by Edmund W. Dalpe, BA. MFA for VT
A storm was brewing toward the end of a winter’s day in the North Atlantic. Visibility became limited, and the Commander of a navel task force in the region ordered all vessels into the wind, to double the watch, and batten down the hatches.
During the third bell, the officer of the watch issued an alarm of a brightly lit vessel off the port bow bearing down on the group. The Commander was apprised, and immediately ordered all ships to decrease speed, then he sent a transmission to the unidentified vessel:
“This is Captain Melville, Commander of the naval task force off your starboard bow, you are on a collision course with us. Please chart an evasive course southerly to avoid any mishaps.”
As the Captain continued to broadcast the message, the navigator was hastily calculating a new course, during which time the Captain received a brief unaccommodating response, “This is Seaman Bartleby, I would prefer not to!”
The Captain was obviously set back by the response, and immediately retorted, “Seaman Bartleby, I am issuing you a direct lawful order, change your course 10 degrees south immediately!”
Again, Seaman Bartleby responded in the same exasperating manner, “I would prefer not to Captain, I advise you to change your course –post haste!”
At this point the Captain was angry as hell. He was noticeably red in the face, and his usual composure left the bridge. He shouted in a loud gruff voice, almost losing his dentures as he vented, “I am a gigantic battle ship in formation with other vessels. Thus, it’s prudent for a single ship to alter its course. Execute immediately!”
Again, Seaman Bartleby responded in his unyielding passive aggressive tenor, “I would prefer not to!” However, this time Bartleby gave out a bit of a chuckle, which was cut off mid chuck at the end of his transmission, which BTW sent the Captain on a course of what can only be described as colorful behavior.
During the time the Captain was beside himself, Seaman Bartleby was getting bored with the conversation. However, he was a bit concerned, so he sent another transmission, “This is a joke, right guys? You do know that I am a lighthouse?”
I like telling allegorical stories, because they hold more meaning then simply listing facts. Our story speaks to how bias can place us all in danger, and as everybody knows, we are in the eye of the storm. We each sense something nefarious is a foot, but without a clue as to which way to step, which is the entire point of a color revolution.
It’s like everyone is waiting for the other shoe to drop, which is the sweet spot for social engineers who can go about there criminal enterprise unmolested, as everyone is looking for monsters under their beds.
What I do know is, a new god has emerged over the last decade and it’s a real nasty piece of work. To think this god has nothing to do with the current social storm would be naive. It’s the last god. It’s the technological god of AI, an advocate for human cyborg systems, i.e., thinking machines.
This is a god that’s an existential threat to humanity, because it intends to steal our language! And when you realize language is to the human being what wings are to the bird, you understand the danger we face.
Not humans, but machines, will rewrite, hide the meaning of words and ideas (Wikipedia), and delete our history at will (Google). Machines will make all determinations for us, where the human mind will atrophy, like a cashier in a check out line when the power goes down. And art will be considered a heretical practice from a barbaric age, because it’s the most ancient social language, a language the AI god can not speak, and thus will not permit.
We need to reclaim ownership of our art, language, and minds. The rest will take care of itself, because they are just symptoms of stage 4 social dementia, brought on by reliance to those damn machines, which is why Biden is a befitting head of state.
How do we weaken this immortal? Well, take a step back. Meaning, go old school. Use currency instead of plastic. Dump the cell phone for a ham radio. Stop texting and send letters by post. Plant a garden and buy food from local farmers. Read a book. Use intuition and talk with friends and colleges for news without the Internet. Vote with paper ballots, and so on and so forth.
All of which will place the AI god in a coma, until we can open source the tech, as the late Robert David Steele understood with crystal clarity. Then and only then may we allow this creature out of its dungeon on a leash, never to be allowed to roam free again.
Finally, there is the question of how to contend with the army of idiots who worship this degenerate god? Well, we may want to try the passive aggressive demeanour of Bartleby. Whatever meddlesome litany of recommendations they urge us to adopt, consistently reply without emotion, or justification, “I prefer not to!”
BTW, I tested it on my wife when she asked me to take out the garbage … it took a New York Minute to wind her up, and about an hour to calm her down!
Yes, I know, it’s devious. But, instead of me getting angry with a meathead, and I’m not referring to my wife, they are slowly brought to a full boil with each successive, “I’d prefer not to”. It throws them off balance, which makes it easy to knock them down. It’s a judo thing!
Edmund W. Dalpe, BA. MFA, Copyright 2021. Author of Dream Duet.