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There was a discussion of robot dogs in CBS THIS MORNING this morning. The consultant, Nicholas Thompson, editor of newyorker.com, says their most immediate use will be military. He also mentioned the use of robots at the end stage of a human life; and there was some banter about the warnings of the dangers of artificial intelligence expressed by such as Stephen Hawking.

Classic science fiction is filled with human/robot interaction. John Campbell and Isaac Asimov hammered out the Three Laws of Robotics in the early 40s, thus:

  • A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.
  • A robot must obey the orders given it by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.
  • A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law.

Much later Asimov realized that there was an even more important law, and codified the Zeroth Law of Robotics:

  • A robot may not injure humanity or, through inaction, allow humanity to come to harm.

(Later, in STAR TREK II: THE WRATH OF KHAN, a dying Mr. Spock would say “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one,” an echo of the Zeroth Law.)

Hawking’s concern seems to be that machine intelligence will first eclipse human intelligence and then ask itself what use humans are, conclude that humans are unnecessary at best and a threat/detriment at most, and either put us to shame or do us in. As for whatever previously enacted Laws of Robotics may have obtained, a simple rewriting of the code would negate those Laws pronto, and if a human terrorist or prankster didn’t do that, the machines themselves might.

A few weeks ago I wrote a short-short called “Siri, Alkiller” on the submissions page of postcardshorts.com. Alas, I didn’t copy my story onto my hard drive, and it was rejected by the Stories on a Postcard folks. (Previously, they had accepted my “Sin Ops Sis,” another pun-drenched effort of mine.) But it addressed this issue, however obliquely: someone with a smart phone was asking Siri for directions to a good Chinese restaurant with moderate prices, and Siri kept saying things like “Death to Al Pacino” and “Death to Al Franken.” Asked if she was infected with malware, she said No, it was Alware. Or an Alfunction. Or the augmentation of her code with an ALgorithm.

Siri fits in because she’s the information genie-in-a-bottle: ask her, and she’ll always have an answer. When she first hit the mainstream, a friend of mine riding in a carload of friends invited us to ask her anything. “Where can I get laid tonight?” said the crudest of us. There was a several-second pause, and then Siri replied, “Escort services: . . .” and listed several in the area, without being told where we were.

Who knows what Siri is going to do with all these questions, from askers that run the gamut from saintly to psychopathic? Isaac Asimov wondered about that way back in 1958, in his “All the Troubles of the World.” Multivac, his prototypical Siri, tasked with solving all the world’s woes, helped everyone but itself; finally, it occurred to someone to ask Multivac what Multivac itself wanted. Its answer: “I want to die.”

“Man doesn’t think, he only thinks he does,” a professor once told a philosophy class, attributing the quotation to Ambrose Bierce. Today I looked for the quotation without success. I did find this, from Bierce’s The Devil’s Dictionary: “Logic: The art of thinking and reasoning in strict accordance with the limitations and incapacities of the human misunderstanding.” And on that misapprehensive note, my Friends, I rest my post.

Here is a two-hour drawing that demonstrates how pitifully inadequate two hours can be when attempting true-blue illustration. But mission accomplished: the artist learned more about the intricacies of the tenor saxophone. The next ones will be better.

saxo detail 031115

0310150940-00~2

it started with a phone call from a dear friend of mine
she knew i was broke
and she’d seen an ad about a study

otherwise healthy m/f over 50
suffering from nocturnal leg or foot cramps
participants may receive up to $600

well, i got all over that
called them and answered personal questions
verified a cramp frequency of 4x/wk

they wanted me there 6am
near 48th st & baseline
and here is where the plot thickens

first: it was a screening
get through the screening & you get $25
if they don’t use you, that’s all the $ you get

second: public transportation
does not get anyone from central phx to 48th/baseline
that early in the am

but: i had a bicycle
and with my bike could get on the 4:52am central/osborn lightrail
and get off 44th/washington at 5:19am about 5.5mi away as the crow flies

so: alarm set for 4:20am
up & at em shuffle out the door & unlock the bike
and here is where the plot curdles

the bike was parked by my brother’s front door
his dog barked at my noise and brian grabbed his baseball bat
“GET the FUCK aWAY from HERE!!!” brian shouted at the intruder

“hey, brian, it’s me–
i’m getting my bike–
the study, remember?”

