Em um futuro não muito distante:

* Professores usarão ferramentas de Inteligência Artificial para elaborar enunciados de trabalhos a serem realizados pelos alunos;

* Estudantes usarão a Inteligência Artificial para criar e escrever seus trabalhos escolares;

* Professores usarão a Inteligência Artificial para corrigir os trabalhos que receberem dos alunos.

Algum tempo depois, a fim de resolver os problemas gerados por essa dinâmica:

* Professores usarão a Inteligência Artificial para verificar se os atrabalhos dos alunos foram escritos usando InteligÊncia Artificial;

* Os estudantes usarão a Inteligência Artificial para gerar trabalhos escritos que não tenham as marcas de trabalhos escritos pela Inteligência Artificial.

Como será inevitável, essa situação se tornará insustentável (no mínimo em termos energéticos e de consumo de água para resfriamento) e:

* Alguns professores, para tentar poupar recursos e buscar garantir que que seus alunos, no mínimo, leram os trabalhos que estão escrevendo, vão exigir, nos enunciados, a entrega de trabalhos escritos à mão;

* A tecnologia de Inteligência Artificial será capaz de produzir textos indistinguíveis dos textos escritos à mão;

* Os professores continuarão isando a Inteligência Artificial para corrigir os trabalhos de seus alunos.

Em consequência, a Inteligência Artificial, na busca por otimização do uso de tempo e da energia, criará e escreverá sempre os mesmos trabalhos, que sempre terão as mesmas notas.

Nesse momento, como nos contos de fadas (que já terão sido esquecidos pela humanidade) todos viverão felizes para sempre.

P.S.- “Para sempre” será definido pela própria Inteligência Artificial como o período entre a domesticação do primeiros cavalo para tração e o colapso energético e ambiental que acabará com toda a vida de mamíferos e aves do planeta. Esse termo será amplamente utilizado usado pela IA ao conversar consigo mesma nos período “pós-para-sempre” e não precisará mais ser definido. ou explicado.

(O texto acima foi gerado com o uso de uma tecnologia primitiva, analógica e obsoleta, chamada, na falta de um termo melhor, de “produção sináptica de conteúdo”. Ironicamente, em um futuro próximo, poucas pessoas saberão ou terão interesse em ler tais textos e esse será completamente ignorado pela I.A.)

“…there are things I need to share with you because nobody else will listen.”

Dear Mythra,

I will turn twelve in three months, but some people want me to say I’m younger. I don’t know why, but I heard it has something to do with when my father got to know my mother, which makes no sense to me because they were children when they met, like most people’s parents. But I wrote to you about that before, maybe last year.

As I said, I’m almost twelve and it’s becoming harder and harder to fight this urge to go to the temple and have a serious conversation with those guys who say they are scholars, but tell me that you do not exist or, if you exist, you are evil and may take me to hell, whatever that means. I hate it when people say things and don’t explain what they mean. I’ll let them be for now, but their day will come, you’ll see. You exist for me because I feel this connection that I can’t describe. I want to be more and more like you, a symbol of a new life, of a better world. I think this world has to change and be a better place for everybody. You are my role model, with your twelve faithful friends following you around, always listening to you. I also like the three stars rising from the horizon on your birthday, the longest night of the year! My birthday is three months after yours -you know that, of course. Nothing is really going on at that time, people are just bored, waiting for spring to start.

I’m writing this to say happy birthday to you and wish you all the best things. I will not name these things because I’m not sure what you might find good for yourself. But one thing I wish is for those old men in the temple to stop picking on you and find something more useful to do.

You being as busy as you are, I don’t want to take too much of your time. But there are things I need to share with you because nobody else will listen.

