05.08.2025
(Written lying in bed after waking up.)
It was the words. They were not speaking the recognised words.
‘You cannot say individually. You have to follow convention. Peculiarities raise precautions.’
They looked sorrowfully at me. ‘What if I cannot?’
I advised them that for the next attempt, they should put a prompt into an artificial writing machine.
‘Are you serious?’ they asked me incredulously?
‘You are in dire need of a Robot Cyrano.’
‘It is not just the words. What about my actions and feelings? Cyrano is a fiction. Most of communication and speaking is not the words.’
‘The speculations of one that has shown little success. What do you have against a robot Cyrano? If they like your actions and feelings in addition to the words of predictability and convention, the words of a society, what is wrong with it? Technology assists humankind in all of its aims. Why not love? And then, Robot Cyrano is a people pleaser. Robot Cyrano will do the job.’
‘There is something awful in you. All is not fair in love and war’, they said. ‘I cannot corrode my voice to belong.’
So, they stumble and bumble. Because they won’t imitate. Because they won’t parrot Robot Cyrano. Because they have their own words. Because they don’t and can’t follow the acknowledged rules.
I am happy to ask the machine. After all, it works. There is an algorithm to connection.
diary of a lone man 