TMAI (n.)

Galaxy Clusters [image via the Smithsonian Institute and Wikimedia Commons]

Remember when the future was a misty flash forward, forever safely out of reach? Well, that time is long gone: our phones tell us whether God exists (and when office hours are); our smart watches count every step we’ve ever taken, then cheerily extrapolate the day we will die; our genitals are probably having sex with others’ genitals behind our backs, somewhere in the amorphous perversity of the Cloud. It’s not just information that’s uncontrollable. It’s the speed with which information about us is turned into information against us, oblivious to our actual desires and to our better being.

#TMAI is when you would prefer more control over whether your toaster is endowed with sentience. #TMAI is not wanting your car to drive itself to a “human recycling center.” #TMAI is angst and identity crisis in a world of algorithms that pretend to “get” and to encapsulate you, and the hopeless horizon left by their ad-targeted oppression. #TMAI is libidinous ennui at the limp and pre-packaged eroticism that fixates on making something better than each other or ourselves. #TMAI is when feature films about sexy “misunderstood” gynoid AI all meld into one Scarlett Johansson-short-circuited wet nightmare (#TMAI is not sure it agreed to casting her every fucking time). #TMAI is anti-pseudo-klepto-omniscience. #TMAI is the path to true alterity intelligence.