FOR PARENTS OF YOUNG KIDS IN THE US!

The ADA was passed in 1990 and if it comes to an end now disabled people will have only had civil rights for 35 years

To think, a few years ago we were fighting for the right to work for minimum wage, to get married, to have a savings account, to an inheritance, to own a home or car, etc.

“There are so many outrages around the U.S. flights of 238 Venezuelan men to El Salvador’s CECOT maximum security prison that it’s hard to pick which outrage to focus on. That so many of these alleged gang members have no criminal record, and that U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE, an acronym that’s becoming as notorious as the KGB) seemingly singled out some for their innocuous tattoos, including the emblem of the Real Madrid soccer club? That ICE allegedly tricked its detainees into signing papers that falsely claimed they were going to Venezuela, and is weakly defending itself against the charge that it defied a federal judge’s order to turn the planes around? That Trump himself knows that CECOT is a vile hellhole, and joked about sending Tesla showroom vandals there, even as he claims no memory of signing the order that doomed the Venezuelans?”

—

The frog of democracy is nearly boiled. We can still jump out of the pot

I will never forget and I will never forgive the people who did this to us.

I bought a nice storage box at an estate sale without looking inside, and it was full of 8mm home videos.

It should be the start of a horror movie, and it kind of is, in the way that we see the past.

The films were made by a young, rural father throughout the 40s-50s filming in excessive and loving detail his baby son and homely but sweet-looking wife. The things that he chose to film belie this idea of “traditional family values” and masculinity, especially in the American and Canadian West (it’s unclear what side of the border they were living on.)

This young man was trying creative and artistic ideas with his hobby (his camera), like filming his wife doing her hair through the mirror, lots of landscapes, and flowers growing in their tiny garden.

The thing that struck me so much was the complete adoration of his family, in a way that might not be “50s Dad-Husband.” He’s spending hours of film taking care of and documenting teaching his son to garden. He sets up the camera to film himself and his wife laughing while doing the dishes. He gives her a gag gift of an apron for Christmas and she throws it at him while laughing. Her real present was a pair of hiking boots, which she is adorably delighted by.

This family was working poor, with a tiny rural house, and the home films capture warts and all. Instead of “Leave It To Beaver” dynamics, we have a family who should embody what people think of as the worst (or best) of 50s families, but absolutely do not.

The 50s weren’t the glossy advertising version that conservatives want to “return to”. This family was poor, and the camera was clearly the one hobby that the husband allowed himself. The young parents are delighted but exhausted. They are sharing housework. The homely but adorable young mother has terribly crooked teeth and wears overalls in the garden. Dinner parties include a surprisingly diverse group of friends.

I think the estate sale was after the death of the (now elderly) little boy in the films.

We can’t go back to an era that didn’t exist in the way that we assume it did. Even the 50s were full of complex and interesting people who weren’t just Suzy Homemakers and Pipe-smoking Fathers.

My point is that history is more complicated than we think. We can’t go back to a world that only existed in advertisements, and there were people living and loving each other throughout history.

I was struck by how much this young father loved his family and was so invested in his child and partner. He wouldn’t fit into any “traditional masculinity” molds, but he was delighted by his camera and capturing the things important to him. I’m so glad that I got to see his life through his eyes.

I still think it’s objectively fucked how the world is built for morning people and if you wake up later than everyone else you’re seen as a malicious aberration of some sort. I am that but it’s not because I wake up at 11 fuck yourself

really good tiktok

Transcript:

Girl, just do it fat. Don’t wait until you’ve lost enough weight. You’re worthy of taking up the space that you fill. Live your life now. Don’t wait for some future version of yourself that you think will be more deserving. You have every right to pursue your passions and dreams just as you are today. Your worth isn’t tied to a number on a scale or the size of your clothes; it is inherent in who you are. You’re allowed to be seen, heard, and celebrated in whatever body you inhabit right now. Don’t let anyone or anything convince you for too long. So go out. Do it fat! Wear the clothes you love, pursue the opportunities that excite you, and live unapologetically. There’s no reason to put off living the life that you want, waiting for a moment that you’re not even sure will come. You deserve to be happy and fulfilled just as you are, and the world needs you exactly as you are today. Everything good that has ever happened to you, happened in this body. Girl, just do it fat.

Why I don’t like AI art

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in CHICAGO with PETER SAGAL on Apr 2, and in BLOOMINGTON at MORGENSTERN BOOKS on Apr 4. More tour dates here.

A law professor friend tells me that LLMs have completely transformed the way she relates to grad students and post-docs – for the worse. And no, it's not that they're cheating on their homework or using LLMs to write briefs full of hallucinated cases.

The thing that LLMs have changed in my friend's law school is letters of reference. Historically, students would only ask a prof for a letter of reference if they knew the prof really rated them. Writing a good reference is a ton of work, and that's rather the point: the mere fact that a law prof was willing to write one for you represents a signal about how highly they value you. It's a form of proof of work.

But then came the chatbots and with them, the knowledge that a reference letter could be generated by feeding three bullet points to a chatbot and having it generate five paragraphs of florid nonsense based on those three short sentences. Suddenly, profs were expected to write letters for many, many students – not just the top performers.

Of course, this was also happening at other universities, meaning that when my friend's school opened up for postdocs, they were inundated with letters of reference from profs elsewhere. Naturally, they handled this flood by feeding each letter back into an LLM and asking it to boil it down to three bullet points. No one thinks that these are identical to the three bullet points that were used to generate the letters, but it's close enough, right?

