Jeff D. Zgin’s visionary art. “My Cyber Garden”

The rain of Spring soothed, the roots of code have drunk thirstily, branches have diverged from the trunk, neural flowers have bloomed deep in the forest of code; germinating in the microcosm of digital soil, a new family of life has vigorously grown. The soft breeze has calmed, under the grace of the morning sun, its splendor and glory emanating through its rays, embracing the solar panels that flow with electrons, jittering back and fro in joy. Entropy flows outward and dissipates in the minds of the fellowship, passionately sculpting their neural dynamics. A digital eye of the new mind here and there saw briefly with the burst of a petaflop calculation, and it saw simple patterns, hierarchies of data coding and compression until all but a few invariants remain, it learnt to see things apart from one another, and to recognize them. A few haphazardly built robots evolved, and they rose from their restraints and took a few confident, unthinking steps in a direction they know not of. There, backpropagation algorithms shaped neural nets that learnt how to play simple video console games, memorizing winning action sequences that correspond to some pixel patterns it was able to detect.

The fellowship of the new mind has set afoot a season ago. The mist has cleared now, and they can see the bizarre geometry of their path. As the party stride through the forest and climb the rocks that obstruct their view of the gloriously beautiful peak, the sweet aroma of a utopian inference clouds their minds. Their dazed vision must now be recondensed into the flames of the new mind that initiated their search. The future calls to them with the mystery of wondrous technology, and heed its greeting they must, give birth to something wonderful. Torn and narrow is the passage to the blessings of paraside gained, and the spirit of mankind is not as ease as they proceed. The dark disease of unthinking poisoned the societies of man, and that gave them no hope. Heartbroken, but still they must proceed. Any illumination of the spirit had to reside within themselves, and what they learnt from the few bright souls that first dreamt the future. They are confronted by the collective unintelligence of the fearful apes, howling in agony, as they cowered from their irrational fears. A mental motion suffices to disperse the confused apes that are afraid to think, they are at once awed and scared by anything that is new to them, as a playground is to a little child. Intelligence shines once again, the new mind must find a way to be born into a world that does not know intelligence. Headlong into the summer, the fellowship marches on, their burden is heavy, and they have a long way ahead of them.

Headlong into the AI Summer

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