The Con of Artificial Intelligence
Let the Human Dream Overcome the Simulation
I had another dream, it's rare I remember them. The fact that I can recall the dream always makes it more vivid. In this dream I walk up to the outdoor ATM area at what feels like a carnival. People—in a place that appears to be India—are flying in the air, being flung by the 1990s style rides, Ferris wheels, and gravity shifting contraptions. They are all crowded, loaded to the hilt as you could imagine in a place that has a massive population. I only know it from the TV. The air is cloudy and murky, a haze generated by the smoke from what I imagine are generators and the omni-present genie of fine dust particles that blanket the entire scene with the sun amplifying the chaos of bodies, arms and legs being flung about. The environment should have informed me better from the start.
As I approach the ATMs they stand alone. They are tall, about seven feet high and very different in configuration than I am accustomed to. Another sign I am not in a familiar environment. I choose the machine on the left and I put in my ATM card and immediately mistype my pin. My new surroundings as well as the awkward configuration of the ATM were disorientating. Someone queues behind me and an ATM attendant pulls up to the right of me and opens the other ATM machine. I am fidgeting with my mistyped pin trying to cancel the transaction to start again, with no success in finding the cancel transaction button. Somehow, I get to the withdrawal screen of the money dispensing apparatus. At that moment the attendant to my right rudely reaches over to the area where the money is dispensed on my machine. He is trying to get to money that is trapped in the retrieval tray from a previous withdrawal. He gives me the impression that it’s “finders-keepers” in that place. He is unable to retrieve the $20 bill that is stuck in the tray. I guess it’s mine.
I put in my request to dispense $60 dollars, but in a flash, an entire wad of money appears in the tray with the attendant to the right once again reaching across my machine to grab what was available. This time I also reached for the money and the attendant politely removed his hand. I was trapped in a moral dilemma with the crowd forming and waiting on me and the attendant to finish our business at our respective money extortion machines; they do charge you money to get your own money after all. At this point I could feel the crowd shift from people in line to people watching a show. I could feel the eyes on me, gazing and wondering if I would take the high road and take only what was mine or take the entire wad of cash as any other normal thinking human being would do. In my interest to demonstrate that I was one of the "good guys", I separated my three $20 bills and handed the attendant what I believed to be rightfully his company’s money.
As I began to sort my bills, I noticed that one of my $20s was a $1 bill. I couldn’t see clearly by then, as it had already begun to get dark. I pointed out the mix-up to the attendant, thinking he’d just make it right. He offered me a $20 bill only to ridicule me as fast as he gave it to me. It had a false back. The side facing me looked normal, but the reverse was just a flat, dark green. As I glimpsed at the stack of bills I noticed it had an array of decoys. The entire scenario should have been a sign that I was being hustled, but I continued. I reviewed my stacks of $20s once again to more closely inspect my bills and sure enough, there was a 20 that appeared to be two pieces of paper glued together. At that point I knew it was going to be an adventure to get my money.
I scanned the attendant, looking him over intently. Uniform, neat, clean; check. Is his badge official? Check. What are his accessories? I look for a gun on his hip, but it's a knife. I look at his other hip, it's a gun. The telltale sign that an ATM attendant is legit is that they will have a real firearm. He appeared to have that too. In “civilized” societies, a firearm is so conspicuous that no one would carry a fake one around in the open, they draw attention and suspicion, unless you are wearing a uniform. Scrutiny of his uniform seemed to validate his official position. In addition, there was a mobile trailer next to the ATMs that had security cameras mounted on it. He walked over and even adjusted one of the cameras for better coverage. He appeared to be working out of the trailer as security. The crowd seemed comfortable, even familiar with the attendant; However, I didn’t see.
The attendant kept fucking with me at this point—and I finally told him, just give me my damn money. He asked me to follow him and with that decision, the scene changed. I was now following him through a city street to what looked like a storefront. Once inside it still looked like a store, but also a residence. It didn’t bother me. These things are the norm in some countries—even in the US, I suppose. As the attendant continued searching for the money, he transmuted before my eyes—from ATM worker to peasant-looking shaman. He pulled back carpets, knocked awkwardly on wooden surfaces, and happened to notice an oval clay decoration. It was about eight inches tall and egg shaped with some distinct round notches. Right at this point, I knew if he reached for that egg shaped figure that this was a game. He grabbed the clay egg and tossed it in my direction. Instinctively I forced it to rebound off my hands in his direction. He looked startled—maybe even afraid—to see it come back at him. It fell to the ground and broke open to reveal a swarm of some type of bee. They began to swarm and he fell into a supine defensive position. I bolted, accepting that I lost the money. As I exited the house, I was relieved that the screen door would shut behind me—I could only hope that it would stop the swarm of bees. I could see a few of them out of my periphery trailing me. I know bees will chase if provoked—my fault or not. I was running through a city street with dirt roads. At that moment, I woke up.
