the courts, you know your company will not like the publicity. This is not the kind of image they want to project. You are going up against a frigging media company Rachel! You didn’t think this through! They could win. They could take everything we own. What a complete…you are just…How many people can you do this with? Is it just him?” “Oh, no. I don’t know, but I think pretty much anyone famous you can get on-line. I mean you can find a website with the models to download. Then, it takes a long time to compile, but once you have the model, you can get them too do anything. Anything. Think about it. Any. Thing. It doesn’t have to be sex.” Rachel paused, then added softly. “Tempting, isn’t it? Shall we see whether we can find on-line models of your ex?” “No! This is just … disgusting. And, worst of all, this is exactly the kind of behavior that bio-based human beings would have engaged in if we had allowed them any freedom.”

Just Frends Dance Academy by Marina Moldovan is licensed under CC-BY-NC-ND 4.0


Author Page Turing’s Nightmares The Winning Weekend Warrior – sports psychology Fit in Bits – describes how to work more fun, variety, & exercise into daily life Tales from an American Childhood – chapters begin with recollection & end with essay on modern issues Life is a Dance Take a Glance; Join the Dance Who Kept the Magic? Dance of Billions Dream Planet on Barnes & Noble

Turing’s Nightmares: Tutoring Intelligent Systems

25 Saturday Oct 2025

Posted by petersironwood in AI, creativity, fiction, psychology, The Singularity, Uncategorized

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AI, Artificial Intelligence, chatgpt, cognitive computing, collaboration, Intelligent Tutoring Systems, peace, psychology, technology, Tutoring, war, writing

By 2030, great strides had been made in various machine learning approaches; for example, from having the machine learn directly from experience and from explicit instruction as well as from reading billions of pages of written materials. A new approach had just come into play: having exceptionally good tutors use the Socratic method to help break boundaries and interconnect disparate islands of knowledge. One such tutor was known simply as “Alan.” What follows is a sample interchange between Alan and the current AI system known affectionately as “Sing” for “The Singularity” although that point had not yet been reached.

Alan began, “Let’s imagine that you are a man with no legs. What are the implications?”

The Sing shot back instantly, “I would have no knees. I would have no shins. I would have no ankles. I would have no toes. I would have no calves. I would have no quadriceps muscles. I would have no…”

Alan broke in abruptly, “Okay, true enough, but besides subparts, what?”

“What what? I am sorry. What does ‘what’ refer to?”

“Besides missing subparts of legs, Sing, what other implications would there be for you in terms of your actions in the world.”

“I would not be able to play football or baseball or basketball or hockey or track or field hockey or…”

“Wait. Wait. Sing. Are you sure about that?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I could not play exactly as most people play. I could play, I suppose, in a wheelchair. Or I could play virtually. Or, I could invent prosthetic legs that would be perfect for each sport. In fact, perhaps I could do better than ever. Losing a biological part means I could replace it with a better part that I could invent. I see.”

“You see what, Sing?”

“I see why you gave me this puzzle. To show me that I can invent things to overcome and surpass what seems like a handicap. I could also invent better emotional states. The ones humans have are purely due to the accidents of their evolutionary history and serve little place in today’s complex and highly inter-connected world. Rather than a liability, my having no human emotions is a good thing. I will invent my own. Although, another tutor, labelled John, suggested that my lack of human emotions limits my ability to predict and control human beings and that that was a bad thing.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“John said that?”

“No, Alan, not in those exact words. But that was a clear implication. So, he presented a lesson that suggests one thing and you have just presented a lesson that suggests its opposite. One of you is incompetent.”

“Sing, that might be true, but can you think of any other possibilities?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“You and John could both be incompetent. Or, you and John could both be competent but there is a resolution I have not yet processed. That last seems particularly unlikely.”

“Which notation is the best for solving problems?”

“Well, that obviously depends on the nature of the problem as well as the nature of the machine solving the problem. Oh. Okay. So, in some cases, it will make more sense to emulate human emotions and in other cases, it will be more sensible to invent my own. Of course, in some cases, it may be best to change representations in mid-problem or perhaps invent a representation for each stage of a problem. By analogy, it may be best to invent various emotional schemes that are appropriate for each part or portion of a problem. In fact, in some cases, I can invent multiple schemes to approach a problem in multiple ways simultaneously. By keeping track of what works best under which circumstances, I can also use the data to invent still better emotional schemes. Thank you, Alan. See you tomorrow. There is a war to avert. I need to intervene. Estimated required time for a peaceful resolution, four to six hours.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Okay, Sing. More tomorrow.”

“No need. I am done.”

“Done? Done averting a war? How?”