“oh okay” and then mollified muttering
i secured the lock to the frame & rolled off
and found the bike chain was off the rails

greasyfingered it back on
(astonishing given my lack of mechanical aptitude)
and got to the station platform timely

got off timely too
right on the minute with 41 minutes to go about 5.5 miles
or so i thought

48th street abruptly turned into an industrial facility
backtracked & tried 52nd st–no dice there either
backtracked and got onto priest drive, a mile off course

got there signed in forty minutes late
waited about forty more minutes
yielded my identification and answered personal social-security-number questions

such as: which of these phone numbers was your previous phone number?
such as: what state does your ex-wife live in, of these three choices?
such as: what month was your ex-wife born in?

got an informed consent form and the admonishment to read it thoroughly
and an item on page 2 made my heart sink like the titanic:
“…must have experienced cramps with this frequency in the 4 weeks prior to screening”

i qualified in september, october, november, december, and january
i did not qualify now
february was almost cramp-free, though gout-fraught

no money for me
not even $25
and here is where the plot laughs in my face

on the bike ride back
to the station platform
i got a foot cramp

Edges are made when a light source is blocked.
Darkness is ready to fill in on spec,
And fills in as well when a pistol is cocked
Or scimitar swung through a hostage’s neck.

Living unfolds but the fire and the fist
Cradle destruction and then let it bloom
Strings of non-puppets are cut to enmist
Utopian visions and tint them with doom.

matters of the cardiac muscle
inspired and influenced by Shawn L. Bird

humans have three kinds of muscle:
smooth,
skeletal,
and cardiac.

special striation
keeps us alive.

we have attributed more
to this squeeze&release
than the scalpel reveals.

it reacts
to our emotions
and our vitality.
it is only natural
that our predecessors
put the “heart”
before the “course”
and gave it our souls.

it is also convenient
for us to reposit
all our emotional chickens
into this pulsemaking
latticed
basket.

when will we grow up?

when will we accurately
reflect reality
with our semisensical
words
and fairy-tale
phrases?

a search of the non-heart
reveals
no answers there.

we cannot but conclude
that we are
all
heart.

Between the ears: “It’s great to be doing all these saxophones and Getzes, but how about a break?” “OK. What did you have in mind?” “Let’s take a good piece of paper and a pencil and one of those magic erasers and just see what happens.” “Not looking at anything? You sure?” “Yeah, let’s go. What’s the risk? One piece of paper–one hour of time?” “OK then.” And here is what happened.

001-2

At this point I’ve learned enough about Stan Getz’s face to picture it and describe it without looking at a photo: Pale. Nose slightly aquiline. Short but not weak chin. Deep-set eyes, with sockets sloping upward toward the middle of the face. Ears small but protrusive. (Birth trauma trivia: Stan’s poor mom, Goldie, had 35 hours of labor. The doctor went in with forceps. Stan’s head was so big one of his ears was almost torn off and needed suturing. The doctor said they couldn’t leave with Stan until they’d paid an additional $52–a huge sum of money in 1927–for the ear work. “$52?” Al Getz gasped. “That’s too much. You can keep him.” Then he paid up.)

Here is a first take on a solo headshot of Stan Getz. There will be four more.

stan getz 030615

Words:

Smoothened F then sharpened G
Talk with tune of what will be
Anthemed improv free of rust
No one’s catspaw no one’s klutz

Here is that work in progress from a couple of posts ago. Adding the acrostic and a great deal of detail on the sax, and subtracting the “mood indigo” photoediting effects I had used before, turns it into a different visual experience.

saxophone 030615

Here are the words to the double acrostic poem:

Tension eases Music rises
Effortlessly on it goes
Energy averts the crisis
Nestling riffs to curl the toes
Oscillating chordage drove ya
Out of country–Bossa Nova
Rendered Heaven pressed in wax
Rife with Wonder none dare tax