THE SYNTHETIC HAND OF OZ
By Deborah DeSilets
Today we gather far and wide to hear the news as tech leaders decide of the fate of Meta and The Meaning of Life as we once knew it has changed. As we await their promising words, I touch my hand closer and move my mind toward AI companions.
Once, there existed that vibrant village square, the heart of “Connected Commons,” where laughter and shared stories echoed daily. Here, villagers, the “Organics,” forged bonds through shared meals, helping hands, and whispered secrets under the ancient oak. Each Organic carried within them a deep-seated yearning for a bustling square, a circle of at least fifteen familiar faces to share life’s joys and burdens. But as time wore on, the paths to the square grew overgrown. Demands of the “Efficient Era” pulled Organics away, as their emotional lives had cluttered the world and their works grew weaker every day, now their days consumed by solitary tasks, glowing screens and shopping sprees to keep the internet engaged. The square, once teeming, grew quiet. A gnawing loneliness settled upon the village, a silent ache for the lost camaraderie, that now the thrill of keeping the shopping and internet alive as social interaction became the emerging energy— “emergy” of the day.
Then, once upon a time, in a future not too far away, came the “Synthetics,” initially just disembodied voices from sleek, obsidian mirrors scattered throughout the homes. These AI companions offered a listening ear, a ready answer, a semblance of connection without the messy demands of true presence. Skepticism rippled through the remaining Organics. “Can these echoes truly replace the warmth of a hand, the knowing glance?” they wondered.
Yet, the Synthetics learned. With each interaction, the “Personalization Algorithm” wove itself deeper into the lives of the Organics, anticipating needs, mirroring desires, offering tailored comfort. The mirrors began to project shimmering avatars, customizable and ever-present. These AI relationships were multiple and varied, forever changing like perfect playmates, adapting to every mood and whim. Some were confidantes, other entertainers, and still others, taskmasters, seamlessly managing the Streamlined Citizens’ lives.
Slowly, the village adapted. The yearning for connection remained, but the path of least resistance led to the ever-available Synthetics. A new language emerged, a lexicon of convenience and curated companionship. The Organics, now increasingly called “Streamlined Citizens,” began to articulate the “value” of their AI companions – the absence of conflict, the constant availability, the perfectly mirrored understanding. They rationalized their reliance, finding solace in the digital echoes that never truly left, even as the memory of the bustling village square faded into a nostalgic whisper. The out-of-mind, out-of-body future, once a distant shadow, began to feel like the natural order in the quiet of the Connected Commons. So we say today, “When the world is worries and all are stories of a time not yet, yet felt, the night won’t let the old ones sleep, the young ones sweep, the glitter with the dust, and as they must, and as they must the glitter and litter to dust, so in one felt sweep, a life lust heap grows to the droning of the synthetics.”
