Artificial Insidiousness

I am perhaps a semi-luddite. I accept that certain technological breakthroughs have been invaluable - the wheel for example 😉 . . . and of course a thousand other things, but after listening to a John Oliver episode this morning my creeping dread of AI turned into abject disgust. Not because of it per se, more the people exploiting its uses for financial gain - well, what a surprise. It could of course - if everyone behaved like they cared about forging a more fair and caring world community - be impossible-to imagin-ly useful. For ecology, food production, health care, and possibly solving many man-made messes before madame nature boots us all off this overheating sphere. 

                                            An AI engagement-hacking shrimp Jesus/slop/spam 

However Mr Oliver's excellent observations were on the subject of A1 slop. Something even I have been aware of, slithering into my Instagram 'feed' - God how I hate that word within an internet context. I've cut down to about ten minutes a day - there are some wonderful and beautiful things on there: collections of rare film snippets, great gardening/cooking suggestions,  hilarious rubbish, glimpses into the lives of people living in very different places, etc, BUT there is also a growing amount of total crap, still obvious to the human eye as AI content - if you take more than the average three seconds to examine it closer. The really shocking revelation is that there are people out there selling online courses on how to produce this shit in the hope of a post becoming viral, and therefore gaining cash. How have we got to a point so removed from human ingenuity? Youtube for example used to be experimental, mad and glitchy - me and son still sing bits from the heartwarmingly creative and eccentric Fishcake video, sadly taken down some time ago. 

     Just one of AI's super recipe ideas

This morning, Mark showed me a post on Facebook of a plate of greasy, cheese-infested . . . stuff. 

"I keep getting content like this." 

I suggested clicking on the profile photo which revealed an unhealthily perfect-looking asian woman holding book of recipes. 

"It's not real - she's not real."

"Uh?

"Look at her face - and the book's font is all to cock. And - would a skinny Asian woman really be suggesting cooking stuff with four pounds of cheddar in it?"

"Oh . . . yes. I see."

There's been increasingly large amounts of oh . . . yes. Even the fabulous picture of a mass of storks nests I saw on time-evaporation-gram this morning suddenly seemed doomed with possibly fakery, so much that I suddenly felt supremely stupid and taken in. Slop will not get me. I'll 'tune in' to watch a few favorite content producers - see The Functional Melancholic, a few posts back, or historical, philosophical docs, etc, or allow my ten minutes for laughs on I Gram, but that's it. I'll get left behind. So what? I'll be ready with books and a radio when it all implodes (see my own theories in Londonia et al).

Talking of which. After listening to Mr Oliver I went into the garage, brushed the dust off our previous house-owner's RADIO, plugged it in and revisited the joy of instant, live discussion. No blue tooth faffing, no ads about pool robots - even though we don't have a pool - weight loss programs, and online spiritual courses. 

Also, featured below, a book - I know . . . I sound irritatingly oldie but sinking yourself into a phone screen just isn't the same. English Pastoral - I am currently glued to is beautiful, heart rending, inspirational and thoughtful, from an author who has lived through the upending of real agricultural practices and is piecing back the good stuff from the past to make his family farm survive, with our natural world/humanity's survival foremost in mind.  

                                                                https://kateahardy.com/

Living on the route of Vélo Vintage

So, when we bought the new abode back in April, no one mentioned that about 2,000 cyclists dressed in 20s/30s/40s garb would cycle past our house for the weekend of 'Vintage Vélo', one of Saumur's festival which has been running for fourteen years. Next year we'll do a lemonade stand, but Mark has been out  with his accordion entertaining (yes, they did like it!) and encouraging the cyclists to complete the 34 km or so; maybe not an enormous length but in the heat of 38 or so, yes, it's a lot.

                    Mark and our super neighbour, Nico, entertaining the two wheeled passers-by

We went down into town last night - stalls of vintage clothes everywhere, booze flowing and some really great music. Think we might go again later this evening, if we can dig out some appropriate clothing.

 

The sea, the sea

One of my favourite Iris Murdoch tomes, and one of my favourite places - anywhere at the sea really, our nearest being the lower part of the Brittany coast.

Needing to escape the never ending scraping-off-wallpaper-and-putting-paint-back-on current section of my life, I booked a train ticket, made use of my B and B voucher and went for a couple of nights to a cheapy B and B in Le Pouligen - very slightly less ostentatious than its neighbour, La Baule Escoblac, - seaside town. The house was conveniently situated between the wonderful wild coast - where there are no eateries, etc, and the town. I walked a ridiculous amount on both days and my feet told me all about it on the last evening. Swimming was the main objective however, and I indulged as much as possible - the coves and beaches still relatively quiet, and very few people taking the water as it was deemed to be cold . . . not to a hardy Hardy, used to swimming in rivers, ponds and the off the coast of the UK.

