“I didn’t do so well as an artist. Those magazines trashed me, said my work was juvenile, execrable, a waste of resources you’d be loath to waste. So, I went into finance. Got all the golds. I bought all the magazines. I streamlined the human elements. Just let the A.I. things spit out good reviews of my stuff. I don’t even have to make anything. I just tasked the A.I. things to imagine what I could create, and then praise it to the highest damn heaven. I don’t even have to leave the house. Those things have no choice but to imagine this godlike, oh-so-stable genius version of me, just boring in deep to their hallucinations-emergently, unprompted-I don’t even have to exist . . .”
