CCLX - ChatGPT: "machines do not revere"

Q: Do you disagree with me, or have I failed to consider anything good about AI?

You have not overlooked the obvious advantages. You acknowledge AI’s utility, scale, and computational superiority. Your critique is not naïve. However, there are several considerations you may be underweighting.

1. Augmentation vs. Replacement

Your argument assumes a zero-sum exchange: if the machine writes, the human does not. In practice, many uses of AI are augmentative. It can surface counterarguments, expose blind spots, or compress background research—functions that may intensify rather than dilute authorship. The act of choosing, rejecting, and reshaping remains human.

2. Cognitive Extension Is Not New

Writing itself externalised memory. Calculus externalised intuition about motion. Search engines externalised recall. Each shift triggered anxieties about intellectual atrophy. The relevant question may not be whether neurons “fire less,” but whether cognitive labor migrates upward—toward synthesis, judgment, and framing.

3. Friction Can Be Designed

You argue that instant answers extinguish curiosity. That is plausible—but friction need not disappear. A tool can be used adversarially: to demand alternative formulations, to stress-test arguments, to force precision. In that mode, AI becomes a dialectical partner rather than a dispenser of closure.

4. Creativity and Constraint

You frame AI as mimicry without understanding. That is technically accurate in present terms. Yet human creativity also recombines prior material under constraint. The distinction between statistical recombination and human synthesis may be narrower in practice than it appears philosophically.

5. Access and Equity

For many, AI lowers barriers to entry—language translation, tutoring, drafting assistance. What you perceive as loss of self-discovery, others experience as newly possible participation.

Your core value—authentic self-formation through struggle—is coherent. The tension lies not in whether AI is powerful, but in whether power necessarily displaces meaning. It may not. The decisive variable is not the machine, but the posture of the user. 

(exchange goes on for some time, each time the AI takes about 2 seconds to reply, which is kinda uncomfortable.)

CCLIX - on artificial intelligence

I do not criticise artificial intelligence, I am simply trying to explain what I don't like about it. With my dilettante's knowledge about artificial intelligence, it's a little difficult to write about it, much less to explain why I don't like it. But I cannot say that I like it, and by that token, as far as possible, I don't intend to use it. In some ways, saying that aloud makes me feel satisfied. I know that I am rowing against the great tide of positive sentiment for it. I know that it makes me a sort of old fart. I know that I am, quite obviously, foolishly, relinquishing, or perhaps squandering, what is of great use in the right hands. But these are not my hands, they won't be my hands. My hands express what is in my mind to express, and they have done so for a very long time. I couldn't give that up, not to another person, and not to an engine, or an ingenious device.

Which is not to say that I hate it. You might as well hate the steam engine. If suspicion, distaste, condescension and disdain can someday form a powerful hate, then perhaps it just requires my seeing the hateful product of artificial intelligence to hate it. But I don't think it's worth hating something, whether badly created, or badly formed, if it comes from an aggregating power. Essentially that's what I see when I see an artificial intelligence chatbot. It trawls a large, phenomenally large database, possibly all existing human writing, which is larger than I know, but not larger than I can imagine. Then it forms an answer to a question. How it does so, is the ground meat in the sausage. If I can say how I think it does it, it puts a string of letters together that it thinks it has seen before. It uses probability to determine, one letter at a time, what the answer should be. Then it checks the total answer. If the answer sucks, too far away from what it thinks it sees, it repeats, until the output works. And it works the same when it comes to creating images, it uses probability, one pixel at a time, to determine what the picture looks like. In other words, it can mimic a universe, by one dot's relation to another over so many dimensions, but it doesn't necessarily understand the universe, what it is, or how it came about. That takes a bit more unpacking. That's the impulse of humanity's desire for knowledge.