Salt still prickly on the skin from the last dip, I reluctantly boarded the train back home knowing I will have to return soon for the next fix.

  La Baule-Escoublac - great architecture spotting-town

Abandoned renovation project on the spectacular wild coast near Le Pouligen - according to a local, it was started years ago, without planning permission . . .

One of the wonderful 'splayed' pines of that coast

Absurdism: the Joy in "Nothing Matters"

A reason to pay your internet subscription . . . 

The Functional Melancholic - beautiful, dryly hilarious, almost slow motion thoughts on human existence.

A particularly poignant video as we, and all other lifeforms on this maligned space-ball, are dragged towards yet another pointless, weapon-bristling episode by egotistical loons who should not be in charge of anything more than how many steps to take in any direction within their own, personal padded cell.

A horse's eye

After utterly depressing myself with the world news this morning - small-handed, pathetic, orange wanna-be king watching his birthday-commanded tanks roll past him while most of the country (or the rational beings anyway) were out in the streets showing their ardent disgust; everything going on in the giant dust cloud of the Middle East; the thousands of dollars wasted; the thousands of people killed, the thousands of weapons used and re-ordered; our animal, bird, fish and plant brethren maimed, polluted and wiped away - I went out for the morning dog walk. 

We paced into the vineyards; Bali smelt and tried eat unspeakable things, and I attempted to block out the visions of world 'leaders' and drying up lakes etc by musing on cloud structures, fattening walnuts and plums, bees droning amongst weeds that had been left alone, and generally admiring nature in all its glory - not that vineyards are necessarily the best example of unadulterated nature, but their reassuring green stripyness stretching off into the undulating hills was calming to the mind. 

Half an hour into the walk I was still haunted by various visions of human political and environmental stupidity - unusual as by now a sighting of a vine lizard, or appreciating lark song would have shifted the angst, but it was heavily ingrained this morning. 

We topped a hill and two horses stood, tails wafting at flies, their gazes turned upon us. Horses are always intrigued by Bali who could I suppose look like a very small, spidery horse. They followed us and then stopped, possibly anticipating food other than grass? or they were just curious. I never know if horses like being stroked, but I generally like to 'have a go' as I like the contact with such majestic beasts. I caressed the larger one's neck and as ever stared into a deep brown pool of an eye; an eye that seemed to hold all the knowledge and humility that we as a species don't have, may have once had, and should hastily re-learn. 

New space, new projects

When looking around our new house, we had observed the small dusty room next to the bathroom and had thought - storage. But with a much needed new velux, and a better amount of light coming in it started to say - studio, or rather, small garret studio, which is what I like to create stuff in - a cocoon of a place full of collected, inspirational stones/postcards/books etc.

After unearthing completed paintings and works in progress I've amassed it all - or most of it as there's still stuff lurking in the garage - in the space and it's probably the best room I've had to work it - beats our bedroom at the last house . . .

Projects: I'm just finishing a commissioned painting, as ever laid on top of a recycling emporium picture, using recycled paints - I found a fantastic box full of acrylics at our local Emmaus; perfect timing as my last lot were fast reducing down to various non-inspiring browns and greens.

An idea for a novel is also stomping about in my head - the first threads of a prequel to Londonia, so I'll what it's like writing in there too. Think it'll work, especially with rain pattering on the window. Might have to install a mini wood burner to really get the feel, or perhaps just a kettle and tea apparatus.

https://kateahardy.com/

The home for retired furniture

That's us. Just as we accept people's old plants, furniture in need of a new logement is welcome here - depending on which space needs what as we move along with this latest house 'nesting'.

Featured below, a weird, hand built . . . cupboard, thing, bought at one of our local recycling emporiums for 15 euros. Judging by the layers of paint I think it must have had several homes before, and was waiting forlornly in the hanger of junk for someone to see its potential. Now, re-painted in white and green-grey it has a nice calm home in our vintage 60s/70s bathroom.

The car load of wood is a collapsed 1970s 'tiger-veneered' wardrobe that we got in the other emporium for 5 euros. Seeing the possibility of creating a gas bottle cupboard to join the other 1970s kitchen cabinets we hauled it home and Mark is currently inventing said cupboard. The rest of the wood will be used around the house for shelves, and whatever can be constructed from 70s super dense chipboard.