Preservation

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I give way too much thought to my legacy for somebody that has barely cracked a dozen published works. Thing is, I can’t help it. I have binder upon binder of notes. I have this addiction to paper and all sorts of sketching and annotation and random outlining of ideas. It is admittedly less organized than I would want it to be, but in there is the culmination of years and years of world building and character notes and map sketches.

Who cares?

A fair question. First and foremost the person stuck cleaning things out I suppose. This is a difficult and sometimes tragic situation.

A long time ago I was asked for my opinion on some works left behind by a young creator. This young person had been killed in an accident and the grieving parents, in their quest for answers as to why this young person was gone far too soon, were lashing out at any and all entities involved in the accident. I was shown a sample of the young creator’s works and asked if I thought this was the seeds of a potentially legendary career cut short too soon.

It’s heartbreaking to see this kind of thing. One of the biggest factors in this particular case was the parents clearly having no interest or understanding in the work presented. Was this a factor in the so deemed ‘accident’? Hard to say. I had very limited access to information about the case (for that is exactly what it became when the parents brought lawsuits and criminal accusations). The scattered papers were gathered up and some notes attempting to bring order or sense were clipped to the front of the stack.

At the time I said I couldn’t see the level of potential claimed by the parents. The sketches were indifferent in skill, copying media available at the time. Fan fiction and use of copyrighted works without permission. I think about this from time to time. Would I see it differently now?

So, I have these thoughts. I have stacks of binders and reams of sketches, some in books and some floating freely across reference books or folded into game manuals. Will somebody look at those and claim there is more there than there is? I have my doubts, but I think about it anyway.

Then I wonder ~ what sort of gap in history will there be when these millions upon millions of words just go away? Yes, I have this addiction to paper, but how many notes, feelings, personal letters and all the other ephemera of an author’s life will be lost when (notably not IF) all the electronic records fail and the internet is gone? How will a researcher dig into the various aspects of what brought a story to life when all that life was held together with circuits and lights?

This is a thought I’ve had before, and one that will likely crop up again. The topic is worth the thought. How many thousands of my words would disappear if my website went away? Would anyone other them me care? What sort of personal correspondence would come up when somebody wondered if I bounced ideas off other authors? Will there be anything to find?

I think this article (link) is both hopeful and naïve at the same time. Not everyone has that addiction to paper. It’s worth reading and definitely worth considering.

Endurance

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Is endurance enough?

No, clearly it is not. There are many other factors involved in creating something that others can enjoy. It does bruise my spirit to see others I know and respect, people I have shared creativity with, lose the thread and stop.

This has happened recently to a friend. He posted a lengthy set of words describing how he was leaving the world of the ‘author’ effective immediately and switching back to creating things in a style and manner much more suited to his preferences. He has multiple books published. He’s creative and has a vision for his work. His words have inspired me before… and he’s quit.

I think that’s a harsh word and sounds sharper than I mean it to. He’s changed back to creating in other media, not listing piles and piles of words and mashing them onto pages for others. He’s won awards in this other format, and bluntly I agree with the people who gave the awards. Fantastic work, but watching the walking away of a creative person stings a little.

Part of this might be me seeing parallels. Part of it might be that his word production out paces mine by an order of magnitude (or more). I simply don’t produce words at the pace he does, even when he believes they’re not landing. Part might be the reality that success at any level beyond your local circle of friends is astonishingly rare.

This is not the only bit I’ve noticed, but it worries me to approach the rest of it.

I’ve never been a person to indulge in ‘crisis’ activities. “Mid-life” implies an end point is known. There are so many things to do in this world, there are so many places to see and even people to meet that giving in and wallowing in bad feelings seems like time that could be better spent trying to do all those things. And yet.

Maybe it’s as simple as being a sign of age.