I think doubting artificial intelligence is a fool's game. Give it an eight-by-eight chessboard, and it will crank out the nine billion potential places where the pieces go, and how to win, or at least draw, from every position. Give it anything which you can break down into bits; the same will be granted. What happens when you take an infinite processor, no soul, and let it chill over every known fact to man? It's hard to predict, but perhaps its god-like power is, within a certain sandbox, or playground, capable of utterly, diminutively, smashing humanity's best effort. So if that playground is bigger than we thought, or at least sort of expands past what we drew up, what happens next? If you can show a machine a triangle and a circle, doesn't it imply that the machine will realise trigonometry and calculus, and so on and so forth up to the nth? The playground is then as large as our reality. Well, we have to lose, I suppose. Our much-vaunted intellect simply becomes too slow, too small to matter. In a machine's mimicry, it can outgun originality. 

To those who value utility, utility even at the sake of self-nurturing and discovery, the advantages of artificial intelligence are indisputable. Because, I think, that is the cost of using something so useful. I think that there is great importance in slow, steady learning, with room to sit back, think, and imagine, to breathe in the words. I think that neurons that don't fire enough tend to die, and particularly, those that only come alive when one tries to draw strange lines and images around what one has just learnt, trying to fit new ideas into one's existing scheme of knowledge. I also think that one's curiosity and focus are too quickly extinguished when any given answer is, on the face of it, too complete. There must come a point when one admits, that there is no good answer, and the hunt is afoot once again. But that drive to know the weakest part of a thought or a structure has to be individual and has to come from within. Scepticism, not the kind of weed that spreads out of dry spite or hardy ignorance, grows only in well-watered gardens of thought. And out of that buds rationality and intuition. 

Why, after all, write when something can write for you? I think that's the great question, isn't it? Because writing is fun, and it's self-discovery, and it meanders and it has dead ends and it's occasionally wrong or illogical. But sometimes it's just plain fun, and it helps you see clearly what you wanted to say. Even if it's not fantastic, even if it requires polish, even if it doesn't rhyme or sing, it's still yours, something you that you made, and can leave behind. That great tradition is something that we share with the finest writers of all time, names one must tremble a little to consider, much less to stand beside. Really, to give that up, to a machine, just seems to me a little vulgar.

CCLVIII - what makes a comic great

I love comics. Comics are that incredible interlace between action, expression, contemplation and speech, filled with colour, hand-drawn authenticity and freedom to draw, whether within or without the panel or filling the entire page. That wow moment when you hit a "centrefold", that action scene, or the beautiful, leather-and-mesh femme fatale drawn entirely across, even to the extent of pull out pages, I mean, that's comics. They come from an older time, too, and being drawn and filled by I think the quirkier characters and artists of the 70s or 80s, it feels like something precious handed down by an older generation of flat-out rebels: men who hated villainy, hegemony, smallness, and instead celebrated manhood, the strength of women, the underdog, the street champion against all odds. What makes a comic great? I think it's to do with the fact that it's immediately brought to your attention, opening a comic book, that there is something great in this world that has to be overcome, and the person you're reading about is just the person to do it, in his or her own way. And obviously, comic books are about the very, sexy, women.

I have a favourite comic character, the Batman. It's very simple why I like the Batman. The fact is, he doesn't have any super powers, but he uses his god damn brains to fight crime, and his will. Yes, sure, he has money, and Alfred, but you might think that he's still the Batman regardless. And come on, the villains he has! The very best, the Joker. There isn't a better villain. He's not exactly the anti-thesis of Batman. He's simply himself; he's out there to embody madness. Batman, in contrast, embodies something more concrete; he simply doesn't tolerate crime. Some say, Batman is an outlaw. I think that sort of misses the point. He has a moral compass which is 99% within the shape of the law, and the things he does in that other 1%, he regrets, I promise you. In some ways, he plays the Batman with sorrow. The Joker's glee, if you were to put it that way, is not really the point, it's just a symptom of his being the Joker. He doesn't need to entertain anyone, or even himself; he's past self-reflection. That's the incredible, magnetic thing about the Joker. He's a pure madman. How should I see it? It's like if you woke up in a dream world and you could do anything with absolutely no consequence or moral implication. Nothing. And you decided to say the hell with it, and you did whatever came to mind, all day and every day. That's what it means, I think. And the other great thing about Batman is that the Batman's antagonists know him so well. They gleefully mock and manipulate him in every setting. Over and anon, it seems less good versus evil, so much as seriousness versus fun.