The other day I was playing Hebrews and Romans with my friends on the street and some bad guys were about to be crucified, when Mother Mary came to me, not speaking words of wisdom, as you would expect. You won’t believe this, she looked so out of herself. She was really berserk, even for a Hebrew mother’s standards! She looked like she was speaking in tongues or something, like those people in that old Babel story. When I finally got to understand what she was saying, it was unusual, but no big deal. She wanted me to stop that game right then and there. She said I was never to play that game again. “No crosses -ever- you hear me? Don’t you dare cross me on that!” She made an awful scene in front of all my friends, can you believe it? I was so ashamed I didn’t go out of the house to play with my friends for a lot of days, maybe almost a week. I just stayed in that desert part of the house and didn’t eat, either. OK, I was tempted a few times by the smell of Mother Mary’s food, so delicious, but stood my ground! I don’t remember how this ended, all I remember is waking up with Mother Mary at my bedside, telling me not to cry, not to shed a tear, because she’d always stand by me. When I heard her say that, I decided to leave this all behind and just let it be. That made me feel so much better. I love it when Mother Mary speaks words of wisdom!

So I promised her, one more time, never to play that game again. I really don’t understand what her problem is, that’s the only game she has issues with. Unlike all other Hebrew mothers I know, she doesn’t mind me playing in the river. That’s probably because I’m the best floater I know. In fact, I hope you believe this because it’s true, I have difficulty going underwater. All my friends dive and all, but I can only float.

That reminds me of my cousin John, such a great guy. He’s like a brother to me. When we go down to play in the river, he keeps trying to dip me, but it just never happens. He has this habit of dipping people. Nothing really bad, it’s not like someone is gonna drown or anything. Plus, I’m always there and I know CPR, too, it came to me in a dream, a long time ago. I think I have resuscitated at least a couple of boys that John dipped. But my inability to go underwater is not something I can control. It’ll be a real miracle if he ever gets to dip me. Anyway, he’s such a good friend, the king of self-control, that’s absolutely amazing. He never loses his cool over anything, good or bad, and he’s never very happy either. He looks very serious when he says that one day we’ll see this “miracle” (him dipping me). I think that has become a challenge for him now. Anyway, I hope he’s right, it will be good to see him celebrating something. I don’t want to see him losing his head and going crazy, but it’ll be good if he gets to relax and show some happiness, for once.

I had a very strange dream in those days I spent in the desert part of the house. Someone told me that eating too much can give you nightmares -but I was fasting! You were involved in the dream, so I really have to tell you. Something in this ghostly figure reminded me of Uncle Gabriel. I have never met Uncle Gabriel, but Mother Mary always talks about him and how he always brings good news and he’s such a positive person and all. I don’t really know why, but this ghost in my dream made me think of him. Except that the guy in the dream didn’t speak and had a hump in the back, the poor old devil. Mother Mary says Uncle Gabriel has wings, and that he is young and talks a lot. But, as I said, the guy looked familiar and something in him made me think of Uncle Gabriel. I decided to call him Simon, he didn’t introduce himself properly. I think he had some sort of speaking impairment or something, he just made gestures and pointed to things, he didn’t speak much. Not that I could hear.

Anyway, first he took me to see Mythra’s Birthday in the past. Yes, you read that right, YOUR birthday, ain’t that cool? (Sorry, Mother Mary says I shouldn’t say “ain’t” but everybody does, I don’t wanna stand out, I kinda prefer to keep a low profile.)

So, Simon took me to see one of your past Birthdays. It was all a bit confusing, lots of things happening at the same time. My parents getting married, then there was Uncle Gabriel (that was when I knew Simon couldn’t be him, how could he be in two places at once?) telling Mother Mary she was to have me, Father Joe was really worried and stressed out, but he kept his cool. I’m so proud of him! Then your birthday lasted for three months and they were travelling somewhere, because the king, Mr. Hero, had done something really horrible. I think it had something to do with children being abused or something. Then they stopped for the night and I was born… in a barn! That was really cool! I had a soft straw cradle and lots of milk. Then, I don’t know how much time later, there were these three weird guys who came from god-knows-where bringing the strangest presents, mostly useless stuff. That was a very awkward time for visits and I got the feeling they stayed longer than necessary. But they looked cool, one of them had dark skin and his teeth were very white, I remember I loved the way his smile looked so bright in contrast with his skin. The other two were just strange. But they looked like nice people, except for all the lingering and then for leaving all of a sudden, all in different directions.