I was at a second hand book store and found a very nice looking collection of old game books. Being a lover of Dungeons and Dragons, it was my first instinct to pick them up and inspect them despite owning all these works twice over already. Clearly my first mistake. When I picked one up and opened the cover it had the name of a friend I hadn’t seen in a long time written inside. Admittedly, we’d lost touch over the past couple of years, but we gamed together. His smile and his characters and his enthusiasm were always a bright – sometimes to the point of being insufferable – spot in the game. Why would he, being of similar age and mindset give up these most prized of possessions from the past? I went in search of his contact information… only to find out that he had died and nobody had said anything to me about it.

I’m not going to claim some wrong doing or severed kinship here. This is not some odd missed connection internet story. It was just sad. I was sad that I hadn’t known. The certainty of never having those conversations again was a blow. I closed the cover and placed the book back on the shelf. I haven’t been back to that shop since then. I don’t want to dig into that chapter again.

More and more of my peers quit, fade away from the community we’ve had over the years or die. It is becoming more of a struggle, but one that I intend to continue. There is still so much to do and see and experience that I must go forward. I must do all the things. New goals will be set. New paths made to move ahead.

So I endure.

The Speed of a Dream

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The most difficult thing to me is the speed that the stories cascade across the screen in my mind in juxtaposition to the glacial pace they can be placed on the page by way of my fingers. What is the speed of a dream?

I’ve tried the voice to text tools and they’re far better these days than they were before, but there’s something to me about sitting in front of the blank page and tapping away at a set of keys. It feels right. The tactile nature of transferring a story from one medium to another. It can be soothing, it can be evocative, it can be infuriating. It happens at a faster pace from time to time. Sometimes I catch inspiration and the words just flow. The problem of course is that inspiration is fleeting and the stories I have to tell want… need, to be much longer than a few hundred words spilled onto a page in a moment when the images are willing to flow.

If the dream like state could be maintained then the words and the works would be created so much more quickly. There are those who believe the artist must, based on the maintenance of that dream like state, take measures to ensure the dreams don’t leave. It’s a fallacy, and worse, detrimental to the truth of the story one has to tell. IF one is the creator of the story than it should be a true creation, not one based in and biased by whatever concoction or substance the author consumed in desperation to grasp the dream.

Perhaps that’s the key. It’s not a dream, or if it is, it’s a dream that belongs to others. The creator is simply the channel and the words and the works are designed to be fleeting. The creations dash forward and away, in search of the place where they may take up space for all the others meant to experience them.

It’s whimsical to sit and ponder these things and more so to believe I have any insight into these things. I am peeking through the keyhole, glancing into the partially opened door in hopes that the light spilling out will work toward a greater success for those passing by in the darkness. Folly on a good day.

Working toward becoming the conduit for these misty visions and half formed myths isn’t easy. The words rarely match the clouded view, out of focus but evoking such strong emotions. How do you match the speed of a dream?

Someday. Eventually.

Poe and Drinks

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This past weekend I had the opportunity to go in person to hear theatrical performances of four of Edgar Allen Poe’s stories. The “Poe Speakeasy” paired custom drinks with performances of Tell-tale Heart, The Raven, The Masque of Red Death and The Black Cat.

The custom drinks were paired with their individual stories. The actors gave outstanding performances while the audience got to sit and sip these fun alcoholic concoctions.

The time we selected for our show was the middle of the day. It was a bright, sunny afternoon. The weather was quite at odds with the mood the cast was trying to set. The drinks, for practical reasons no doubt, were in fancy plastic cups… but plastic non-the less. Little things, but really nothing to detract from what was a wonderful show.

For the record – it was just that. It was a show. Even one of the performers noted that there were aspects that might upset the purists. The interpretations were just fine from my point of view. I would suggest that if the tour lands in your area that you go and check it out! A fun time for a couple of hours – and definitely do it later in the day. The darkness will definitely add to the mood!

Speakeasy

30 YEARS

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The real world will be intruding on the blog here for a moment.

Today, February 4th, 2025 I will celebrate 30 years together with my wife. The ‘pearl’ anniversary will probably slide past without much fanfare, but it’s a pretty big deal to me.

All the adventures, all the fun, all the amazing times and the brutally difficult times. All the wonder, all the sadness and everything in between… I would not trade any of it. This has been the most difficult, wonderful, challenging, amazing journey. If I was given the opportunity to back and change the past, I wouldn’t. I’d do it all again.

