I just looked at my mind and this came out: Yes, there is a “perfect” AI book. And then there are bookstores, circle reading, book park events, secret swaps on the bus, and festivals. Maybe a camp fire, or at least even a candle surrounded by humans.
And these, the human thoughts of the stories we read at night, will become comfortable in our bodies and stay there.
And because those stories have beautiful flaws, we will see ourselves reflected in them.
And because those stories have the quality of the human heart, these leave us on the lean train or door crouches where we buy, read, give, give, write ourselves.
And because of those stories, we may want to know more about the person who wrote those books. The depth and richness that non-human books cannot provide. And I’m here for that.
I want to continue reading a book that captures me and drags my heart into this story. Or read the book I found, “Oh, well.” I’m not interested in books that fulfill all my dreams (and I think that AI books provided at the right prompt can do just that). I want a book that reads time and time again on the real pages, trains, the beach, trains on the sofa, among other people sitting on the park bench.
Basically, I would like to say that I am Daphne du Maurier, Astrid Lindgren, Struan Murray, Andrea Wolf, Oliver Jeffers, and about 742 other human authors who make my world even more beautiful.
Cickey Grace thought he could cry on the cartoon. 🙂 thank you.
Source: Cup of Jo – cupofjo.com