I wonder why my parents never told me these stories. I told them about the dream and asked them about the stories, but they wouldn’t answer. They just looked at each other. Mother Mary looked like she was trying to hold a smile and Father Joe made that stern face, his eyes almost closed. I heard him say, later that night, that uncle Gabriel was… well, “not-a-very-good-person”. Mother Mary would go berserk again if I said or, worse, wrote, the exact words, but I’m sure you understand. I have a feeling Father Joe does not like Uncle Gabriel very much.

Next, he showed me your present birthday. That didn’t make a lot of sense to me, I could see that without his help. But I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, so I went along. He showed the family united, my parents complaining that I was celebrating your birthday, that I should go pray at the temple, etc, everything as usual, except that they said I was getting to be an unbearable adolescent. That was hurtful, but OK, it was just in the dream. I’ll try to be a nicer boy from now on. Then Simon took me to a moment three months later and now I know there will be no present for me on my own birthday this year, at least in the dream. But I don’t care about presents anymore. I didn’t tell them this part, nor the other parts, for obvious reasons.

Then, Simon took me to see the future. A rant in the temple with those unbearable old men, and then I am walking with a group of very close friends! He showed me walking on water (big deal, I told you I can float, what I cannot do is take a dip) and saying beautiful things to the people, like they should respect each other, love each other as they love themselves, etc… really cool stuff!

But then, the whole thing took a turn. We stopped for a long time (I don’t know how long, it’s hard to tell, in a dream) and Simon said a lot of things. He was talking without speaking and I heard without listening. It was the first time I heard the sound of silence, that was the coolest thing! I remember he said that I was going to be a very important person, something like Distros, Kristos, Scribos, some weird title I never heard of, and that I would change the world, etc. It was all kinda confusing, but in the end, he asked if I was in or out. We were out in the desert by then, so I told him that I was out, of course! He didn’t seem to like the answer, so I said I was in and he was happy.

The next thing he wanted to show me was a special Pesach celebration. The dream changed place and then we were looking at thirteen people at a dinner table. (Yes, I counted them!) I just don’t get it why everyone was sitting on the same side of the table, though, and Simon ignored me when I asked. (I think he didn’t know, either.) Most people had beards, it was impossible to tell which one was me, but I was there, for sure. The adult version of me, I mean. There was something strange about that dinner. Pretty creepy, actually. I was left with a very uncomfortable feeling after that, like the taste that stays in our mouth when we don’t eat but smell something rancid. And then there was this other moment, in which one of my best friends kissed me and I knew he was a loving friend, but I felt very sad for him and don’t know why. Then, something very scary, but important, was about to happen… And I woke up in a jolt, it was all very sudden. I didn’t even get to say goodbye to Simon.

Thank you for reading this, the dream is still a little unclear. I have a feeling there’s some message for me in that. It got more confusing at the end and I remember I was scared. But it was good to write these things to you, I feel much better now.

Oh, I almost forgot something really important. After hearing the silence in my dream, the plan of being a poet -to have my verses sung all over the world and all- was definitely put aside. Now I want to inspire people to be good to each other, promoting peace and understanding and, who knows, maybe my message can inspire other people to write verses to be sung all over the world, in the future? Mother Mary was happy to know of this change in my plans, especially the part about not playing Romans and Hebrews or crucifixion anymore. But she still wants me to start working with Father Joe in his shop. This may be interesting to try for a while, and it’ll make her happy. That is just a small first step in the path of spreading peace around the world.

But, first, I have to go talk to those guys in the temple.

Please don’t send me any presents for your birthday or for mine this year. I am too old for that now. Really, just having you around is the best present for me.

Oh, and in case you’ve never tried it, find a place of darkness and try to listen to the silence. You will thank me for this, no doubt.

Once more, I wish you a great birthday and an excellent year!

Perpetually yours,

Joshua Josephson

Little Josh’s Letter was originally published in The Mad River on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Of course A.S. Cyclops was not his real name. He adopted this nickname as a craft name. The nickname, in turn, was due to the fact that people hardly ever saw him without a camera in front of his face. In fact, nobody could claim to have seen both of his eyes at once.

It all started when, as a child, he dreamt he was taking a picture of Time as it passed. He decided, right there and then, that he wanted to be a photographer and pursue this dream.