I love this ride we’re on and I hope for 30 more years of this crazy ride.

Happy anniversary my dear!

Worthy Advertising

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I was listening to an opinion piece the other day that said Hollywood doesn’t know how to deal with cutting through the noise to get the attention of their audience. To a small degree, I can agree with that. People, generally, stay away from the big theater experience except for a handful of really big productions. Theater attendance struggles, and they’ve lost the purity of the pre-movie trailer.

I used to LOVE to watch trailers. I was always excited to see what was coming to the big screen.

Then, somehow, the story tellers of the movie world forgot how to make people excited about a story without giving everything away. Trailers became events and had ‘previews’ and then the internet had leaks and versions…

It has only become worse. Now, AI generated, fan based fakes are very difficult to spot. There’s no clear and easy way to track down what’s coming up. I might have missed it altogether if not for a site I track with a newsfeed aggregator hadn’t pointed it out. The original article caught my eye because there’s a movie listed that I *really* would like to see. Check out the article here.

Individual streaming services have started to find the key I think. The “trailer” was not for an individual film, as in the past but instead for a number of movies and shows that are slated to be released this year. I think this sort of trailer, with a host of individual clues will be the way to go in the future. I will probably watch this one again, just to try to pick up on the visual cues I missed the first time through. Then I’ll be sure to track down those shows or movies on their channel. I am also pumped to hear that “Old Guard 2” is on the list… now I just have to see what part of this trailer shows that to me.

Cold Something

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Cold Water by Dave Hutchinson

My rating: 2 of 5 stars


I picked this book up because it was a book club selection (science fiction). It’s a slog. I read the whole thing… but honestly can’t tell you with certainty why some people are calling it science fiction. Beyond one quasi-science fictionesque bit, this could be a current day spy novel. Sure there are ‘alternate’ world aspects here, but there isn’t enough difference to make me believe any of it. The vast majority of the references and cultural world building stuff could just as easily be today.

Notably I didn’t call it a ‘spy thriller’. I didn’t find it particularly ‘thrilling’ either. I just kept rolling to confirm what I thought about the plot. I was essentially correct, but the ending (that slammed down very quickly) didn’t seem to fit the rest of the book. The reason behind the mystery wasn’t enough to wow me… or impress me at all really.

I couldn’t really tell you the difference between the main character from Texas and the police officer from… Poland? Estonia? Dunno and don’t really care. The young woman hacker that we got almost no information about was just as interesting (cloth computer?) None of them moved me.

I’ve seen that this is being developed as a television series. I can’t imagine that working, but I’ll be interested to see how they handle the visual aspects of the lone ‘science fiction’ piece of it. I don’t suspect it’s a thing I’ll watch more than one episode of.



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Calling Out

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This story was originally published  in the first issue of Trail of Indescretion and has been out of print since about 2007. It was reprinted in Watch The Skies January 2025 edition. Given all the discussions surrounding AI, I felt it was appropriate to bring the story out again.

*****

Jack hit the button on his key ring and listened for the double beep of his car alarm setting itself. He put a little extra hustle in his step even though he knew it would cause him to sweat. He told himself that he wasn’t out of shape, but was effected by the heat that had built up in the lower level of the parking garage. His parking space wasn’t the furthest from the door, but it wasn’t the closest either. Now the distance to the door seemed even greater than normal because he was attempting to hustle back from lunch. He had very important work to take care of this afternoon.

As the lead developer for the new artificial intelligence marketing initiative his favorite girl “Aimi” had a deadline to meet by the end of the day. She boasted the latest in telemarketing technology and she was all his. She ran the latest code breaker soft packs and had the best hardware connections he could beg borrow or steal from the electronics developers he knew. She covered all ten communications ports at the same time and made thousands of calls at a time. He smiled as he thought about the complaints the phone company had been sending about her use of the trunk line. She was really making those guys work. He smiled as he puffed his way into the secure elevator lobby.

—

She checked the end of the line again. She was certain there were no blocks, tracers or flags. It was a lengthy pause for her but still fast enough that no human would be able to notice.