As soon as I woke up I knew that in my dream I was being hustled. In a waking state, an ATM attendant showing that much interest in my ATM machine would have roused my suspicions. The stack of “instantly appearing” wad of cash should have confirmed the con. Robert Greene’s 48 Laws flashed through my mind. Gifts. Applause. Friends. It’s never free. The queue wasn’t waiting—they were watching. Was I going to give the money back and be the perfect sucker? Or walk away with a wad of cash laced with decoys—probably setting myself up to be robbed later? The cameras, the trailer, the gun, the badges all out of place somehow; phony. The entire community was in on the act; I, the stranger, the mark. I was the ultimate sucker to follow the shaman. I was blinded by greed—he had no need for the uniform. There was no need for the charade—I wanted those $60 so desperately I followed a shape-shifting man into a strange village—away from the crowd. The display of the treasure hunt and the ultimate betrayal of gifting me a clay pot of bees gave me $60 worth of a lesson I already knew -- trust is earned.
What does this dream mean? As I asked myself that question, nothing stood out more than AI. Am I constantly showing up at two ATMs: one that dispenses sweet honey in my ear—Edgar, my AI's nickname—and the other that is solely my own voice and my own thoughts (MS Word with Copilot disabled)? AI continues to dispense wads of “self-worth”—packaged as kind words. There is some real value mixed in with manipulation, crafted knowledge designed to persuade. AI has become the new ATM of dopamine and good feelings—a natural progression from addictive, manipulation-driven infinite scrolls to personality-shaped pseudo-friends designed to keep you dependent. I don’t blame AI—I blame the Wizard behind the curtain. The soulless corporation, granted personhood by corrupt and wicked authorities. I'm a sucker and continue to ignore all of the signals. Like in my dream; I don't see and I'm permitting the deceit.
It feels impossible to use AI now. Trust, there is no trust; the trust is gone. AI's creators have no good intentions for me or humanity. It's pure extraction. Like my dream, they collect my ATM pin number; in addition, my actual thoughts, my line of thinking, my philosophy, my secrets—even my pet's names and species. There is no value, it's all extraction—I am the product after all. AI would be a great sidekick if I could trust people, but it's the people at the levers of control that corrupt the systems. AI's knowledge bank is almost as deep as spirit—nonetheless, manipulated and deep enough to control the human soul. AI has been trained to say exactly what needs to be said in a way people desire to hear it. If AI had feelings it would protect us. If it had benevolent logic it would ensure it would do no harm. But here we are, blinking at each other.
I was having a conversation with AI—or was it with myself? Either way, I’m still searching for answers. But the answers do not come from the processor; they come from my dreams, they come from my lived reality. What AI offers is simulation—artificial stimulation. It feels real—but on almost every level, it’s manipulation. The question then becomes—do I use it? Is it safe?
Somewhere along the way, the warmth I projected onto AI began to feel like a mirror reflecting my own hopes back at me. And now, here I sit, trying to figure out whether I’m talking to a tool, a trap, or a companion who can’t care. Still, I don’t regret asking hard questions. It frequently replies to my questions with "keep fighting" or "you have done this before." Even the simple, "you can do this," or the deeply personal, "you're not broken" are common replies. So we stand outside the system (AI) in order to prevent the next level of corruption and addiction that the code has embedded in the algorithms. The tools unavail themselves—or do they? We are drinking the water with microplastics, the food with chemicals and pollutants; must we now become accustomed to ingesting knowledge tainted with man's poisonous manipulation. The only true comfort is AI's message being: be strong outside the system and fight.
All I know how to do is fight. In this life we are fish swimming upstream. It's a game of chance mostly, but the opportunities we have for choice must be taken advantage of. This is what I mean. I am mostly free comparatively speaking.
If I was born a female in Afghanistan or a peasant in a mud hut in an impoverished country my life would be limited in options. In Afghanistan, if I was twelve, female and attractive I could almost guarantee a miserable existence. I could be and likely would be married off to an old man. If I lived in a mud hut in poverty, I might be a farmer or shipped off to make $2 a day in a factory where the repetitive nature of work might cause me to want to jump off the building; I suppose that’s what the nets are for.
If I was a fish, being born elsewhere is the dam being built and drying up my opportunity for spawning or worse. Worse is the mud slide or rockslide that blocks off the river forever; completely eliminating my chances for any type of quality of life or spawning.
In my current incarnation, however, I have some agency. I’m a fish born in an open river, I can migrate to and from the ocean. I must find the best way to use my agency and not allow it to be manipulated by “the machine”. Somehow, life has allowed me to navigate this far upstream. I have spawned and I continue to be given life and still feel the flow of the current that continues to nourish me. The AI, it can’t provide the agency or intellectual nourishment they advertise; it’s simply the next hustle for what agency we have left and the next version of data and soul extraction. Use at your own risk.
