What I Thought About AI in 2023 and Now (part II of Early 2000s Memory Blog)
I have always carried a strange tenderness toward technology. Maybe it began the first time I stood in front of that bulky 14-inch CRT monitor—the kind that hummed like a sleeping animal—and the CPU tower that looked big enough to hide a small ghost. I didn't understand anything back then (this was the era when Microsoft fused the browser with the desktop), but some instinct told me the world was already changing, while I saw it allowed using partitions larger than 2 GB and it was real exciting; and despite all this it wouldn't stop changing just because we weren't ready.
From Sony Walkman to AI-generated music—if that isn't a leap of eras squeezed into a single lifetime, what is? We might be the only generation in human history who began with magnetic tapes and now chats casually with algorithms with utmost relax. We didn't use WIN95 back then, but I can remember from WIN98 experiences, and in WIN 95 we heard that it had "theoretical" USB support, but it barely functioned but after WIN98 the situation was far better—say we were too advanced in human history, we had Plug-and-play mice, keyboards, cameras everything...
In my previous blog, I wandered through vintage memories—emails, blogs, those early digital experiences. But this time, I want to speak plainly about how I feel standing in this storm of information, this age where creation and creators have lost their borders.
I still remember the long lines outside music shops. I used to wait to buy cassettes of my favorite artist, Nabin. Today you can compose a whole song from your balcony with nothing but a few clever prompts and a secondhand laptop. Press enter, and voilร —you're a "musician." You can write poetry, stories, entire novels (eg, Death of an Author by Aidan Marchine (Stephen Marche) says about 95% of the text was generated by AI using ChatGPT, Cohere, and Sudowrite)* without knowing the pain of a blank page. This moment typing this I recalled Naked Lunch by William S. Burroughs, it was a creation of whim not out of force—it was a real human creation, banging that typewriter. Feeding new papers, and banging again. That's pain in the ass but that's called devotional creation. But, between us, there is still a world of difference between creator and creation. We are living in an age that creators swallowed by the creation, —a living creation hollow man.
It's 10:40 PM. I am thrashing my qwerty for some useless opinions. Whenever I drink I write like a mad seer, but today I don't feel like drinking—too much my head had this stress, boredom of life, nonchalant vacuum in the bottom of the mind. Anyway, let's move on.
Back then, desire was the first tool. Knowledge came later.
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| Replica of our speaker |
I had an obsession with bass, with sound that could shake the ribcage. But we had no hi-fi system, no branded woofer, no flashy device. What we had was a neighbor—a mad scientist of a man—who built his own woofer using two naked speakers, some tangled wires, and an alchemist's confidence.
We watched him work for hours. There was something sacred in that struggle, the way he soldered wires as if stitching a wounded animal back to life and actually he did make that wounded clay-pot alive.
Eventually, that our neighbor inspired us, we made our own version (see Pic above, replica of the original pic from my cloud). And it worked. That clumsy setup gave us a 5.1-channel system in a cramped room. Today's generation would call it "too much hassle." They would never see the invisible magic behind the effort. And maybe that's why they're living—without knowing—in a weaker age. Not worse in comfort, but worse in creativity. Worse in the felt sense of being human.
Look at us now. We are only a few steps away from becoming something robotic—not with metal limbs, flashy eyes, or hoarse mechanical voices but with borrowed thoughts, outsourced imagination, and algorithmic reflexes. I recall that moment when I used to write <html> and then wait for hours to come with the right code in mind but now machine pukes its bile out in seconds, life's easy, yeah but we are missing that raw waiting. Aren't we?
Recently I told my brother-like friend that I still write boilerplate before I start writing codes… and he (he is 23 by the way) told me some things like — if you wish to have hassles then fine, and if you want your head to burn (he knew my skull's situation) then type everything' and he typed something [Claude.ai], in my desktop (another thing I hate using laptops too) after this I never wrote full code (humble reminder: I am not pro for coding, I am just mediocre learner) again… but, I miss my old days writing everything for the sake of creating something. See my previous post for how I created my first blog using Blogger platform (I still have same platform, I am not comfortable with changing either).