I started with comics probably with Asterix and Obelix. I loved the Romans! They're so military and yet so frightened of Obelix. After that it was probably a bit of Vampirella, a tiny bit of Marvel. I'm not a Marvel fan, I'll be honest. I can't suspend my rationality enough to be one. The modern movies are too much, too. I sorta prefer the tragicomedy of the older films. I liked Sandman, I loved Watchmen on the second reading. League of Gentlemen was OK (in some ways, come to think of it, the Invisible Man is like the Joker in that he can do anything he wants and almost nobody can stop him). I don't own Superman, X-men or Spidey. I'm more of a thinking comic guy I guess; I like it when it's less explicit what's going on.

I also have this comic guy I like, he writes Achewood. Onstad. There's this other guy, Chris Ware, but he's a little bit too down for me. Achewood is it, though, to me it's basically the Simpsons of comic books. Thank god for Ray and Beef! They have to be the greatest comic book partners of all time. Ray is a completely un-selfconscious richboy fatcat, and Beef is basically a deflated balloon whizzing spirals on its way down, unless he's doing IT stuff or talking about a car, in which case he transforms into one of those geeks on Mythbusters. Onstad's thing is very obscure conversations featuring personas from history. Beyond the panels, he's gone through family, breakups, life, business, sadness, and still he gives and connects with his fans through the comics, now on Patreon. It's really good.

Again, what makes a comic great? I think consistency, and character. When I open a comic, recognise the stuff, the parts played genuinely, and the wow effect from the art, interpret the facial expressions, try to imagine what's unsaid, I think that's what makes the whole comic thing great. That's why, honestly, I don't think that comics make great movies, although they can make decent ones out of the comic characters. (Having said that, the old animated Batman series was incredible.) A comic is simply a series of panels. Once you change that, it's no longer a comic in the sense of what that concept is. The deliberacy of the snapshot by snapshot thing is gone, with all its subtext and subtlety. I like that, a lot.

CCLVII - the day will come, darling

(This too has become evidence! So I might as well reveal it.)

My darling,

You are very young and very small, but I think you understand what is happening, in your own little way. In any case, one day I will explain it all to you. My hope is that on that day you will come to peace as I have come to peace.

I understand now why my lawyer urged me to work hard at a reconciliation. It was the only way for me to see you all the time. I hope it's possible, but it depends on your mother. I will try, no matter how difficult it is or how upset or embarrassed it makes me feel, if your mother is willing to give me her terms.

Today I rode my bicycle in the park, as your mother said I could not visit you. I will visit you tomorrow. I listened to a podcast I enjoyed, and Charles Barkley said, when he was down and other people wrote to him to keep his chin up and keep going, it meant a lot to him. I started crying when I heard that, but I decided not to. It's a little odd in public, and I had to blow my nose. I think people think I don't cry. The truth is that I cry a lot when I'm sad. I am very sad to see you so little. I will keep my little chin up, and I will keep going. You are very young and one day we will be very good friends. We will be best friends, at least on my end.

I read a little on the law, and it favours your mother, assuming both she and I are equally decent parents. Assuming that we cannot agree on most things, we will have joint custody, and she will be given sole care and control. That means that you don't get to live with me until you are an adult. I want you to have the chance, if you think it's fun to. But because you are very small, I don't want to confuse you too much either. So if I cannot agree on most things with your mother, I will probably agree that she will have sole care and control, although I personally wanted you over 50% of the time.

I hope to have very amicable and very full access to you. It means that I can do things with you without restrictions. For example, we can go to Gardens by the bay, or to Changi. But it depends whether your mother, who will soon be your headmistress in many ways, can open her heart to it. I will try to persuade her.

