I prefer to think of God as a woman. A woman with strength, intention, and apathy. How could all this evil be allowed to corrupt the world if she is in charge?
Pain is a motherfucker. On a scale of 1 – 10 my tooth extraction recovery has waivered between a 7 and an 8. Occasionally the over-the-counter meds mute the ache for a few hours. Hot packs, ice packs, Dragon Balm rubs, all morph the pain but don’t relieve it. Hell is a chronic pain condition. At least mine doesn’t limit my movement or my cognitive functioning. I’m okay, I’m just in deep illuminating pain.
It is possible to learn from experiencing pain and illness. A gratitude for medical workers, for UPT (unpaid, but excused) time off from work. I actually miss my river-of-life gig as a cashier. I am entertained and entertaining. The work has transformed my life dramatically, and even created a narrative stream about mindfulness and self-awareness called “The Happy Cashier.” Google it. You’ll find a Chinese company outsourcing virtual workers for $5 an hour, and you’ll find my on-going “happy” narrative.
It’s all fun and games, but the job is hard, relentless, exhausting. And, I love it. I can also leave it 100% at work. I don’t worry about politics. I don’t have to be spectacular all the time, though I try. It is almost a job you can “just show up” for. It does require attention and the ability to stand for eight hours a day.
The people, the co-workers, the company are all providing a rich palette of images, ideas, even songs. Sometimes the Pandora(tm) station streams 80s – 90s alternative rock. The Shins, Psychedelic Furs, Real Estate, playing lightly above the din of beeps, swipes, bag ballet of being a cashier at a high-end organic grocery store. I actually *am* the happy cashier.
Not so much today. I’m home again with my misery. I had hoped my minor med visit yesterday would provide some more aggressive and perhaps palliative pain meds. The young PA explained, they won’t let them prescribe any controlled meds. Bummer.
I pause in the maelstrom of now. Take an inventory of my own hopes and drives. Prioritise my day and a balance of recovery and rest along with inspiration and “time at craft.” See? Here. This. Writing. This is my play, my joy, my craft. I am inspired by you, the reader. My image of you. Someday we may meet and exchange a few words in the checkout lane, and you won’t know anything about this writing, the happy cashier, or much beyond the acknowledgment of my “great hair.”
It’s enough. Today is wide open. I was able to dose up on Ibu/Tyl around 6 am and get back to sleep. So now, it’s just after 10 am and the world is my oyster, well, aside from the pain in my lower right jaw. The buckwheat husk heating pad is comforting. The dull ache is less overwhelming. I’ll stay on top of the med dosing today. Every four hours, take some mix of boring old, non-narcotic, pain meds. Well, I will at least be fog-free today. Full of clarity and purpose, in between the pain breakthroughs that send me searching for a quicker more thorough release.
In this ease and unrest I can uncoil my own grandiose dreams.
- Novelist (this here)
- Poet
- Musician
- Screenwriter
- Tennis player
- Lover (well, a pause on this for now)
- Father (2 kids)
All is well. Many of my creative bursts are still releasing quarks of inspiration into my LLLM (large living language model) of a mind. Even the AI prompt engineering and learning to guide and coax ChatGPT and NotebookLM to do my work. Most recently, I’ve been using a clone of my voice to do some audiobook narratives. It’s damn good. My girlfriend, strike that, my ex-girlfriend, an avid Audible subscriber, thought it was me reading the chapters. Boom.
Yesterday I released five chapters of my book. The writing took weeks. The voice-over with my the AI-John took 10 minutes. The results are astounding. The efficiency and production value all within my own creative tolerances. I liken it to a famous artist, Tamayo, for example, who began to experiment with lithographs and monoprints that could produce 10 – 100 versions of a single work of art.
AI is expanding my mind, for sure. Changing my way of thinking. Ways of prompting and diving deep into my own mind and memories, that resemble AI prompts, and things like “curiosity” and “motivation.” Seriously, data scientists are talking about motivating the AI agents to dig deeper and go further than the initial research and results, RAGS. Retrieval, Augmentation, Generation. It goes and finds (Retrieval) the data, transforms it into summaries, charts, graphics, sounds; then it adds additional data found in the exploration of the idea beyond your narrow inquiry (Augmentation); finally it creates (Generative) an answer, an image, a song, an outline for a new computer game you have in mind.
What’s in your mind can be blow completely out of proportion and importance by AI generative expressions. I’m experimenting with an AI-generated musical about an epic “Office Space”-like transgression that happened at my last job for one of the largest data center owners on the planet. Yes, the ones that are being lit up for more power, more GPUs, more Nvidia H-1o0s and Blackwells.
I’ve also got several sci-fi video games being collaborated on with ChatGPT. And even a graphic novel of my sci-fi world-building project *hyper-soul*.
There is nothing AI won’t try and build for you. It’s the human creative impulse that provides the start, the encouragements, the guardrails. Of course, there are bad actors in the matrix, AIs digging for counter intelligence, for political dirt, for military enhancements. AI is doing the bidding of both the dark side and the resistance. I do hope you are on the side of the Rebel Alliance 2025. It’s time for the majority to exert their power over the architected tyranny of the suspiciously elected President of the United States. What a word we’re living in.
The heart is open and awake. My four year releationship to a beautiful and loving woman is over. She will arrive in CA with her sedated dogs in a few hours from now. I wish her well. I love her very much. And, it was time to move on. Time to close a wonderful chapter/novel/play and set the stage for what’s next.
I am here. What’s next is to be designed by me. The word I use a lot these days, thanks to ai-generative art is LIMINAL.
I am in a liminal state. Much as happened. Many things are in play. The multiverse and alternative timelines stretch before me like a topographic map of OZ. I have the levers. I have the megaphone. I am building the platform on social media channels. I am broadcasting at the top of my lungs. About being a cashier and keeping a bodhisattva mindset. About pain that nags and cajoles me towards darker paths. And most recently about loss, loneliness, and the gift of solitude as an artist.
Today my cats are my companions. One, Sid, often curls at my socked feet, as she is now. Hunter, her brother is probably sleeping under the bed. Our spaceship today is well fueled, provisioned, and coordinates are being input into my LLLM as I wind down this chapter.
The pauses in life are magical times. Reset. Reevaluate. Relax. Rejuvenate. Explore the star maps ahead of you, without consequence of action or mistakes. Actively waiting.
From the iChing: Hexagram Number 5 – Patience
A fisherman can cast the line but still can only wait for the fish to bite. Your catch will come in its own good time; you cannot make it come sooner—neither by working nor by planning nor by wishing. Though you may have a need to provide nourishment, it is only through patience that you can become the bridge between the fickle fish and the eventual feast. Strength in a time of trial waits quietly, resolutely. Weakness grows agitated, abandoning the effort before the fish start biting. Periods of waiting are most fruitful when used for quiet contemplation. This is patience.
Neither by working nor by planning nor by wishing. Sounds pretty complete to me. Just be patient and awake. No massive action required. Patience, my son. Patience.
Namasté
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