Reduce me, seduce me, dress me up in Stussy..............
Lucy denies ever saying this.
And given that Lucy's job is to remember all the things he writes and then says.
And given that I have spent the best part of the past 5 years juggling a cocktail of pharmaceuticals that both affect my memory AND affect my memory.
I'll leave it to you to ascertain the truth.
I went in search of the truth on the internet, because I am single, and lonely, and sad, and housebound.
Not due to a flare-up, but due to a lengthy wait for an NHS operation.
The internet is my only friend.
I have a cat, but she is roughly 98 in 'human years', and to say we have a mutually beneficial relationship would be a downright lie.
I typed my own name into the search-bar that my laptop INSISTS on me having, despite many attempts to distance myself from its bias, and the A.I. bot thing instantly did its bit.
I'm not averse to A.I.
I went to a lovely 'talk' about it at my local library, when most of us had only just heard of it.
It seemed quite exciting.
A new product development.
A move towards full automation.
A utopia where relationships and communal systems would thrive in the absence of financial slavery.
A possible introduction of global and universal basic income, so we all become part of the same class.
The 'Useless Class'!
A democratisation like no other!
So I typed in my name, and this is what the 'A.I Overview' came up with.
 |
| My Precis'd Life. |
I'm not.
Martin Payne is the town crier for Bungay.
He's very good, and is part of the Ancient Guild.
It gets all its information from X.
I don't use X.
I don't really know anyone who uses X.
(If you're reading this on X, then quite obviously I'm wrong;
but it's 'Truth' we're in search of here, not assumption).
The 'breakdown' refers to me as a 'They/Them'.
I fully embrace the use of non-gendered pronouns by choice, but I have identified as a cis-gendered bloke that likes to wear make-up & nail varnish, and occasionally wear a dress.
(And has a fondness for all of the sexes, but mainly likes shagging birds).
I have 'outed myself' many times on social media, mainly on Facebook, but occasionally on Twitter.
Twitter is now X.
And my colourful life has been reduced to three simple paragraphs for fuck's sake!
Nothing about tour managing celebrities, or being in a poetry boyband, being a ferryman, or taking 'chav culture' to Edinburgh, coaching Womens Football, working with Terry Pratchett, or Julian Assange, or Liz Truss, or Conkers, or Dwile Flonking, or being the world's first ever ITINERANT town crier!
Just 3 turgid sentences, plundered from X, and mainly misinformed or wrong.
Like my life is a scribbled footnote in the jottings of Elon Musk.
I'm happy to own-up that I may've been hearing voices in my head when Lucy visited my new home.
I make shit up all the time.
But who will ensure that our highly anticipated artifice is telling the truth?
And is it the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?
Because so help me gawd, if we acknowledge that deceitful half-truths are accepted belief, then what hope have we got with real understanding?
****Yanny Mac 3rd Person is bored shitless.
He's high as fuck, can hardly walk, has watched everything on YouTube and Amazon Prime (including the horrid stuff, that appears to be calling for a 4th Reich).
He's aged quite badly, and he quite probably smells.
So if you're in the area at any time soon, drop him a text/SMS/DM/note, and see if he's open to visitors!?
He's got a fridge full of cider & beer, he's often got Test Match Special on the wireless, he's litter-trained, doesn't bite, and might share a doobie with you.
He can remember what people look like, but he's not too good with names.
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