040: Why We Will Never Make Artificial Intelligence

Watch me work:

I’m going to make a statue
from created things.
See there?
Made it.

I’m going to make three statues out of
clay
marble
steel.
See there?
Made it.

I’m going to make a statue of an
older me making
three statues of
clay
marble
steel.
See there?
Made it.

I’m going to make a statue of an
assembly line full of old, young,
child-labor
me-s
making the same statue of an
older me making
three statues of
clay
marble
steel.
See there?
Made it.

I’m going to build a machine that’s programed
to make identical copies of an
assembly line full of old, young,
child-labor
me-s
making the same statue of an
older me making
three statues of
clay
marble
steel.
See there?
Made it.

I’m going to build a supercomputer that stores
the blueprints and programs to make every
machine that’s programmed

to make identical copies of an
assembly line full of old, young,
child-labor
me-s
making the same statue of an
older me making
three statues of
clay
marble
steel.
See there?
Made it.

I’m going to build a super-duperty-duper-bo-buper robot computer
covered in touch-screens
and Dolby 77.1 sound and holograms
and haptic suits and hovercrafts and
lazerbeams that, covered in cameras, flies like a
hawk full of eyes, an artificial
intelligence I name after human names—a made thing

that can faux-make, that can

build a supercomputer that stores
the blueprints and programs to make every
machine that’s programmed

to make identical copies of an
assembly line full of old, young,
child-labor
me-s
making the same statue of an
older me making
three statues of
steel

marble

clay.
See there?
Made it.

Artificial
intelligence
might not be the same as
created
intelligence.
Sorry, but we
are makers,
because we are
made in the image of an original
maker — creator — unlike the robots
we make: just made to look made.

I’m going to write a poem
using created things.
I didn’t create it,
but
see there?
Made it.

You too.
You’re reading it and
(in the reading)
interpreting it and
see there?
You made it.

And so we’ll both look back one day
over this lifeless junkyard full of things we made
that made things
we made
made of things we

found
and tandem wipe our brows
and say, “
whew
we made it.

}{

For newcomers — a note on 50 @ 25:

Once upon a time, I read that the perfect age for writing quality poetry is twenty-three.  Apparently most of T.S. Elliot’s stuff came out then, the rest of his work being supposedly non-poetic. This resulted in 46 poems written at 23

These poems came out exponentially faster and faster before my 24th birthday on April 30th – and I had to write in genres spanning from epic ballads to limericks to get 46 in on time. I guess that means, for better or worse, that’s the best poetry I’ll ever write. Sad day.

Who was I kidding?

Milton was blind and oldoooooold—when he publishedParadise Regained. Emily Dickenson was dead when her stuff came out. My favorite stuff from T.S. Elliot came out after his conversion. So yeah, old age is good for poetry too. Look at Burns and Berry.

READ NEXT:  You Are Not An Idolatrous Creature of the Earth

(Side note: the name “Berry Burns” sounds like a shady car salesman).

Will I keep up this twice-my-age regimen every few years? Who knows, but this year, here’s to 50 poems at 25 to be written exponentially faster until I turn 26 on April Thirtyish. I do it this the second time around as a way to say: “Here’s to living life well before it’s too late.”

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  1. peggy s

    Liked the poem!

    ________________________________

    1. lanceschaubert

      Thanks!

  2. sedula

    Super-duper-bo-buper. Hmmmm….I prefer super-dee-duper.

    1. lanceschaubert

      Indeed, good call. I knew something was missing.

  3. Doberman

    I was just kidding around. I think when we were kids my brother and I would say super mo mooper.

    1. lanceschaubert

      Oh, I know, but I take goofy childhood moments with my brother pretty seriously. And Chez Geek demands I use super-dee-duper

  4. sedula

    By the way, this film was creepy and went on for about 20 min too long, in my hepcat crowd’s opinion. Hehehe.

    1. lanceschaubert

      True. Hated that flick.

Quick note from Lance about this post: when you choose to comment (or share this post with your friends) you help other readers just like you.

How?

Well, see, your comments & sharing whisper a few things to those who come after you:

The first is that this site is a safe place to speak up & stay curious. That it's civil. That discussion is encouraged. That there's no such thing as a stupid question (being a student of Socrates, I really and truly believe this). That talking to one another and growing together is more important than anything we could possibly publish. That the point is growing in virtue and growing together and growing wise. That discovery is invention, deference is originality, that we all can rise together. The only folks I'm going to take comments down from are obvious jerks who argue in bad faith, don't stay curious, or actively make personal attacks. And, frankly, I'd rather we talk here than on some social media farm — I will never show ads and the only thing I'm selling anywhere on the site or my mailing list is just the stuff I make.

You're also helping folks realize that anything you & they build together is far more important than anything you come to me to read. I take the things I write about seriously, but I don't take myself seriously: I play the fool, I hate cults of personality, and I also don't really like being the center of attention (believe it or not). I would much rather folks connect because of an introduction I've made or because they commented with one another back and forth and then build something beautiful together. My favorite contributions have been lifelong business and love partnerships from two people who have forgotten I introduced them. Some of my closest friends NOW I literally met on another blog's comment section fifteen years ago. I would love for that to happen here — let two of you meet and let me fade into the background.

Last, you help me revise. I'm wrong. Often. I'm not embarrassed to admit it or worried about being cancelled or publicly shamed. I make a fool out of myself (that's sort of the point). So as I get feedback, I can say, "I was wrong about that" and set a model for curious, consistent learning, and growing in wisdom. I'm blind to what I don't know and as grows the island of my knowledge so grows the shoreline of my ignorance. It's the recovery of innocence on the far end of experience: a child is in a permanent state of wonder. So are the wise: they aren't afraid of saying, "I don't know. That's new: please teach me." That's my goal, comments help. And I read all reviews: my skin's tough, but that's not license to be needlessly cruel. We teach one another our habits and there's a way to civilly demolish an idea without demolishing another person: just because I personally can take the world's meanest 1-star review doesn't mean we should teach one another how to be crueler on the internet.

For three magical reasons — your brave curiosity, your community, & my ignorance:

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