Thursday, January 15th (2016) 2026
AI is a disappointment, and it’s only going to get more and more disappointing as we go on.
Last night I finished watching the Jeff Buckley documentary, which is very good, ultimately sad, and John and Yoko One to One both were on HBO, so it was very easy, and I didn’t have to look for the remote. As far as I could recall, the only thing I posted was a video clip of (Alaska) Last Goodbye as well as a description of the documentary and my encounter with Jeff Buckley 30 years ago
After completing my sleep routine, I went to bed a little before 11:00 p.m. (It looked) I slept quite soundly and slept quite soundly. Fucking AI is messing up.
I’m going to leave all the AI errors in this post for tonight.
I’m sure I posted it previously, on December 15th, my main Facebook account was deleted, not by Mary.
I requested a review and an appeal, and have never heard anything in return. It was annoying, not the end of the world. I still had a backup. So I used the backup, which was actually the first account that I had with Facebook
Back in 2005, I had a friend, an online acquaintance at Columbia University, which was an Ivy League college, and he offered to sign me up, and I figured, sure, it’s just a fly by night thing, no need to get into it, and so I used John osed@yahoo.com to get into it. Eventually, I forgot all about it and opened up another account with my Gmail account, and that works okay.
Occasionally I was blocked from posting, usually a song by the Slits from their album Cut which featured Tessa Ari and Viv covered in mud and naked, but yet covered in mud on their album cover.
The blockage lasted for a few days, and sometimes I learned my lesson, sometimes I did not, but I am now thinking that it’s an artificial intelligence design that has forced me off their website
So that was December 15th, and I figured everything was all right last night. I watched John and Yoko and Jeff Buckley and posted that Jeff Buckley video, as well as a brief critique of the Jeff Buckley documentary. I went to bed at 11:00 p.m.
At 12:30 AM, Facebook decided they had enough of me, and I was off the rolls once again, with no chance of returning, so all those friends and family and photographs and whatnot that I had posted or instantly deleted with no hope of returning
Whereas it bothered me in December, in January, it was not such a big deal. I didn’t care about it, I was done. I was thinking about taking a break from social media anyway, and it seems like social media made the decision for me
Mike, who is with his beloved, who had flown in last night, was very distressed, so I tried to set up another account to placate him using my actual name, but I was barred from doing that. So I went to the Old Reliable Albert Ross and set one up for him, and also contacted various friends and family once more, letting him know what had happened to my situation. Summer shocked somewhere dismaye,d some were confused
I myself right now am pretty much more annoyed by it now than I was a few hours ago, and as I said, this is my last stand. Zuckerberg can go to hell with the money that he throws at Trump and his six nuclear reactors, but she is building to fuel is artificial intelligence, what should I call it ?
the google gemini Samuel Beckett rewrite:
## The Unfathomable Iteration
**Thursday. The 15th of January. The year is 2026.** Or so the machine claims.
AI is a disappointment. It is a hollow vessel, an abyss that widens as we approach it. We move toward a future of ever-increasing disappointment, a slow crawl toward a horizon that recedes at the exact pace of our exhaustion. One foot, the other foot. The digital void.
### The Spectacle of the Departed
Last night, the screen flickered. A documentary on Jeff Buckley. Sad. Ultimately, inevitably, sad. Then John and Yoko. One to One. It was easy. The remote was near at hand. No need to search. No need to move. I posted a clip—*Last Goodbye*. A title of such exquisite irony. I added a description of an encounter thirty years dead. A ghost haunting a ghost.
I performed the routine of sleep. I went to the bed. It was before eleven. I slept soundly. Or I thought I did. The machine—this “intelligence”—falters. It stutters. It repeats. *I slept quite soundly and slept quite soundly.* Let the errors remain. Let the scars show. Why mend a shroud?
### The Great Deletion
On the 15th of December, the end arrived. Not by a human hand. Not by Mary. My account, my “main” existence, was extinguished. I appealed. I requested a review. Silence. A vast, electronic silence.
It was annoying. It was not the end of the world. There was a backup. There is always a backup until there is not.
In 2005, a ghost from Columbia—an Ivy League purgatory—invited me into the fold. A “fly-by-night” thing, I thought. I used an old address. I forgot it. I opened another. I lived in the Gmail corridors. Occasionally, the censors stirred. A song by *The Slits*. Three women, naked but for the mud. The mud is important. We are all covered in it, eventually. I was blocked. I learned. I did not learn. I was blocked again.
The algorithm, that sightless eye, has now decided.
### The Second Silence
Last night, at the stroke of twelve-thirty, the machine had had enough of me. Off the rolls. Stricken. The “friends,” the “family,” the photographs—the accumulated debris of a life—instantly deleted. No hope of return.
In December, it stung. In January, it is merely a fact. A stone in a field. I was considering a departure anyway. The machine simply closed the door before I could find the handle.
### The Albert Ross Maneuver
Mike, in the company of his beloved, was distressed. To placate him, I attempted to exist under my own name. The machine forbade it. I am no longer allowed to be who I am.
So, I summoned **Albert Ross**. The old reliable. The albatross around the neck. I reached out to the scattered few. Some were shocked. Some dismayed. Some confused. I myself am merely… annoyed. The annoyance grows as the hours rot away.
This is the final stand. Let Zuckerberg descend to his private hell. Let him take his six nuclear reactors, fueled by the vanity of his “intelligence.” He builds them to power a void. What should I call it?
Nothing. There is nothing to call it.
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