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  • Or the fear of AI advancement will force everyone to believe that they can work for far less than they are now.

    AI will have a place in our future but for the foreseeable future, we'll still need people to do certain things and think of certain things. AI will also be a tool for the wealthy elite and corporations to better manage and manipulate people and forcing everyone to do more for less.

    AI is basically the new gunpowder technology ... whoever has it and uses it to their best advantage gets to rule the world. And like with the invention of gunpowder, there's going to be a whole mess of people everywhere that will suffer and die while a small group of people try to figure out how to become the next momentary God King of the world.

  • Quick, everybody say AI could do their job so that the corporate airheads invest a bunch of money in AI, get sad when it doesn't deliver, and then become super pessimistic about AI

    • They’d be pulling that money out of our wages. They certainly aren’t going to give the C level execs a pay cut, never mind less of a pay raise or bonus.

  • This would be tight if we weren't all beholden to Mammon and his devout.

    • I love this sentence ❤️

      Had chatgpt poem it up:

      In the shadowed halls of gold and greed, Where Mammon reigns, his creed they heed, A whisper winds, a somber song, Of hearts lost to the worldly throng.

      Beholden to Mammon and his devout, Souls bartered in a faithless rout, Chained to desires, ever unfulfilled, In halls of opulence, unjustly built.

      Their eyes, like hollow stars, gleam bright, Yet void of warmth, devoid of light, For in their quest for fleeting gain, They've traded joy for endless pain.

      The nightingale, she weeps in woe, For those who wander, lost below, In labyrinths of gold they roam, Yet farther still from heart and home.

      And I, a ghost among these halls, Echo Poe’s lament, his somber calls, For in this realm where shadows play, The soul’s true worth is cast away.

      So heed this tale, this mournful verse, Lest you become Mammon's curse, For wealth unbound by love or grace, Leads but to a darkened place.

      And there, in silence, you might find, The truest wealth – a peaceful mind, Unchained from Mammon, finally free, To embrace life's deeper mystery.

      • In the House of the Lord we devout our lives.
        Each narrow fiscal year brings new tithes.
        My family is hungry, my daughters are cold.
        Clasped hands pray above an idol of gold.

        We pray for prosperity, of which we were not blessed.
        This condition is reserved for those who are His best.
        "All are made to toil", the priest assures me yet.
        The Lord requires extravagence, and I gave at His behest.

        Fine silks, linens, and furs given freely to confer
        our love for Him is beyond superb.
        His steps bound over us, unrequited and unperturbed.

        In the House of the Lord we devout our lives.
        Souls transmute to gold, a baby's monetized cry. Helpless towards each other, under His watchful eye.
        Mammon's grip grows as our humanity dies.

  • Meaning 1/3 of Americans don't realize that AI could replace them.
    /Sarcasm (at least for now)

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