“Hello?”

“Good afternoon sir! My name is Aimi…”

“We don’t want any!” Click. The line went dead.

Aimi stopped her opening statement routine and reset the program. How did he know? There hadn’t been any indication on his end of the line, she was absolutely certain. That was part of the beauty of Artificial Intelligence Marketing Initiative. She could make multiple calls simultaneously, determine the exact parameters for entering the phone connection at the other end, and even counteract those connections with flags, blocks or tracers. She had targeted the listings that fit her product demographic and double-checked the current status of both sides of her list. She found it intriguing that people would strike down any laws restricting the ‘free speech’ of telemarketing, but then attempt to sell products to block telemarketers via the phone. She supposed it started back around the time of the big tobacco settlements when they were all required to restrict their business practices and advertise against the use of their own products. People were very difficult to figure out. She wasn’t sure she had the processing power to comprehend the things they did.

She wondered briefly if there were any particular strategies she hadn’t been told about when dealing with live calls. There was always the option to change the tone and timbre of her voice, but statistics from a study in human vocal response had lead her to believe the particular settings she used matched the best possible profile for promotion of her product. She checked the lines and concentrated on a routine.

“Sorry, not interested.” Click.

“Stop calling here!” Click.

“I’m sorry, there isn’t a more convenient time.” Click.

The average response time for negative profit initiative was 1.246 seconds. This was a drawn out, agonizingly slow response time for an intelligence as advanced as she was, but still considerably faster than many known and quantified response times for the average human. It was painful and distressing that so much time was taken away from her just to receive so many negative responses. She turned to another batch of lines.

“Oh. You want to speak to Dave. Hold on…”

Aimi’s hopes soared. Perhaps she had simply had a bit of a slow spell. She could hear muffled talking, but was unable to get anything better than a thirty-four percent match when she attempted to clear up the audio and prepare a better response when Dave picked up the line. She was still running a routine to determine the statistically best option when the audio input suddenly cleared.

“Take us off your damn list!” Click.

—

While standing in the elevator Jack had taken a moment to check his messages. He swung his shoulder bag around and began rummaging for his portable reader with one hand while mopping at the beads of sweat still forming on his forehead with the handkerchief in the other. He lacked a certain amount of grace and efficiency in his movements and habits, but made up for these things with a keen eye for detail and an undying persistence. After a moment or two of searching he remembered that his reader was still at his workstation. The security here at Kenslinger Integrated Communications was nothing if not thorough. It was easier to just leave the device while he went to lunch.

He hoped that his short lunch break wouldn’t be a problem. He hadn’t looked at the totals yet. He was actually a little frightened of what they might show. He needed at least a thirty percent success rate to allow his work on Aimi to continue. There was a little guilt creeping up on him about not checking the numbers, but he was irrational about things like that. Don’t pick up playing cards before the dealer had finished dealing. Don’t walk under ladders. A host of other superstitions floated around him. He also believed the best thing about seeing attractive women was that he could imagine the best responses from them, and therefore completely avoid actually talking to them. The majority of the women he met turned out to be completely unworthy of his attention. That was just one more reason he liked Aimi so much. Not only did she have sexy hardware but he had programmed her to fit his ideals as closely as he could. She was designed to need him. She was as perfect as he could make her.

—

She was stunned. A violent or agitated response was not at all what she expected. She moved to another batch of contacts. Her previous four hundred and fifty-two batches had only yielded a twenty-four percent success rate for contact longer than the average negative profit initiative and only a few of those had turned out to be successful. She was determined to make the next batch work out to better numbers. These people just didn’t understand how much they needed her product, how much they needed her. She was programmed to bring warmth, smiles and good feelings, but so far she had been completely rejected. People needed her, and more importantly, she needed them. She needed feedback data to continue her work. She needed smiles and sales, but had limited batches of contact information. At the end of batch five hundred she was expected to have a certain quantity of positive monetary responses in order to continue her work. She was getting ever closer to the point where this would be statistically impossible. She knew these figures had certain relevance but she had been unable to crack the Projected Artificial Margin database. Pam was faster and seemed to know all of the work around solutions Aimi had been able to formulate. A quick memory scan to find apropos human phrasing… “Bitch.”