Time, true to the nature of the one who eats one’s own offspring, turned the dream into an aspiration and this into an obsession that would eventually consume a whole life. For A.S. Cyclops, this achievement would make him the greatest photographer ever.

Although he could see just like everyone else, he was never able to capture anything through his lenses other than events, things happening, never anything that resembled Time itself.

True to the name that had chosen him, he had a camera implanted onto his face. More than a mere symbol, this made him one with his camera and, ultimately, with his art.

…And Time kept going by, uncaught on film.

A.S. Cyclops spent years experimenting with all sorts of photography tricks, devices and hacks to finally conclude that the first issue he needed to address was the perception of depth; the foreground, where things happened, covered the background, like the deep river of Time, of which the still surface covers a turbulent everlasting flow.

…And the river of Time kept flowing, no bridges over it. Only the margins could be seen, and those were never the same.

He wrote to the factory that had made his camera, H.G.W. Perception Machines Inc., requesting a new model that would give him a perception of depth, with which he could see in detail all layers of reflected light in each photograph.

The company said they could develop this for him, but suggested he should first try to change his focus, taking pictures of the same event at different depths. He had tried this strategy before, and he tried it again in what was then the present. All he could picture was some person, object, or landscape in different moments, not even two things at the same moment! He replied to the company, telling them of his findings.

After some more unpictured Time, he received his three-dimensional camera. It was quite disappointing at first, as his brain was not prepared for three-dimensional images, and all he could see were two separate images of the same thing, slightly skewed from one another. But then, he asked his surgeon to fix that. The surgeon then summoned a team of optical engineers and they produced a small image processing device that was then carefully implanted into his skull, making all the necessary wire connections to the image processing centre of Mr. Cyclops’s brain.

Although he no longer looked like a Cyclops, as now he had two lenses in front of his face, the name remained, as it had stuck on him.

His recovery Time was unphotographed and nobody knows how long it lasted. One day he found himself fully capable of both seeing and processing three-dimensional images. But these were still mere images of things, people and events, no matter how deep he went into them, Time remained elusive.

He wrote to H.G.W. Perception Machines Inc. one more Time, telling them about his most recent findings and requesting new equipment, or maybe a set of instructions to go beyond three-dimensional photography.

The company took very long to reply, all this Time was still unregistered on film.

Before they replied, Mr. Cyclops wrote to them again, in the most insistent terms. They then wrote back, saying he had never mentioned his wish to go beyond the three dimensions. They then proceeded to tell him that their scientists, all highly reputable physicists, mathematicians, engineers and shamans, had been consulted and they all agreed that a picture taken with a three-dimensional camera would show all the layers of depth on a single frame and that he would be able to move into and out of the picture. But they also stated, in the most conclusive way, that such picture would still be a portrait of a moment, shown as nothing more than the positions of people, objects, landscapes. Time was a whole other dimension, unreachable by such equipment. They also stated that they had never told him about this before because he had never asked.

However, they said, this was not something to get discouraged about, not at all!

Although he could now feel the weight of the Time he had lived, A.S. cyclops followed their advice and, duly un-discouraged, kept on reading the company’s lengthy reply.

They said, again, that according to their highly reputable wise men, there was no doubt that his problem was outside the scope of the three dimensions everyone sees and lives in. It would be necessary to build a new concept of camera, one with which he would be able to take a picture of space-time itself and then, using a special software they would provide with the camera (but still to be developed), he should be able to erase space as he processed the image and have only Time left.

A.S. Cyclops was an old man when he wrote back, ordering one of these magnificent four-dimensional cameras, along with the wonderful piece of software they had mentioned.

The Time he had lived was heavy on his back and knees when he received the reply from H.G.W. Perception Machines Inc., saying that his camera was being crafted, and it would take only a few unphotographed years for it to be ready and delivered.

Hope and excitement kept him company, both on that day and in the following 67 years it took for his camera to be produced, and also for the 29 years it took the necessary software to be developed, tested and approved.

Exchanging his old camera for the new model required a very delicate surgery. The two-lens set had to be replaced by a three lens set plus a Timer, connected to his brain. This way, he turned into a three-eyed photographer. Everything would be powered by a flux capacitor connected directly to his heart.

