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This photo went around for a while

I wrote Still My Father’s Son, a debut collection exploring plurality and trauma, available for purchase now at Sundress Publications, as well as THE MOST HOLY DAY OF THE TRANSSEXUAL CALENDAR, a speculative poetry collection about surviving trans genocide, at Game Over Books. #shamelessplug

2019 twitter was like a dworkian guerrilla

Um, listen up cumslut, I think that I might need to do you a learning, because ermmmm imagine if the Capitol from the Hunger Games met the Star Wars Empire, post-Strikes Back, and ermmmmmm, you know Xi Jinping? Well, let's just say he's Luke Skywalker & Katniss Everdeen all in one. Uh, yeah. Bazinga

I'm not allowed to say more because I promised my wife and my therapist that I would stop being a reincarnated red guard trapped in the body of a small asian girl in Philadelphia, wandering aimlessly and confused, out of place in history.

Behold, the automated loom for weaving the most geometrically smoothed and culturally centrist and manufacturedly unopinionated grist of artistic production.

You don’t hate AI sludge. You hate “content”, it’s simply that AI sludge is mathematically normalized output of “content creation” factory economy.

AI sludge is just the inevitable consequence, the cultural off-gassing and externality, of the economic-political conditions of capitalism. It’s the art-commodity-paramount, (currently) the most distilled form of cynical “content-creation”, a consequence of organizing society this way.

Granted this is a contentious definition of art. Many people would not consider factory produced commodity goods to be art, but I personally consider that kind of a meaningless and kind of frivolous distinction. Art can be bad, and doesn’t contain uniquely transcendent nature. Commodities are art.

It’s the mirror that shows you the parts of yourself, as a cultural collective, that you find most absolutely mediocre. It’s the canned bread of creative expression. It’s automated cultural production. “Is it art” may be well answered with “is ikea furniture art” (Yes, it’s just potentially bad art)

AI sludge isn’t horrific because it’s uniquely unensouled. Rather, it is a mathematically refined distillate of the most middling of human creative expressions, a perfectly uniform sieved silt of therapyspeak and listicle SEOtongue. It’s not “fallen”, it’s the processed byproduct of mundane humanity

The peculiar trials of being married to poet Nora Hikari: being captive to contentious and heated discussion about the differing mouthfeels of various kinds of words for cultural waste.

Evidently it’s not going THAT great yet but we’ll get there eventually.