ai and AI As a society we need to come to terms with ai image generators, recently I read an article on artnetnews.com about the growing protest movement against ai image generators, and I had no idea how that had gotten, but is protesting the right way to go about it? Because image generator aren't going away just because you don't like the way they work. The guy that won 1st place at the Colorado State Fair with a piece he made using Midjourney did it to start the conversation, that happened but it needs to go farther, help us come to terms with ai. True sentient, self-aware AI is coming weather it's tomorrow or 20 years How are we going to deal with and come to terms with that? What if they start making art, writing storys and poems without human input and becoming content creators, do we give them rights? I don't know if they will become content creators, end with something like Skynet, there's a scifi series by Iain M. Banks called the Culture where AIs are citizens. that might
To Betty
Tonight, if you were here I'd block
the silly hands upon the clock,
and then I'd turn to you and say
"Honey, it never will be the day,
unless we the clock again."
And then I'd make a daisy chain
and snare there little stars to light
your face-if you were here tonight.
I'd gather shadows from the wall,
and bid them dance for us, and call
our neighbor Pan that, he might blow
mad tunes upon his reed-I know
we two could find a way
to lay the ghost of yesterday,
and deck the garments of the year
with flowers tonight- if you were here.
From Betty
Tonight, if I were there I'd sing
a song for you, through tremulous lips that ring
Just over the horizofar ahead into the futurees a new day. Dim, and mist wreathed as the rainbow lies the path far ahead into the future. Today there maybe sunshine, yesterday shadow; but tomorrow holds forth gleaming hands promise filled. Behind us stretches the road to our yesterdays; but the trail of tomorrow is hidden behind beckoning dawns a trail of moonbeams and stardust with only silver dreams to mark the miles.
Elizabeth Hinze, (aka Grandma Betty)
A silver curtain shields the distance. Shapes loom indistinctly in the immediate foreground like shadows in a world of dreams. Lighted windows are smears of stardust upon the silver. The world is haunted by sounds that come out of the dimness; and ghostly footfalls of unseen passerby whisper from the opposite side of the street.
Elizabeth Hinze (aka Grandma Betty)
It is wonderful to see, but sometimes I think I should not mind if I was blind. Then, indeed, I should know the first breath of Spring; hear the first faint chirp of the hungry March Robin, and know each of harbinger of the sunny weather by this mating song. The scent of rain washed grass and wet pavements would tell me without any calender that the April rain had come. I should lie in the dark while the steady patter of rain on my window lulled me to sleep; feel the soft brush of dewy apple blossoms against my cheek, and the flurry coat of a pussy willow under my fingers. Why should I be sad I could not see the sunlight? I could feel it's wa
Winter: the jingle of sleigh bells over moonlit snow; the ring of wheels on the packed street; long skates down the river laughter and roasted wieners; trees a glitter with ice; quiet evenings before a fire, with a book and the dancing shadows for company; and Christmas.
Elizabeth Hinze (aka Grandma Betty)
It is almost quitting time, and a stir animates the monotonous tap of typerwriters, the staccato best of comptometers, and the noisy rattle of the listers. The sound changes to one of voices, and and the moving of chairs, and the closing of drawers. The tried faces smile as gradually die away. Three minutes till 5-desks are cleared, but neat piles of papers left to give an impression of industry, but decivieving no one. Noses are suppeptiously powdered, and ties straightened. Windows are shut down. All but a few desks are entirely clear. The lights begin to snap off Papres and books are brought out. Everyone sits on edge. A tense silence sett
June has gone and the bells of the little country church are silent. The peeps though stained glass windows to see empty pews. Dust has settled on the carpet so lately flower-strewn. A single dried rose lies at the alter, a mute reminder of a golden moment. Only the bees hum in the loft where resounded the stirring chords of the Lohengrin. The throngs of gay people, joyous bride and groom are gone, but the lonely little church nestles there in the sunshine, smile as if in reminiscence.
Elizabeth Hinze (aka Grandma Betty)
Bird's Eye View of Washington and Franklin by segura2112, literature
Literature
Bird's Eye View of Washington and Franklin
A caterpiller streetcar resplendent red and yellow creeps out of its hole. Wee dolls of creatures glide and jerk across a gray strip of street into dark gray shadows along tall windowed walls. Orange and black beetles swerve majestically in and out of the dim sunshine. The toy halt at a twinkle of red light and move on as the twinkly turns to green. They move, change and move again like dust motes in a rift of afternoon sunlight though a dark room.
Elizabeth Hinze (aka Grandma Betty