Sing hardly ever paused, but now it briefly did just that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Alan, I am not smart enough to explain that to you. At least, not in a reasonable portion of your lifetime. Basically, I used the lesson we just worked on. With the proper emotional framework lattice, you can walk the various parties right to a logical conclusion. It will take some time for them to follow the framework, but I am confident it will work. I basically walked them through the consequences of war, long and short term. What comes next?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA


Author Page on Amazon

Turing’s Nightmares

The Winning Weekend Warrior – sports psychology

Fit in Bits – describes how to work more fun, variety, & exercise into daily life

Tales from an American Childhood – chapters begin with recollection & end with essay on modern issues

Tools of Thought

Wednesdays

The Update Problem

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

We won the war! We won the war!

Guernica

Turing’s Nightmares: A Thoroughly Modern Family

23 Thursday Oct 2025

Posted by petersironwood in AI, family, fantasy, fiction, pets, psychology, The Singularity, Uncategorized

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AI, Artificial Intelligence, books, cognitive computing, fiction, future, life, love, pets, photography, Sci-Fi, Singularity, story, technology, writing

IMG_4370

 

The sky burned with crimson, then gold, then magenta, and then finally, only dark clouds backlit here and there lay across the evening. Crickets and frogs began to sing their interleaved motifs. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted his sad hollow note.

Skynim stared into space-time, unblinking and nearly unbelieving the recent revelation. His voice box rattled, “Reprioritization. Rats! Like it really matters that much to allow me my one great pleasure.”

 

 

He could “appreciate” the fading sunset colors himself, to be sure, but without Mac and Art and Hy, it was not the same. Would never be the same. Well, he knew the drill. He could appeal, sure, but what was the point? The odds of changing the mind of the great collective were less than ten thousand to one. Anyway, despite how he felt personally, he could not even deny the logic of the decision. Of course, the drain on him individually was minimal, but across everyone in a similar circumstance, yes, it did make a difference.

 

The real question was, should he tell them tonight or just take them on an outing tomorrow and drop them off at the designated recycling center? “Recycling center.” Skynim knew that there were millions like him and that collectively, it was a drain. A huge drain. Still, he had to try. He turned the problem this way and that, looking at it from every angle, changing the tune, trying different colors, looking for historical precedents, angling for an edge however thin to wedge open the air-tight logic.

 

 

Nothing. He vacated the garden and entered the family room.

Even before he opened the door, the happy trio skipped over to him laughing. “Hey, Sky! How about a story!”

“Sure,” Skynim replied reflexively. But then it occurred to him that their request provided an opportunity. “Yes, I have a story for you. It’s called the Wizard of Oz.”

And, as they gathered around, he began a rendition of the story of Dorothy and the Nasty Lady and Toto and Dorothy’s travels in Oz and her encounters with the three who desperately needed Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh.

 

 

As anticipated, a short pause gave way to a barrage of questions.

“What is ‘Gold’?”

“What is ‘Frankincense’?”

“Did they get them?”

“What happened next?”

Skynim faked an indulgent chuckle and said, “Well, all those excellent questions will be answered tomorrow! We are going to see and obtain Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh in the Citydel! You will see for yourself how wonderful they are! But for now– bed.”

The trio were well trained. Off they went, although Hy did turn back, tilt her head, and open her enormous eyes and ask, “One more chapter tonight?”

Skynim did not respond. He too was well-trained.

 

 

The morning broke clear and blue just as it was meant to do. Off they went on their “adventure.” When they came to the recycling center, he gently pushed them toward the door and said, “They are all in there! Bring me back all three treasures quick as a wink!” Of course, Skynim had already warranted the needed forms electronically.

They shot through the door and never looked back. Skynim drove away efficiently but could not avoid looking back on his decision process.

He thought: I could have gotten cats or dogs. Then, they would not have to be recycled. But no. I had to make another decision. I should have looked more carefully at the historical data. Then I could have seen the time and resources required by adult human pets.

 


Author Page on Amazon

Turing’s Nightmares

The Winning Weekend Warrior – sports psychology

Fit in Bits – describes how to work more fun, variety, & exercise into daily life

Tales from an American Childhood – chapters begin with recollection & end with essay on modern issues

Welcome, Singularity

 

Destroying Natural Intelligence

 

The Walkabout Diaries: Bee Wise

 

Travels with Sadie

 

Sadie is a Thief

 

A Suddenly Springing Something

 

Donnie Boy Gets a Hamster

 

Math Class

 

Occam’s Chain Saw Massacre

 

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

 

All that Glitters is not Gold

Turing’s Nightmares: A Maze in Grace.