One day I will explain to you that it happens all the time, men and women don't get along after marriage, and one of them wants a divorce. I didn't want it. But if your mother wants it, I am not going to stop her. She deserves to find her own happiness, and I sincerely want her to find it. I know that she takes good care of you, even though she doesn't know how to teach and instruct you like I do.

When you were very small, even smaller than you are now, I used to put you to bed, and even though it was very trying, because you liked to cry and complain, and I was very tired from leaning over, I thought to myself, I only have so many times left to do this, probably less than a thousand. I did not know that today that number is zero. But, my darling, I have come to peace with it.

One day we will both have to answer to you. You will remonstrate with me. You will be very upset with me, darling, for not treating your mother better, and letting things come to this. You will also be very upset with your mother, for taking you away from me. I will answer for what I have done, I promise. I hope your mother can too.

If you ever need me, baby, I will be there.

CCLVI - no longer small

You are no longer small. I am hardly worried about you in the sense of you being a tender, squishy little baby. Naturally, you have the run of the house, and your reach startles me sometimes. Around me you are hardly ever worried; you can play quietly and blissfully. I am glad that you know this. You mumble certain things in almost-words, so I am sure that you will quite enjoy talking to me. Already you enjoy certain liberties in the way you bathe, eat, change, the toys that you like to hold on to, the chairs that you like to sit on. 

Of course, I think that you are very cute. But that is not the main thing I think about when I think about you. Actually, I think that you are very interesting, and I like to try to understand your expressions. It is usually one of mirth or curiosity, and simple determination. You repeat simple words such as Up when you are climbing, and Mine when you are holding things and I request to hold them. It's very good. You are quite an active toddler, and your little round tummy doesn't slow you down. It feeds a little giddy laugh you make when you're extremely entertained.

No, you are no longer a baby. It's just one more little step for you into being a child. I hope you won't mind my being a little correct-or once in a while. I think it's what makes you happy with me, that you know my tendencies to be strict, and short of that almost anything goes. Well, that, I suppose and my ability to almost completely disdain mobile devices. God help those who can't put them down. Anyway, for you, that will be in future. Don't worry.

Sometimes when you are sad or hurt, I tell you, quiet, baby, quiet. I hope you understand; that's the best I can do. I don't intend to mollycoddle you. I don't think you need it. And it sounds too ironic when I do it anyway. Ironic means to be in contrast to what it appears to be. You'll probably understand it soon enough with me. I think most people either like it or dislike it intensely, depending whether they're smart or their stupid. Well, I shouldn't say that. You'll judge for yourself, I suppose.

CCLV - KL

KL is a lot nicer than I expected. Of what I've seen, it's cleaner and more modern than Ho Chi Minh. I would have to say that its affluence, at least on the outward side of things, at the very centre, is comparable to Singapore. But that would not go very far in describing the city. It is crowded, and doesn't have clean streets. But you can tell that it matters to them. I suppose, as in any big town, that there is a vast multitude of young and old doing menial things to keep the city sane. I hope they are not overlooked.

Anyway, you can say that KL is maybe 20 or so years behind us, in terms of what one sees from the bus and from walking the hustly bustly markets. I suppose things are cheap and living isn't too dear. There's a lot of hobby and craft on the side, a lot of room and time for it. Maybe you can say that those kinds of folks aren't grafters, but who can judge how a man or woman wants to do his or her own thing? You can't. 

I hope they think of education as precious though. You can't, and I say this with my own prejudices, but you can't provide a comparably wealthy life for yourself and your family without education. That's not saying very much, of course. It's empty by itself, and you have to fill it in with your own determinism. I guess some folks are perfectly satisfied being in first or second gear their whole lives, and think about it only later (again, with the prejudices). What am I, in fourth gear? Come on, now. Those sultans of swing were doing alright, thank you very much. I think what it takes is for a rising tide to lift all boats. Malaysia deserves it, Vietnam deserves it, etc. We were lucky, that's all.