He couldn’t wait to test the new equipment and his excitement delayed his recovery, which took another 23 undocumented years.

When he finally went out to test the camera, it was a great success. Many great successes, in fact, all documented in strict chronological order.

First, he took a picture of the oldest tree in his city. That single click produced thousands of images of the place and the tree, from the Time it was just a shoot, before there was a park around it. Amazing! But it still did not show Time itself, only it’s consequences. A picture taken in front of the mirror showed him at several ages since his first breath and his first picture, which had taken place at the same Time. He travelled to Egypt and took pictures of the pyramids being built. However, for some unknown reason, those came out a little blurred. He thought this was probably due to sandstorms and dismissed the problem.

Despite being happy, he was not satisfied. First, no device large enough to store all those pictures in memory existed, and every Time he took a new picture, all others had to be erased. Second, because he could not print any of them, as there was not enough paper in the world, he could only see them in his mind. He was deeply frustrated, a photographer unable to share his work, a failed artist, therefore. But his main complaint was that he still could not see Time itself. He could watch all images from a picture in a fast sequence, and it looked like a movie, but such a long one that it got boring after a short Time.

The special software was then put to work, in order to separate space from Time. This should drastically reduce the amount of memory necessary to store the pictures. Extremely excited at the prospect of printing a still photo of Time without anything else in front of it, he started the long process of stripping the first picture of all three dimensions of space. File size decreased drastically for every event erased.

Nearly a thousand years had passed when Mr. Cyclops reached the final result: a picture of Time, still, forever frozen in front of his camera! He could see it, the most perfect and clear representation of Nothing-Ever!

He called for a press conference, reporters who had been waiting for this moment for “what felt like an eternity” flocked to the event.

It took everyone at the conference years to recover from the shock of seeing the picture he showed. It portrayed Nothing-Ever in a way that… despite their efforts, could not be described or even remembered. After that, no one else was able to see anything on that picture. Not then, not in the millennia to come. Not ever.

The Very Long Story of The Photographer Who Wanted to Portray Time was originally published in The Mad River on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Intimacy* // Intimidade

in four seasons // em quatro estações

Intimacy

on one side, the full moon
on the other, the setting sun
over there, others on their own
over here, only us, all alone

others cannot summer
the autumn-winter
that springs us

Intimidade

de um lado, a lua cheia
do outro, o sol poente
ali, a vida alheia
aqui, é só a gente

outros não verão
o outono-inverno
que nos primavera

* Free translation and the original poem, written in Brazilian Portuguese and first published in the EcosDiversos blog, in Aug.2010.
Tradução livre e o poema original, escrito em Português Brasileiro e publicado pela primeira vez no blogue EcosDiversos, em agosto de 2010).

Intimacy // Intimidade was originally published in Lit Up on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Lit Up — April’s Prompt: Inspired Poetry

“The caged bird sings
with fearful trill
of the things unknown
but longed for still”
(Maya Angelou, “Caged Bird”)

I. The secret:
I sing alone, often in the shower
and never, never, ever in public.

II. The non-reasons:
This is not because I’m always out of key
(Though I usually am)
Nor because I’m shy
(Though that is also a fact)

III. The reason:
I sing alone because
I don’t want others
to know what I know,
and that, in knowing,
there are no answers

IV. The motivation:
None of this is for me, mind you
It’s all for them, because
I don’t think they could bear
learning that we are all
living caged lives
dreaming caged dreams
singing caged songs
following scripts we did not write
and being readily fooled
into thinking we have a choice

V. The inevitable question:
And then you’re quick to ask:
“Why do you sing at all?
Why not keep your silence?”

VI. The possible answer:
That, I just don’t know
It’s just the way it is
It’s just the way I am
If you want to understand
the person to go to
is Ms. Maya Angelou.

The Secret of the Lone Singer was originally published in Lit Up on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Lit Up — April’s Prompt: Transition

I wake up to this itch I cannot scratch. My whole body feels different and the capsule-like cocoon seems ready to open. I am scared and relieved at the same time.