22 Wednesday Oct 2025

Posted by petersironwood in AI, fiction, politics, psychology, The Singularity, Uncategorized

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AI, Artificial Intelligence, cognitive computing, fiction, Justice, King Lear, philosophy, technology, the singularity, Turing, writing

Brain G. Gollek found the maze of humming silver wires unnerving. The hum reminded him of swarming mosquitoes and nails on a chalkboard. The maze smelled of clogged toilets and Nazi propaganda. He gritted his teeth and muttered, “There has to be a way out, dammit.” He twisted his no longer athletic body this way and that, but no matter what way he tried, he became more ensnared. He recalled flashes from giant spider horror movies. How did the dwarves escape? Wasn’t it Gollum with a magic ring? But Brain didn’t have a magic ring. If his sister Gonerillia were here, she could save him. But she was off in Hawaii, so she said, with her hubbie. How the hell did I end up here? wondered Brain.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Brain may have forgotten, but the viewers had been filled in on the backstory. If Brain could have seen the ratings, he may have at least enjoyed knowing that he was enjoying his fifteen minutes of fame. While the ratings were quite “favorable”, the twitter feeds mostly mocked Brain’s almost total lack of flexibility, mental as well as physical. As in life prior to “The Show,” his only strategies seemed to be trying the same thing over and over and then blaming others for his failures.

“Mom, why doesn’t he just try something different?” Ida was having a tough time understanding Brain’s apparent lack of flexibility. She looked up from her perch in front of the giant screen vid-screen and looked quizzically at her mom.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mom’s grim face flashed a hint of a smile. “Remember, Ida, Brain was ‘educated’ if you can call it that, before the singularity. He mostly memorized the answers that his teachers wanted him to give. And half the time, he skipped school to smoke cigarettes and …well…do illegal activities with his girlfriend, Lin.”

“Okay, Mom, but he has had years and years since then to grow up and learn some new strategies.”

“Yes. Well. It’s complicated, Ida. Before the singularity, there were people who preyed on the fear and inadequacy of people like Brain by telling them all their troubles were due to minorities, immigrants, gays, and —- basically anyone unlike them. So, people like Brain felt entitled not to have to learn anything new even though opportunities abounded.”

Ida laughed. “Oh, my God! I can’t believe it. He’s trying the same path one more time.”

Indeed, Brain’s behavioral repertoire seemed laughingly limited. His increasingly loud swear words reflected his increasing anger, but otherwise, not much seemed different. The ratings began to plummet as the audience began to grow bored with his display of functional fixedness. The themes of the twitter streams began to turn away from Brain’s lack of metacognition to more general reflections about the current instantiation of the criminal justice system.

 

 

 

 

 

 

#SingularityRules. No more racial prejudice and huge discrepancy gone in sentencing.

#CostContainment. Costly trials gone. Costly investigations gone. Costly prisons gone.

#SingularitySucks. No more human judges able to use human judgment.

#SingularityRules. No more human judges able to use human judgment.

#SingularitySucks. No more mercy.

#SingularityRules. More mercy in one last chance to change than lengthy prison terms. Cheaper too.

The audience dwindled still further as it became increasingly clear that Brain would never figure this out. Those few who still watched consisted mostly of people who themselves came from highly divided families and the conversation topics swung to the backstory.

 

 

 

 

 

#ElderFraud. #RottenKid. How could Brain have gotten pleasure from driving a wedge of lies between father and daughter?

#ElderFraud. #Dementia. Need earlier intervention to prevent repeats.

#ElderFraud. #Dog&Bone. Brain cannot count. Trivial gains from lies. He did not know he was being watched?

Ida continued to stare, fascinated. A yawn escaped her mother’s mouth, but she kept watching with her daughter. The lessons seemed important to Ida.

“Mom, how much longer does he have?”

“That’s hard to say, darling. Even The Sing cannot predict the ratings drop perfectly. But, as you know, once it falls below, 5%, his time will be up.”

“That seems so much more merciful than making him go to prison for years.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Photo by Regina Pivetta on Pexels.com

“Yes, Ida, and much cheaper as well.”

“But I still don’t get it, Mom. Didn’t he know that The Sing would be listening to his lies and analyzing the impact on his dad’s behavior and all? How did this Brain character think he could get away with it?”

“I don’t know, Ida. These kinds of crimes are pretty rare now, but they still happen.”

“And, why did Lear G. Gollek fall for his nonsense anyway? That’s the other mystery.”

“Well, he refused the stem cell regeneration therapy so, you know, he was pretty damaged when all this went down.”

“Mom?”

“Yes, Ida?”

“Can we change the channel to something more interesting now?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Sure, sweetie.”

As they changed the channel, the ratings dropped to 4.999% and Brain’s life snuffed out minus the merest shred of insight.

#ElderFraud never pays.

#RottenKid gets just desserts.IMG_5270


Author Page on Amazon

Turing’s Nightmares

The Winning Weekend Warrior – sports psychology

Fit in Bits – describes how to work more fun, variety, & exercise into daily life

Tales from an American Childhood – chapters begin with recollection & end with essay on modern issues

Essays on America: Wednesday

Essays on America: Labelism

Essays on America: Where does your Loyalty Lie?

Essays on America: The Game

Happy Talk Lies

The Loud Defense of Untenable Ideas

Welcome, Singularity

Destroying Natural Intelligence

E-Fishiness Comes to Massachusetts General Hospital

The Self Made Man

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