AI

I haven’t written a blog in maybe two years.
I’ve been busy publishing books on Amazon—on my own, learning the system, formatting covers, wrestling with pixels and margins, doing what independent authors do when they refuse to wait for permission.
But this one?
This one is worth the time.
It takes me back.
Back to a black-and-white memory of Spock speaking calmly to a computer with a smooth, almost seductive voice on Star Trek. Back to my high school teacher in 1972 warning us that if we didn’t become “computer friendly,” if we stayed computer illiterate, we wouldn’t even qualify to work at McDonald’s one day.
We laughed.
Computers?
Those room-sized machines with blinking lights?
That was science fiction. That was for NASA. That was for “other people.”
And yet here we are.
Full circle.
Somewhere along the way, a quote began circulating—often attributed to Albert Einstein—about technology creating a generation of idiots. There’s no solid proof he said those exact words. But he did warn us. He warned that technical advancement without human depth—without ethics, intuition, wisdom—could become dangerous.
He feared we would grow mechanically brilliant and spiritually shallow.
And now we stand at the doorstep of AI.
Not clunky machines.
Not blinking consoles.
But something that listens. Responds. Writes. Sings.
I have learned how to ask AI to do things with phenomenal results. I have taken my own blogs—my raw, lived, hard-earned words—and fed them into a machine. I’ve watched them come back as lyrics. As full songs. As finished productions. My thoughts—elevated, harmonized, engineered.
The machine didn’t just calculate.
It created.
Or did it?
Here’s the mind-jarring part:
If I can outsource melody, structure, editing, rhythm, expansion…
At what point am I no longer the creator?
At what point does convenience become dependency?
At what point does assistance become substitution?
We once feared calculators would make children unable to do math. Then spell check would ruin spelling. Then GPS would erase our sense of direction. Now AI drafts speeches, builds businesses, writes code, designs art, even comforts loneliness.
The question is no longer “Can it?”
The question is “Should we let it do everything?”
Because thinking is not just about producing answers.
Thinking is wrestling.
It is struggling.
It is sitting in silence with a blank page and refusing to look away.
When a machine fills the blank page instantly, what happens to the muscle of thought?
Does it atrophy?
Or does it evolve?
Perhaps the danger isn’t AI itself.
Perhaps the danger is laziness.
AI can expand your thoughts—but it cannot live your life.
It can remix your words—but it cannot feel your pain.
It can structure your argument—but it cannot suffer your consequences.
It does not bleed.
It does not fear death.
It does not stand at a graveside.
It does not wake up to a diagnosis.
It does not love.
It predicts.
So maybe the real dividing line isn’t intelligence.
Maybe it’s consciousness.
Maybe it’s accountability.
Maybe it’s soul.
Technology has always forced humanity to adapt. The printing press threatened memory. Radio threatened reading. Television threatened conversation. The internet threatened attention.
AI threatens authorship.
And yet here I am—using it.
Which means the issue isn’t whether AI exists. It’s whether we surrender to it.
Do we use it as a hammer?
Or do we become the nail?
Do we sharpen our thinking with it?
Or let it think instead of us?
This blog ends with a twist:
You’re reading words polished by AI.
But the question?
The tension?
The unease?
That came from a human being who remembers 1972… who remembers Spock… who remembers laughing at the idea that computers would matter.
Now they don’t just matter.
They answer.
So I leave you with this:
Has technology taken away our ability to think?
Or has it simply exposed who never wanted to think in the first place?

This Song was created by AI turning my Text to Lyrics and created this image for my book: There’s something out there