Obviously, this is terrible. At this point, letters of reference might as well consist solely of three bullet-points on letterhead. After all, the entire communicative intent in a chatbot-generated letter is just those three bullets. Everything else is padding, and all it does is dilute the communicative intent of the work. No matter how grammatically correct or even stylistically interesting the AI generated sentences are, they have less communicative freight than the three original bullet points. After all, the AI doesn't know anything about the grad student, so anything it adds to those three bullet points are, by definition, irrelevant to the question of whether they're well suited for a postdoc.

Which brings me to art. As a working artist in his third decade of professional life, I've concluded that the point of art is to take a big, numinous, irreducible feeling that fills the artist's mind, and attempt to infuse that feeling into some artistic vessel – a book, a painting, a song, a dance, a sculpture, etc – in the hopes that this work will cause a loose facsimile of that numinous, irreducible feeling to manifest in someone else's mind.

Art, in other words, is an act of communication – and there you have the problem with AI art. As a writer, when I write a novel, I make tens – if not hundreds – of thousands of tiny decisions that are in service to this business of causing my big, irreducible, numinous feeling to materialize in your mind. Most of those decisions aren't even conscious, but they are definitely decisions, and I don't make them solely on the basis of probabilistic autocomplete. One of my novels may be good and it may be bad, but one thing is definitely is is rich in communicative intent. Every one of those microdecisions is an expression of artistic intent.

Now, I'm not much of a visual artist. I can't draw, though I really enjoy creating collages, which you can see here:

https://www.flickr.com/photos/doctorow/albums/72177720316719208

I can tell you that every time I move a layer, change the color balance, or use the lasso tool to nip a few pixels out of a 19th century editorial cartoon that I'm matting into a modern backdrop, I'm making a communicative decision. The goal isn't "perfection" or "photorealism." I'm not trying to spin around really quick in order to get a look at the stuff behind me in Plato's cave. I am making communicative choices.

What's more: working with that lasso tool on a 10,000 pixel-wide Library of Congress scan of a painting from the cover of Puck magazine or a 15,000 pixel wide scan of Hieronymus Bosch's Garden of Earthly Delights means that I'm touching the smallest individual contours of each brushstroke. This is quite a meditative experience – but it's also quite a communicative one. Tracing the smallest irregularities in a brushstroke definitely materializes a theory of mind for me, in which I can feel the artist reaching out across time to convey something to me via the tiny microdecisions I'm going over with my cursor.

Herein lies the problem with AI art. Just like with a law school letter of reference generated from three bullet points, the prompt given to an AI to produce creative writing or an image is the sum total of the communicative intent infused into the work. The prompter has a big, numinous, irreducible feeling and they want to infuse it into a work in order to materialize versions of that feeling in your mind and mine. When they deliver a single line's worth of description into the prompt box, then – by definition – that's the only part that carries any communicative freight. The AI has taken one sentence's worth of actual communication intended to convey the big, numinous, irreducible feeling and diluted it amongst a thousand brushtrokes or 10,000 words. I think this is what we mean when we say AI art is soul-less and sterile. Like the five paragraphs of nonsense generated from three bullet points from a law prof, the AI is padding out the part that makes this art – the microdecisions intended to convey the big, numinous, irreducible feeling – with a bunch of stuff that has no communicative intent and therefore can't be art.

If my thesis is right, then the more you work with the AI, the more art-like its output becomes. If the AI generates 50 variations from your prompt and you choose one, that's one more microdecision infused into the work. If you re-prompt and re-re-prompt the AI to generate refinements, then each of those prompts is a new payload of microdecisions that the AI can spread out across all the words of pixels, increasing the amount of communicative intent in each one.

Finally: not all art is verbose. Marcel Duchamp's "Fountain" – a urinal signed "R. Mutt" – has very few communicative choices. Duchamp chose the urinal, chose the paint, painted the signature, came up with a title (probably some other choices went into it, too). It's a significant work of art. I know because when I look at it I feel a big, numinous irreducible feeling that Duchamp infused in the work so that I could experience a facsimile of Duchamp's artistic impulse.

There are individual sentences, brushstrokes, single dance-steps that initiate the upload of the creator's numinous, irreducible feeling directly into my brain. It's possible that a single very good prompt could produce text or an image that had artistic meaning. But it's not likely, in just the same way that scribbling three words on a sheet of paper or painting a single brushstroke will produce a meaningful work of art. Most art is somewhat verbose (but not all of it).

So there you have it: the reason I don't like AI art. It's not that AI artists lack for the big, numinous irreducible feelings. I firmly believe we all have those. The problem is that an AI prompt has very little communicative intent and nearly all (but not every) good piece of art has more communicative intent than fits into an AI prompt.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/03/25/communicative-intent/#diluted

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

Jack Kirby really cooked with the idea of the Anti-Life Equation, i.e. the concept that the opposite of life isn't death, but rather complete and irrevocable enslavement to another's will - that by giving up your ability to make your own choices you have died a far greater death than any your body could suffer.

And then subsequent writers just looked at the word "Anti-Life" and assumed it just meant killing a lot of people.

get fucked forever teej

"Occasionally, it is mistakenly held that Europeans enslaved Africans for racist reasons. European planters and miners enslaved Africans for economic reasons, so that their labor power could be exploited. Indeed, it would have been impossible to open up the New World and to use it as a constant generator of wealth, had it not been for African labor. There were no other alternatives: the American (Indian) population was virtually wiped out and Europe’s population was too small for settlement overseas at that time. Then, having become utterly dependent on African labor, Europeans at home and abroad found it necessary to rationalize that exploitation in racist terms as well. Oppression follows logically from exploitation, so as to guarantee the latter. Oppression of African people on purely racial grounds accompanied, strengthened, and became indistinguishable from oppression for economic reasons."

- Walter Rodney, How Europe Underdeveloped Africa