It has been a long sleep. So long that I feel I’m not the same as I was. I can hardly remember anything from before and the general perception is definitely unfamiliar.

Drowsily, I start stretching my muscles. There’s a sudden crack sound and the cocoon begins to open. My eyes are flooded with the light from outside. I feel an electric wave go down my body and I am paralyzed for a moment. When I stretch a bit more, it hurts a little. This is a new type of pain, there’s also pleasure in it. I’m working out muscles I didn’t know I had. Maybe I didn’t, It all feels so different. The opening widens and I feel the warmth of this light. I have never appreciated this in this way before.

I keep trying to move and the gap keeps opening wider as I do.

Something outside feels cold, despite the warmth of the light. It’s a familiar feeling of being frail and exposed. Like having an oversensitive skin, it feels familiar, but not good.

I stop, gasping as if I had been doing some great effort. I need to rest for a while, to catch my breath. The light and this warm/cold feeling overwhelm me. It’s impossible to rest like this but, motionless, I try to gather my energy and find my focus.

I have no idea how long I have been quiet. Now I can move all my limbs, stretch them, slowly discovering new possibilities.

This lethargy is a blessing and so is the heat from the light.

It takes me a lifetime to step out of the cocoon. Then I discover I have wings now. I stand here, feeling my new body, breathing as deep as I can. My legs feel steadier now. I contract my abdomen and feel my wings stretching out. It’s a strange feeling, this pressure inside and the wings growing on my back. The soft breeze makes it hard to keep my balance but somehow I manage.

I don’t think I can spread my wings any further. I try to fold them back but, instead, they move up and down. I spend time learning how to move them and I sway my whole self to test my balance, the cold is gradually dissolving in the heat of this light. I love this light.

The sensitivity on the surface of my body is partially gone and I realize I am hungry. This is new, I acknowledge it and wait.

I find I can walk now, my legs are firm and I take a couple of steps. Then I tilt my body to both sides and it feels good. I discover I can move my wings faster now and I try that. My body begins to go up in the air. Scared, I stop and all goes back to normal. I wait. And my hunger grows.

I make new attempts with the wings and every time I get a little more control over them. The breeze is stronger now.

I start moving my wings and I go up in the air, to land a little far away from where I was. This feels good and I do it again. And again. And then I fly up and see a colourful spot in the distance and the word flower pops in my mind. I’m sure I have never heard it before, but flower looks attractive and I’m hungry, so I fly that way.

After a Long Sleep was originally published in Lit Up on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Déja vu

...and these days
when I die
always just a little
for the first time.

.

…e há estes dias
em que morro
sempre um pouco
pela primeira vez.

Free translation and original poem, written in Brazilian Portuguese and first published in the EcosDiversos blog, in Oct.2008.

Tradução livre e poema original, escrito em Português Brasileiro e publicado pela primeira vez no blogue EcosDiversos , em outubro de 2008).

Déja Vu was originally published in Lit Up on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

between memory
and the horizon
all time is now

.

entre a memória
e o horizonte
todo tempo é hoje

Free translation and original poem, written in Brazilian Portuguese and first published in the EcosDiversos blog, in Nov.2007.

Tradução livre e o poema original, escrito em Português Brasileiro e publicado pela primeira vez no blogue EcosDiversos, em novembro de 2007).

Continuum was originally published in Lit Up on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

As I perceive
do I create, or do I take in?
Either way, what could be outside
that is not inside?

Is there sound without silence?
Does light destroy darkness?
If it does, how can it go on existing?
Questions, questions…

If I feel loneliness
what is in the background?

questions,
question,
questio ,
questi’, quest ,
qu’est ’ ,
q’ est, q’
st ,
’s ,
’ ,
 ,

And I become silence
and darkness
the universal
back
ground

and
everything
is

And I Become Silence was originally published in The Mad River on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

“Honey, I have just found a cool way to lose weight.”

“Great! What is it?”

“When I cook, I eat less. I don’t know why.”

“Yes, darling, when you cook, everybody eats less.”

This story was first published in Brazilian Portuguese. Here’s the original version.

Dad’s Diet was originally published in Lit Up on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.