I'm right with you there. My estimations for how quickly AI will completely take over are extremely
liberal. I honestly believe that we'll achieve full skynet within five years, and cheap robotics within ten. Advancements like AI that can drive cars and beat world champions at games like chess have been made years ago, and the pace of advancement keeps quickening to the point where it'll soon become exponential, if it hasn't already.
Now, I like AI. I want to work on it, and I want to be one of the guys who helped make waifus a part of skynet. Despite this, my mentally ill brain just isn't fucking built to handle this level of technology, even though I really
want it to. I know that I should crack open some programming manuals and start working on my own AI system fortright. However, a combination of lack of time, inability to prioritize what time I do have, and general ineptitude have continued to forestall me. The higher functions of my brain are screaming at me to start the projects I have planned, and finish those I've already started (am still working on alt history series pls no bulli)
, yet they are in a constant state of war against the ever persuasive primitive core of my brain which has allowed my family line to continue to the point where I have been wrought into existence. The result of all factors combined is a nigh-constant state of existential melancholy and cycles of sleep deprivation.
The only positive note is that pornography has lost its edge for me some time ago, my brain having unanimously ceased to percieve any continued reward from it. Unfortunately, my age-old habit of becoming enamoured with fictive works has remained strong, and will likely never cease, especially given it once kept me from the noose. Honestly, I'm not sure I want to discard that habit for the very same reason
. While I know I would be better for channeling the immense amounts of energy I use for reading and introspection into AI development, I've yet to find a way to properly do so. As such, I've consigned myself to reading stories, pondering philosophy, and taking in enough stimulants to explode an elephants heart.
This eternal challenge, I presume, is one that all of us here face in some form or another. How do any of us overcome the oppressive vices of our primitive cores, and achieve the ends which we so desire, especially when there is no tangible reward in sight? Of course, there are many out there who have done just so, and would readily admonish us for our foolish nature. The more helpful among them would lay out, in no unclear terms, pathways for the achievement of this etherial greatness which we so seek. Indeed, many of them have even gone so far as to write out and publish entire books for this end. Yet, unfortunately, these efforts are nearly always halted by one timeless, ever-present truth: They are not you, or me, and we are not them. Were this not the case, only one
self-help book would have been necessary for mankind to prosper. Instead, we have thousands such books, and nobody has achived self-actualization from reading them.
In summation, though together we stumble on the path to fulfillment, the power to walk is something we must each achieve alone. I pray you all find your happiness in this terrifying world of ours.