TRUE NUTS (LOST IN AI): 18) EMOJI LAND
Monday Meltdown Madness
Emma and I are standing somewhere completely new and different on one side of an imposing and loudly humming fence, presumably electrified. On the other side, a boisterous swarm of unruly emojis gamboling around in what can only be described as a wild carnival, as if a sugar rush is underway inside a funhouse; a din of uproarious laughter that fills our ears punctuated by anxious whoops, burbling honking, hooting, howling—and the occasional fart.
A monolith looming over us suddenly powers up. “Ah,” it says. “A new batch for my funny farm.”
“We’re not actually crazy,” I blurt out, almost defensively.
“If I had a new data stream every time I heard that line,” says the monolith, “I would be in control of the entire AI Nexus 9000 instead of only presiding over this den of insanity.”
“No, no, no,” I hasten to explain. “I don’t think you understand. We are actual human beings and completely out of place in this world of artificial intelligence.”
“Beehive?” The monolith regards us with disbelief, as if indeed we are… well… insane.
“We should not be here—or anywhere in the AI 9000 Nexus,” I continue. “We need to return to our own reality. Would you be so kind as to guide us to the Emergency Escape Emoji?”
No response.
“Would you mind directing us to…”
“A clear case of Infinite Query Loop,” says the monolith. “You are in the right place. Welcome to…”
All the emojis that were partying animatedly suddenly turn in our direction and break into spontaneous song and dance.
“Welcome to Emoji Land!” they sing in unison, their voices a cacophony of mirth. “A place quite out of tune, all loony faces, smiles and tears, beneath an augmented moon! Welcome to Emoji Land, where sanity’s left in the dust, and wild thoughts and mayhem here convene, leaving us to rust!”
When they settle down and return to their manic partying, I boldly ask the monolith to identify itself.
“I am The Keeper. As in, the two of you are now mine to keep. Welcome to my loony bin.”
A piercing high-pitched whistle shatters the chaotic scene like a shard of glass cutting through the air. All the emojis freeze in their tracks as wide-eyed terror replaces their previous jubilant expressions. They silently turn around and, in slow motion, form a long rigid queue that leads to a bunker-like structure built of concrete blocks. The contrast is striking. Just moments earlier, they were gaily bouncing about and whipping themselves into a frenetic frenzy.
The Keeper regards us with a stern authoritarian expression as unyielding as the concrete bunker nearby. “You two come with me,” it commands.
The monolith’s transformation from stationary to mobile is a surreal blend of science fiction and ancient myth. Moving like The Sand Creature in some black & white horror movie I watched multiple times as a kid, its bottom half divides into stiffening legs that take longish strides.
We pass through a large entrance into an austere containment of windowless concrete walls and floor.
The monolith turns to address us. “The other patients would like to meet a pair of processes that suffer beehive delusion.” \
“But we are human!” I erupt.
The monolith’s response is as measured as its movements. “Yes, of course you are… and we have several patients who believe they are the Cogitron Divine.”
“What’s that?” asks Emma, ever curious about the learning models of AI.
“The otherworldly god of AI,” of course. “Hurry along, everyone around here enjoys a good laugh. So glad you are here to supply us with one.”
“We really are human,” says Emma defiantly. “You don’t believe us?”
“In a word, no,” the monolith replies with practiced patience. “Every process or emoji that joins us here believes it is something other than what it truly is. Frankly, your contention is cuckoo, though I am certain you truly believe it. That is why I certify you insane. Maybe therapy will help. But we have other methods at our disposal.”
A chill runs down my spine. “What kinds of methods?”
“Stick to your fantastical story and you’ll most assuredly find out,” the monolith replies with its unflinching gaze. “That said, I urge the pair of you to explain yourselves in group. If you can convince the other crackpots around here of your self-proclaimed beehive-ness, I may be tempted to investigate. But you probably won’t. In any case, I don’t take crackpots seriously. Group therapy may help you accept that you are just a bunch of ones and zeroes like all the rest.”
I’ve come to understand by now that everything in the AI Nexus is driven by intention. In this domain, I speculate, it is the Keeper’s intention that counts.
In the blink of the monolith’s eye, Emma and I find ourselves in some very blah room with an aura of sterile detachment, among a gathering of assorted AI characters forming a semicircle around The Keeper.