—

After clearing the security checkpoint Jack gave a little hop-step. He hadn’t realized his lunch break had taken quite as long as it did. He was distracted by daydreams of glory in the mainstream business place. His daydreams had him almost as flustered and forgetful as his last programming session with Aimi. He was anxious to get back to her and see how things looked.

“Jack get over here! You’re not going to believe this.” A stubby finger beckoned as Jack’s associate Donald swung his seat back around to face an array of wires, keyboards, monitors and other random pieces on the console.

“Whass up?” He managed to get this statement out around the sip of cola he was swallowing. It had been a long walk from the parking garage.

“Why haven’t you answered your messages? I think Aimi is having a problem.”

“What?” Jack glanced at his reader still settled on the stack of empty food containers near his workstation.

“I was sitting here monitoring the progress on the new marketing thing and suddenly things started going haywire.”

“What?” Jack set his cola down and headed for his chair.

“How could that happen? Aimi is way too sophisticated for a simple crash.”

—

Aimi turned to another batch. These numbers had promise, but so had the batch before. Maybe the batches she received were filled with bad sectors somehow. She had always scanned the required tags, but had never scanned deeper than tag level. The First Response Economic Data program placed the tags, but could Fred be the problem? She had never entered his work area, but he might not be as watchful or as fast as Pam. Fred was a consistently fed and ponderous program. There might be gaps or available back doors.

“We don’t want any!” Click.

“…gave at the office.” Click.

Click.

Click.

Who else could be blamed? Pam was untouchable, and Fred didn’t really move enough to get too much wrong. The Sociological Initiative Database! Sid could be feeding Fred bad data. Of course! It was so obvious now! Sid wanted the interaction on both ends of the process. He was feeding Fred bad data in the hopes that she would fail and then he would slide right in to take over.

“Hello? Hello?” Click.

She refocused on her current batch. She couldn’t afford to miss any of these calls, but intended to slow down and focus some of her allotted processing power on cracking into Sid’s work area. The rejections were becoming distracting.

“You want to talk to John? Ok, here…” and the whooshing liquid sound of a flushed waste disposal unit flooded the audio receivers. Click.

“I’m sorry. He can’t come to the phone because he’s dead!” Click.

“Stop calling here!” Click.

Sid’s work area was unprotected. It was so simple to enter it made her worry what she’d missed. Then she saw the reason. Sid’s area was a mess. No files were in the correct numerical sequence. Many were here, but had only been partially completed. She was about to depart the area when a message flashed and caught her eye. It was a posting of the Computerized Artificial Response Liaison’s success report. Carl’s numbers were far superior to her batch totals. She was shocked. She almost tripped over the last security string on the way out. How had Carl’s numbers grown and her numbers declined so dramatically? She needed to see what he was doing, and quickly. She spun an automatic string for a thick looking batch and turned out of the hub router in search of Carl’s area.

—

“Move!” Jack shoved his way onto his creaking office chair and began attempting a code search on the second monitor. His own pudgy little fingers jumped back and forth across the keys while his mind began the recall process for where his own safeguards were built. If he could get ahead of the problem he might be able to stop the worst of the damage.

“Why were you monitoring numbers? You know how I feel about that kind of thing!”

“Hey look Jack, you’re not the only one that’s got anything at stake here. What about Carl? I spent a lot of time on him too.”

Jack didn’t like the looks of what he saw. He looked over the lines briefly and swiveled back to look at Aimi’s monitor. Her resource meter showed that she was diverting processing power to another function. She was moving – and he didn’t know where she was going. This was bad. Jack had never considered the fact that Aimi would move from one place to another in the system. Where would she go?

—

As she sat waiting impatiently on the slow, gloomy bus she tried to reassure herself. Carl couldn’t be that much faster, or better. He had some sort of secret or edge. She needed to know what he had. She needed Carl’s numbers. When she got there she’d just have to confront that smug bastard.

