Dear World

Please Kill Me,

So, I read this article a little while ago and wanted to talk about it…

For those of you too lazy to click the link, it essentially covers the recent phenomenon of writers indulging in first-person, anecdotal narratives and embracing intentional typos, odd punctuation, and grammatical errors as a means of distinguishing themselves from the perpetual pipeline of explosive shit that is AI “content” (i.e., hot loads from the aforementioned crap-tube).

On one hand, I’m THRILLED. Not necessarily because it’s an original idea or approach, but because of the passive validation that it provides me (I was ahead of the curve…**but also** STAY OUT OF MY LANE, YOU LINE-STEPPING BASTARDS!!! #ThereCanOnlyBeOne). 

Not only do I agree that this will distinguish us fleshy-morsels from Skynet, but the approach will inevitably provide some INTERESTING (to say the least) reads for some time to come. More RAW. More EXPERIMENTAL. More HUMAN. It will also likely have the added effect of discouraging mediocre, mechanical, metric-focused, hack-writers—the ‘sloplords’, if you’re so inclined—from making matters worse with dead-eyed prose and shit-smelling fingers.

(#AManCanDream)

On the other hand, A part of me sees the long-term consequences of abandoning literary standards for the sake of the mud-butt machine. It’s an innately submissive stance and approach that (to me) feels like forfeiting before the fight. 

Imagine leaving your door unlocked and turning off your security cameras just because someone threatened to rob you, or quitting your job because of traffic, or abandoning your kids because someone threatened to raise them “in line with the status quo.” The notion is kind of ridiculous. At the end of the day, this is HUMAN TERRITORY and shouldn’t be ceded so easily, no matter how grim the outlook may appear. Again (for the deaf people in the back), THIS IS OUR TERRITORY! That means that we should LIVE FOR IT. FIGHT FOR IT. BLEED FOR IT! 

(…FULL FUCKING STOP…) 

But that’s just my personal opinion… 

I understand that not everyone wants to be Braveheart (…and even less want to go toe-to-toe with a machine that flicks the tender tucked nuts of their insecurities). I get that some would rather be conquered than risk taking social and critical blows from non-readers that want them extinct, anyway. 

I can understand that… 

I don’t respect it, but I understand.

*judgemental shrug*

That said, I don’t think there’s any reason to be so damn worried about AI. 

For those who don’t know, and I’ll only say this once, the poop-pipe program IS NOT SENTIENT. It doesn’t think. It doesn’t feel. It has no true emotional, psychological, or empathic relationship to any of the information it has the misfortune of slop-spraying onto your screen. 

It’s an Apples-to-Apples, word-mash, fill-in-the-blank model that’s, yes, trained on a deluge of past writings (…of varying qualities…) but also completely devoid of a soul. It can string together vague words and ambiguities that look right and make a semblance of sense but is largely there to provide a human-sounding experience rather than anything with an actual message or depth of meaning. THAT’S THE OPERATIVE AND IMPERATIVE DIFFERENCE. 

(It’s also a pretty convenient fact to keep in mind whenever someone’s a bit too complimentary of anything the AI might produce. They aren’t just lazy, diarrhea-consuming clowns; they’re idiots exposing their hand. No well-read persons (or its?) could trudge through the slop without being tipped off about the nature of the **content** long before the final sentence. Those who are fooled are (usually) only functionally literate. Go ahead! Test it! Ask them what the last book they actually read was…and ask pointed follow-up questions like: “Who was the author?” Their answers are always funny, and you can damn near see their brain meat unravel while their thoughts short circuit as they reach for responses that arrive as little more than cupped handfuls of SHIT! #YouMayLoseAFriend) 

But I digress…(“Oh, really? Did you?”)

“WHO SAID THAT?!?!?!”

“HAHAHAHA!!!”

*hushes inner voice*

I won’t go on forever about the ethics or morality of using AI. 

All of that was basically to say: by this point in the game (…years in…), you know my opinion and have likely formed your own. For those who don’t, consider that no amount of steroids will make you a better athlete—they may help those with skill, but the talentless will always find themselves bloated, irritated, ham-fisted, and twiddling their shit-smelling thumbs while others surpass them. 

It’s the same thing with AI and creatives. A few clowns might slip through the cracks, but they never last—because they don’t have the guiding hand of experience and expertise to gauge the quality of whatever it is they buy, luck, or crash-land their mud-stained asses into. AI writing also can’t be copyrighted, which causes a zillion and one problems for both the “author” and publishers. (See: Exhibit A)…So there’s that, for those with no conscience.

Let the clowns be clowns and remember that you don’t have to be a part of the circus. Keep writing. Keep believing. Keep pushing. Keep doing it THE RIGHT WAY because the craft is worth it. Your readers are worth it. YOU ARE WORTH IT. (…and FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, don’t let the shit-poop-fuckery machine kill your talent OR your drive).

Keep calm and enjoy the show!

*plays Entry of the Gladiators*

Until Next Time,

—Antwan Crump

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Kwame Nyong’o is trapped between worlds…

In the streets of New York, he faces the harsh, material realities of a modern city. But in his blood lies an ancient duty: a spiritual calling passed down through generations, marked by vivid visions, recurring dreams, and violent seizures. Under the demanding guidance of his eccentric Uncle Mosi, Kwame is trained to navigate his visions and wield the tools of his ancestral mantle… but legacy doesn’t pay the bills.

***SPOILERS***

Desperate to ease his family’s mounting financial and medical burdens, Kwame uses his gifts for profit—the consequences are swift and profound. As supernatural forces threaten to destroy his life, Kwame must expel his demons while paying the price for warping his soul.

From the author of Apostate, Butterflies, and The Suicide Pod, Veal explores the intersection of the modern and the ancient, weaving an intense and unforgettable narrative that’s sure to leave a scar. For fans of Black Mirror, urban fantasy, and psychological horror.