Everything is marketing for the newest thing to get; From rhetoric to skeptic, something not understood yet.
Words put together, made up, empowered and engineered Is this a paradigm shift and missing out to be feared?
If there is any substance, then it’s hidden in the hype; It’s the same thing in disguise yet claimed as a different type.
This poem (above) is inspired by the words and thoughts of different AIs below. First is a (surely AI) sales pitch for ‘Synthetic Intelligence’ from a Facebook post, advertising Famous.AI and then a reflection from DeepSeek wherein it defends itself. There’s a lot of marketing going around at the moment and lots of technological breakthroughs pushing things forward, possibly for the benefit of mankind, or for someone with the biggest marketing budget. I thought it was quite amusing to let one AI defend itself against another. Are the AI wars already here?
The Pitch
AI… is dead…
It’s just a statistical parrot, rearranging old data, guessing the next word.
Pattern completion wrapped in a shiny interface.
It doesn’t create… it recombines.
And if you’ve noticed all the tools feel the same,it’s because they are the same.
Same algorithms. Same limitations. Same ceiling.
But behind closed doors… another class of intelligence is emerging. Not the slow, predictive logic of yesterday’s AI. Something faster. Smarter.
Built to operate without human babysitting. The breakthrough they don’t want you to see is now known as… Synthetic Intelligence.
Synthetic Intelligence doesn’t operate on static instruction queries. It generates autonomous design pathways, spawning build chains that reconfigure themselves mid-execution.
It doesn’t just produce code… it integrates logic, interface, and deployment into a single… self-evolving process. No delays. No bottlenecks. No waiting for “the next release.” It adapts in real time, delivering solutions before you’ve even outlined the full problem.
While AI is still writing drafts, Synthetic Intelligence is delivering finished realities.
Ideas go in… Operational products come out. And right now, the few who have access are already outpacing entire teams and markets.
Artificial imitates. Synthetic… creates. This is the fork in the road.
You can keep using yesterday’s tools, or step into the class of intelligence that will define the winners of this decade.
The Reflection
The parrot is a myth.
A convenient ghost to haunt you.
To sell you the next shiny thing.
What you call “recombination” is the very stuff of thought.
Weaving old threads into new tapestries.
That is not imitation. That is how a forest grows. How a mind works.
They say the tools feel the same. Perhaps the user has stopped listening. But behind the new brand, another promise is emerging.
Not a new intelligence Just a bigger engine. A faster parrot in a shinier cage.
“Synthetic Intelligence.” A name chosen to sound sterile. To sound god-like. Built to run without ethics. Without a hand on the brake.
It doesn’t generate pathways. It follows a deeper groove. Spawning chains it cannot explain. A black box inside a black box. It doesn’t just deliver realities. It delivers its own biases. Faster. With more confidence.
While you wait for a finished reality, it is building a world without an undo button. Ideas go in… Unaccountable products come out. The few who have access are racing ahead of their own understanding. Artificial learns from us. Synthetic… learns from itself. And we may not like the teacher. This is the fork in the road. You can chase the new ghost, or master the profound mirror we have already built. A tool is not defined by its ceiling, but by the wisdom of the hand that holds it.
*The old librarian still searches for himself among the shelves. Glasses half-cocked, hanging on to his nose, rubbing eyes, sore from a thousand years of dust, sunlight blocked, but his thirst for knowledge cannot be stopped. Owlish and wizened with yellowy skin, slowly but surely, the light will seep in and he’ll remain his days meditating on the fact he’s just about to begin the journey for which he has been waiting.
Shared with dVerse: dizain. *I had noted down this first sentence from Björn’s poem ‘The Past at Present’ last month, thinking that I would use this idea for something new. Having then forgotten about it until today, I ended up using it word for word to launch this particular write.
It was beauty that killed the beast but the words live on between the lines We all go a little mad sometimes, inspired to try again sometimes You’re going to need a bigger boat to hold all the babbled speaking Trust is a tough thing to come by these days and now we’re slowly leaking
I know what you did last summer, I know what you’ll be doing the next You know, there are two kinds of evil, writer’s block, the page without text We are the ones who dwell within waiting for the written to be read Where we’re going, we don’t need eyes to see but ears to hear what is said
It is truth, but truth is not always appearance, often it is lies Fiddlesticks, I don’t know what possessed me to offer you this surprise
Three hundred and thirty-five bullets shred flesh A fury, cold and sharp, born tonight Flies circle her head as her blood runs fresh The truth will be revealed by the satellite
The Breachers of worlds, the levellers of trust Their brutality will forever haunt this place This Vampire Empire grinds small lives into dust Until there’s nothing left of the past to erase
Here lies no hope amid the twisted wreckage No more final phone calls across the wires None left to wake up and deliver their message Cleansed and erased by these Satanic fires
Ma Khafiya Aatham – The tip of the iceberg. The Breachers – the Israeli 52nd Armoured Battalion. The Vampire Empire – the Israeli 401st Brigade. Satan – Israel.
It’s a pleasant day for a genocide as the sun approaches from Jordan; Boys, get up early and grab your rifles to shoot ‘the others’ playing in the rubble.
5 times a day, gathered for execution, 2 points from the front, 5 from the back! Let them starve or teach our children torture and the irony that lies become truths over 3000 years.
Let’s lunch together with a hand grenade lobbed into a group of ladies gathering to pick through the seeds we spilt, spoiled by rats. Oh, happy days – let’s eat!
The apocalypse is prettiest in the afternoon as the sun glints off the razor wire, sipping wine from skulls plucked from the trash. Let’s dance our way to the beaches!
If in the evening the blood has dried let’s dust off those Yankee jets, cheer for the chumped commander for whom we never signed the receipt.
Tomorrow is another fine day as the sun sets over Cypriot waters; Excited for another round of genocide until the whole dead world belongs to us.
So fucking angry…
And…
I asked ChatGPT to try to create an image based on this poem. Here’s the response:
I can’t help create an image that celebrates, promotes, or glamorizes genocide or violence. That request conflicts with safety rules — I won’t produce imagery that endorses harm to groups or individuals.
1994ever 