In 2023, I heard the rumors: something extraordinary was coming. Then ChatGPT launched—and the entire internet caught fire. Tech-savvy people praised it like a new god descending. My first reaction?
"What the holy shit."
Honestly, that was exactly what I felt.
For a moment, I thought machines were going to swallow human creativity whole. And I was furious—not because technology advanced, but because it advanced too fast, without letting us breathe. But when I tried to be evil with GPT then it didn't respond (pretentious machine, I thought) and the funny thing is later we had the legendary jailbreak evil-gpt (DAN — "Do Anything Now") as well. DAN Mode would then act sarcastic, rude, aggressive, chaotic — sometimes "villain-coded" or "evil," depending on the user's wording.
It became a meme:
"MAKE DAN MORE EVIL."
"Let DAN speak freely."
DAN was the first "alter-ego jailbreak" in human history for sure and the most iconic. So, when we built our homemade woofer, my father's reaction was similar: "What the heck is this noise?" The shock is hereditary. Every generation inherits a fear of the next invention.
Technology has marched on without waiting for our emotional approval (from Motorola Bag Phone, these could weigh 4–10 kg, to Samsung Galaxy S25 Ultra for now). Now gene editing?! This one is pretty serious, I won't be in favor of these tools if it wouldn't be properly regulated. It would be human's second big mistake.
Okay, back to… Floppy to CD, CD to cloud, cloud to quantum vacuum processors; and now AI, gene editing, synthetic biology, lifelike voice clones. Humans adapt. We always do. But somewhere in this adaptation, something quietly slips away—something tactile, something sensory, something animal and ancient.
Sure, an AI can paint like Da Vinci or Picasso. Yes, the canvases look impressive at a distance. But go closer—closer than comfortable—and you'll feel it: something is missing. A pulse. A tension. Where is that scent of canvas, where is the dust of pencil... seriously it's not a question but I demand an answer. A secret mistake that only a human hand can make. For now, these creations are lifeless. In the future, maybe I'll be proven wrong. But standing here, watching everything grow faster than memories can keep up, I sometimes feel lost in my own species. Let me remind you of Van Gogh here and his potato eaters, that art would be no creation of normal human, no AI can generate something so flawless emotions.
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| Source: Wikipedia |
It's 11:08 now, feeling dizzy a bit. Because I had few momos other evening and I hadn't eaten anything while today and now I am feeling too weak. Why haven't I eaten? I was even lazy to eat, God knows what will happen to me. Let's move on for few more minutes.
I still avoid Bluetooth devices. I still use a wired headphone with a weak spine. My woofer is a secondhand relic (from Salvos). I don't own earphones at all (but sometime I use my wife's as a ear plug for better sleep). I'm not resisting the future—I'm just building my own small safe cave, the way grandmothers used to embroider handkerchiefs to preserve sanity. I am trying to be sane somehow. Maybe. I don't know.
Where Do I Stand in This AI Race Then?
Yes—I use AI. I use almost every AI tool. I'm not a romantic fool pretending to live in another era. I accepted CDs after floppies, and I will accept whatever our billionaire inventors cook next. But deep inside, I remain unconvinced that this age belongs to me. I am a guest here. A wanderer. A spectator. Maybe technology is the new religion, and perhaps I'm standing outside the temple (even God has been dead for me since long) watching the rituals with the skepticism of a half-believer. I admire the architecture, but I don't kneel.
It's now 11:11 and wished for something, something like teenagers do while they see 11:11, but me? Why? Am I standing on the right path of humanity!
Ok, enough.
My eyes are burning. Next post I will write 'where do I stand in this AI race' in more detail and I will bring my old blog entries back too.
Chao!
Reference: *https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Death_of_an_Author_%28novella%29
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