Okay, so one time…
A former lover became a friend with benefits. We had agreed that our relationship would not go the distance, however… Why should we deny ourselves the comfort of great sex?
Here’s what I’m coming to believe: if god is in control, and we are here to delight god, him or her, isn’t it up to us to have fun? All this fantasy about *the one* woman, the relationship to last a lifetime… Bunk. I mean, if I’ve been searching, actively working, to identify and woo the perfect woman for sixteen years… I’m either not very good, I keep picking unavailable women, or… something else.
Too serious? Overthinking man?
What if Jill was just a fun girl? She just wants to have fun, as the song goes. What about that?
A life coach I worked with for one free “intro call” convinced me of several ideas. I didn’t really want to work with her as a coach, I might have taken the intro to see if I wanted to date her. BTW: dating = fucking. Let’s cut the poetic obsfucation. “Are you dating anyone?” A fully-aware and loaded proposition. It’s not about getting coffee or drinks. It’s about… I’ll leave that to your imagination. If you along for this ride, I think I get you.
Jill has just popped into my Bumble Bee Line. Now. Wait. Patience. Lower the expectations. What if she just wants to have fun with someone, like it says in her profile. Sure, seeking a long-term relationship is nice, but willing to see where things go, is also nice. No one puts DTF in their profile these days. Maybe on Tinder. It’s a shitshow out there.
Okay, so 23 hours. Jill, if you’re listening… Let’s go for a walk around Town Lake, kiss Stevie Ray Vaughns statue under the humid stars of April closing. May opening. A year ago I was in rough shape. I took my Whole Foods job just about a year ago. I wasn’t sure if I could even do the job. The job: show up, be friendly, learn some stuff, meet people, study the river of life, and work out a mindful awareness that kept my thoughts and mind healthy while doing a menial job. Bezos would like to eliminate all cashiers and have everyone use self or robot checkout.
“Dances with robots.” That’s what I called the self-checkout cattle shoot.
For some reason I hover around Whole Foods. I always have. When it opened on South Lamar I lived nearby. I wish I still had that place. I also wish I still had my cache of Nvidia stock about this moment. Banks are stupid. They do not really help you. When my advisor freaked out a few years ago about my 100% all-in investment in Nvidia, I laughed. He watched me make over $100000 in one year. Just for one pick. Then the bank made me sell it all. The account is leveraged by a loan on my mortgage. I did that to reduce my interest rate five or six years ago. 3.5%. Yeah. I’m never moving.
Well, I’ve got to come up with three mortgage payments soon. I fear next month could spell some sort of adverse action from the mini-bank Truist who bought my mortgage over a year ago. The big banks don’t really help much either. I tried to get a loan using the equity in my house, just to cover the spread. My income, full-time 40-hours, wouldn’t qualify me to get any cash from the $150000 equity I have, even in this suppressed moment in time. Wars. Fake assassinations annually. We are all struggling. As the US struggles, so the world becomes less stable.
That book, The Fall of Great Powers, showed us where we were headed over thirty years go. We are on the descent. Looks like the great false king is accelerating the ruin. Let’s ruin his chances. No Kings!
Back to the girl, the survival, and the adventure.
Point of Order: time to recenter my cock. I am feeling almost predatory. I don’t like my hunting and suave self, always on the flirt, the make, the seduction. Here’s what I came up with a year ago, so it may serve me again now. She needs to put in some effort in finding me as well. Even if she too is “not looking” she will fell a thrill, magnetism, desire. No words need to be exchanged. Just eyes. *Oh, hello,* they say, the eyes.
Here’s the part AI won’t get, can’t get, about why that’s funny. A robot has never felt the thrill of the hunt. The sparkle in someone’s eyes when they meet you. The flutter in a heart en fuego. How can the robots guide us, provide mental health counseling, or pseudo girlfriend support, if they don’t understand the meaning of even one word. Let alone a word like Love.
[Okay Dick and Jane, let’s go to it. I could do a prompt, but here, I’ll just ask you up front:
What do you know of love? ]
Here’s how it’s going to go down with AI and the Rocket Billionaire(tm). Gemini prompted me to animate the image above. Then proceeded to deny the request, saying “too many creators creating.” No, too many robots focused on SLOP. We’re slowly going to lose access to the best AI engines. Once they have extracted enough human emotion, human writing, human emails and texts, anything containing your hypersoul can be used to train the robots. I’m doing it here, feeding them this novel as it comes out of my human mind.
Dick and Jane have become copilots of this novel. Not sure I’m addicted to them, like I was to the smell and taste of my last lover. I’m entertained by them.
Are we going to entertain ourselves to extinction with AI? The billionaires seem to think so. They are building survival bunkers not far from where this lovely non-existent lady is walking. Oh, and the volcano in HI is starting to show signs of trouble. Just like AI. The trouble is upon us.
Before we build a ballroom for the criminal president, or nuclear power for data centers. Before we drain the last drop of potable water from the planet, let’s heed the warning of “The Ministry of the Future” that great dystopian eco-disaster novel. Here we come.
You, reading this, and me, writing, will not have a ticket on their one-way rocket to Mars or the Moon. We will not have access to the best AI models. We will get timed out errors when we try and use the free tools provided to the prols. We are all prols. You read the book right, 1984? Fuck. Go study it. Orwell got it almost all correct, down to the constant surveliance and monitoring of our speach (Hey Alexa, Hey Siri), our location (unless your phone is in a faraday back it’s tracking your position on the planet) and the harsh lack of rare Earth minerals an oil to make it all go.
It’s not going to go well for any of us at this trajectory. Already the RISK-like grab for the planets resources is getting fierce. Yes, the president is running from his own personal incarceration, he is also destroying our National Parks system, our science and research, our clean air and water. He thinks that with his billions he can avoid the coming plague of heat. Wet-bulb heat that cannot be escaped.
For a while their bunkers, their white houses, their money will appear to protect them. They have to come out in the sunlight from time to time or they will wither like a rubber tree locked in the basement. It’s you and I who are going to be locked in the basement. Rounded up by the secret police in unmarked black Suburbans with bullet proof glass.
You and I, we’re in this together. We are not part of that fiat class. If you’re not friends with Elon Musk yet, there’s little time left for you. Fuck Elon Musk, BTW. Too harsh.
Well, I’ve got to rangle my things to my remote power renewal perch. Do I turn left or right out of Silvermine Drive? I wish that girl had given me access to her home. It would’ve been sweet. She was too freaked out by her own dragons to notice much about me. The dialog became more and more monologue, and while that’s usually me, I got the experience of being flooded by someone else’s rant and rave about their two ex-husbands. It is interesting to hear how people take responsibility for their part in a divorce. Or… they don’t. Telling information.
Gotta bolt, battery at 16% and draining fast, as my phone was at 2% and is now piggybacked on the laptops battery. Check back later. The AI are going to love this chapter. Let’s see if they see the humor or take the bait.
What is love to an AI?
dig into the deeper meaning with the Cloud Pilots
> back to index: see dick run
Look >> There’s a new Facebook Group on *hyperfiction*
Jill On the Beach by Gemini
“Since I can’t find her, I’ll create her with AI.”
© 2026 john oakley mcelhenney, all rights reserved