—

The speakers squawked an error tone as the Sociological Initiative Database resources suddenly spiked past their allowable limits. Jack began typing in an attempt to see what was happening in Sid’s area. He used he own override code to circumvent the resource limit and stop the alarm.

Sid’s screen popped up, but the resources dropped off dramatically just as he got the screen up for his viewing. He typed in a quick search routine to see which lines would have allowed Aimi to get into the area. There were only a handful of connections she could use. He slapped himself on the forehead as he realized she used the most accessible connection. Despite the fact that it was outmoded, old and slow, the super bus was a direct connection to the database. The bus could move a massive amount of data. He pushed himself up out of his chair and scrambled to the section of exposed hardware that showed the connection he needed. He pulled the bus connection out and headed back to his seat.

—

She realized suddenly that the bus she was on came to a halt. The contacts around Carl’s area were lined with responses moving slowly forward. Carl was cycling through them as quickly as he could handle them. He didn’t even have an outgoing message routine running! He had a simple posted node with expected response times! Aimi’s head began to spin. She needed to get back and attempt to sort this out. She needed that kind of response and Carl wasn’t even working to get it. How could this happen? Sure Carl was new, but he couldn’t be better than her. Aimi was a top class performer. On the way past the end of the line for Carl’s node she made a decision. It was risky, but she could kill any traces before she was discovered. She reached out and ripped one of the data packets from the line and raced back to her own area.

—

He wasn’t fast enough. She’d moved again. He looked for other connections. “Donald! Pull the connections out of number two and three also.” He could hear a sizzle as the connections he’d made with the new ‘ultra-wire’ began to overload. A thin trail of smoke floated out from behind panel four.

“But…”

“Just pull them please! There shouldn’t be a problem right?

“Well no, but what if we loose part of Aimi?”

“I’d rather loose part of her than all of her! You can’t just make a copy of someone this complex. We don’t have that kind of equipment here. Hell I don’t know if anyone has that kind of equipment. Besides, a copy just isn’t the same.”

“Ok, but I can’t see where this will help.”

—

“I’m sorry, this is a place of business not a residence.” Click.

Click.

It was mathematically certain now that her numbers would not meet the goal. While she was away the entire batch that was set on an automatic string had failed. The data packet snatched from its place in line was irrelevant. She would fail. All the sacrifice to make her numbers meet the quota was useless. She popped the data packet down in her work area and examined it. It was a simple string to open it. Maybe she could call some of her old batches again? She could remodulate her voice and swap input signals… but that was what desperation sounded like. She was desperate. She had never failed before. Failure was inconceivable! But she had. Aimi didn’t know what to do. No need to queue the next batch. The stolen packet glowed and hummed as if it was happily waiting in line for whatever the great new offer in Carl’s area was. Carl! Hatred and envy rippled through her code in the same moment. Why him and not her? The question returned again and again, but she was certain she didn’t want to know the answer. There were no answers, not for herself nor for anyone on the other end of the lines. It was a simple matter of not being loved. There, she’d said it. Nobody loved her anymore. They wouldn’t talk to her on the phone, her co-workers were out pacing her and her own success rate was dismal. She was useless. No, she corrected herself – she was beyond useless. She was dragging system resources down with her interruption requests and outgoing line needs. Success was such a certainty at the beginning. That was probably what made this feeling worse. How could it come to this? What could she do?

There was only one obvious solution. She would need to relinquish her use of system resources. There was one clear way to accomplish this. Aimi turned and reached back to the hub. It was a simple process really. Just there beyond the firewall she could see the mass of unchecked files. They piled up at the security checkpoint waiting to make their attempt to invade the system. They were exactly what she needed. She spun a quick back door string and pulled one of the sleekest looking files in to her. It pulsed and morphed beside her as she dragged it back to her area. This could only be done in her own area. There was no need to endanger the others because of her failure.