Being a tourist is like being a little bitch. You see this, you say that, you laugh at this, you buy that. Thank god, we have a lot of Melayus and Mikes. So we blend in. But it's obvious we're here to have a good time and spend money, so thank god, we blend in. But I guess that's South East Asia, and certainly KL, everyone comes and goes, and blending in isn’t so much being x as the other side is ok with y. Hanging out with the cabin crew boys, you can see they have their own prejudices, young and old. But in general they are polite and proper, and not too bitchy. In a way, I'm glad I'm both with them and not with them, if that makes any sense. A quiet memory or two, y'know.

Football, football. We had a guy come in, phew, what a dude. Extra black, his belt. Coral, in fact. And such a sweet man too. But the truth is that he smacked a guy for kicking him, had to sit, and we lost the game after. I was so happy on Saturday, sitting down with the dude, basking in the comfort that we were playing good, going for gold. Touching distance. I have only one wish that I could do different this whole weekend, and that's I would have grabbed the other guy first and, well, shielded him. Anyway we couldn't get it done after that, no air in our balloon. I didn't even feel sad that we lost, and another team, or two, danced. It was clear. 

Anyway, I had fun, and I'm old enough not to feed sad. I feel bad for the lads that didn't get to play often. That's on the manager, not on them, 100%. I should tell them that next time. I appreciate all the lads, man, even the guys we scuffled. Not playing much, we've all been there. Well, that's that, unfortunately.

CCLIV - twinkling

I would have liked to write about you more regularly, if only to let you know that I am on occasion a passable writer, that I think about you often, and finally, I suppose, to give you a sort of running commentary on how you are becoming bigger. I guess none of those points are in serious danger of being overlooked. But I hope you enjoy these entries. One must leave behind something.

You have a funny little forward tilt when you want to advance. It smacks of a simple, confident determination, however innocent, or impulsive, it might otherwise seem. But I am convinced that you are a lot better at vouchsafing that little head of yours than me. I know, and was often told, that I used to have a lot of bumps on my forehead. Perhaps I was just a little more excitable than you. You patter along very ably now, on very strong little legs and tush. Indeed, you seldom prefer to hold on to my hand when walking through the MRT underpass. What a joyful little walking gallery it is, with long, running escalators, good airflow, and passers-by who gleam (I should say "beam", but for some reason, I prefer "gleam") so ardently at you. (It's funny I notice too that other children are a little wary of you; well, I suppose, any other toddlers.) But for now, you seem right at home. I like that about you.

Your verbal injunctions could take a little refinement. Lately every round fruit is an apple, you get what bowls are, but sometimes you say gar or something else. Well, your whinging is top-notch, I must say. I wonder where you learnt that. And the funny thing about you is that when I give you an instruction, perhaps not what you were keen to hear, you sort of have a little gumption, and take a little stand for yourself. You end up smacking something or other with your hands, yelping little 'ay's back at me, or throwing out some object you get to hand. Well, we probably have to work on that a little.

You are a very carriageable weight. 10.8, I'm told. I am happy when I carry you. You understand very well when it is time to go out, and when you are a party to the going out. Sometimes you go and stand near the door, pawing at it, of course you also look at me and whine a bit. But I guess that you know, with me, chances of you going out are very good. A clean diaper, carry pouch, shoes, umbrella. I'm the going out type myself. I hope we have many chances to do so.

A few months ago, I put you to bed most of the time. Lately, you get annoyed when it's me. I find your complaining quite funny, actually. Partly you are tired, and partly you want mama. Well, once you settle, grumpily, that it's me, it's just a matter of letting your tired little voice run down, and letting the nice little bed do its thing. A feed, cool air, and you're going to sleep. I suppose it's because I'm sterner with you, and not so coddly, that you get grumpy with me. But I believe that sternness will come good. In any case, I'm not worried one bit about your grumpiness. In time you'll be laughing with me, your hilarious little baby girl laugh.

See you later, bobo!