I've been frisked before, I know what it's like to get set up, sat in the hot seat - #xrisk? - somewhere in the bowels of even lower manhattan staring into a video camera begging a celebrity panel of AI doomers not to kill me. I know what it's like to have a person sit across from you and ask stupid, slippery questions about what's art. You don't have to say what you meant. That's an existential risk nobody talks about. What if the only thing you leave behind, other than a bill, can also be measured in inches?
Like Rhianna, I'm the only girl in the room who doesn't feel sad that the year 2014 can't stretch out across the continuum of time. Like, That's not a sad-girl bit but to imagine "normal" as basically the present day - to take that for granted - are you telling me the world needs more than one M Night Shyamalan? AI makes no qualitative or quantitative - no ethical - distinction between word and image. They always were. Okay. Be gentle. I love you guys. I mean it the real way, and also in the appearance of the real. Full disclosure.
Goodnight.