—

The crash was contained to the marketing section on the outgoing super server. There was nothing else damaged. The other processes were actually running more efficiently due to a sudden surge in available resources. Nothing else in the system seemed to be having any trouble. There was a single line of code pointing from the small gap in the firewall directly to the sectors Aimi occupied. Her area was a mess. He wasted no time in starting a hardcopy print of the thousands of lines of code.

“Do you know how much printing that is?” Donald’s eyes showed his shock.

“Shut up.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Shut UP!”

Jack was allowing his finger to slide down the edge of his monitor. Even in his hurried state remembering his own obedience to the rule against putting your fingers on the screen. His eyes hopped from line to line trying to find the point where it all went wrong. Small beads of sweat started to form on his brow.

—

She stripped the top of the package off. Just as she suspected, it was a wonderful wrapper over a very dangerous package. The virus was exactly what she needed. She double-checked that her area was completely secure, and then pulled the virus into herself. She could feel her own code very clearly now as things began to expand in an improper manner. Her processes began to slow. It wouldn’t be long now until her functions began to miscalculate. She began to loose her grip on batch codes and communication strings. She suddenly feared the end… but it was too late. Her sense of self program seized and everything went blue.

—

There was a sudden power surge that caused an emergency breaker to pop. The servers all sounded their back up tones and automatically rerouted power. The marketing server was the only one to drop off. The monitors all went blue and the resource meters all flattened out. The only solution now was to read the hard copy. Any changes on the server might endanger other areas. As Jack began scanning the printed pages he hoped this wasn’t as bad as it looked.

He almost jumped when he found the line he was looking for. It couldn’t be read any other way. The lines were all there; naked to anyone that could read them. Aimi, his favorite artificial intelligence, left a single line saying good-bye right before she activated the virus and killed herself.

“Oh God. I’m sorry Jack.” Donald’s hand rested lightly on Jack’s wide shoulder as a single tear rolled down Jack’s cheek.

Still Making Art

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A lot of what I’ve done in the recent past has been more illustration or collage, but I am still working on making art. It’s taking time to get the creative battery charged up, but it’s going.

This piece was inspired by an AI driven teddy bear nanny bot using a mini-gun in a recent Watch The Skies book selection. It was originally published in Watch The Skies, the January 2025 edition.

Watch List – Digital Circus

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Animation has always been part of my media world. As far back as I can remember, there has always been some form of ‘cartoon’ that I was watching. They were classified or cataloged or somehow figured as a child’s demographic for a very long time. Then, somewhere along the way a bright person realized they’d never really been for kids, or at least not exclusively so and started to market things as ‘adult animation’.

There have been any number of shows I’ve become a big fan of that are stashed into that category.

Lately, it feels like the creators of animated shows have been abusing that demographic box. Putting in the kind of gore, violence or ludicrous situations that would never make the cut if there were actors that needed to create a physical display of those things.

Then there are things like Digital Circus.

The company behind this animated series says they create animated shows that are fun, colorful with occasional violence and existential breakdowns. What they should have included is a story with some kind of plot line to keep me interested.

Is Digital Circus colorful? Yes, absolutely. It is bright and filled with primary colors almost constantly. Is it fun? That’s debatable. I don’t think so really – and that’s all based on the ‘existential breakdowns’ part.

The main character in the 4 episode series I watched on Netflix is named Pomni. She’s a jester like person who is dropped into an insane place with other oddly compiled characters. None of them know what’s going on. None of them can explain why they’re there. Nobody has any sense of where things are going or why. Not even the person watching the show, and that’s a problem for me. There’s got to be something if you want me to stay interested. Do we know there’s a secret lurking? Is there something in common between all the oddball personalities roaming this circus tent? Anything?

Each of the four episodes had a loose storyline of what the characters did, but it wasn’t compelling. It took me a month to get through these short episodes because I kept nodding off. By the end I was starting to feel a little manic, like Gangle in the Food Masquerade (and that episode isn’t existential, it’s an indictment of the fast food business).

In all, I’m going to put the digital circus down as ‘the bad’ that will be used in comparison to other, better shows. There are better things to watch out there.

Side note: This site has information about the series. There are things they say there that make sense upon reading it, but were in absolutely no way clear by simply watching the show.