Barbra Streisand sings an iconic…
…timeless lyric that’s always held me spellbound – and in awe.
“People who need people, are the luckiest people in the world.”
Why are they lucky? Because they understand the value of needing that warm, supernatural stuff found in connection, belonging and … love.
Now. Let’s fold this needy concept into the AI age.
Yeah, this is another bot rant. So, look away now if you’ve swallowed the tech rhetoric hook, line and… blinkered.
This week I’ve done existential battle with bots again. It’s so tedious particularly when I’m surrounded by folks who have surrendered to the dark (f)art.
The mania that seems to have gripped most AI users as far as I can see is akin to the juvenile catchcry, look Ma, no hands! The subtext being, I can do this all by myself. And I don’t need you!
Cue maniacal laughter.
It’s quietly demoralising too, if I let the tech get to me. So that’s when – as a self-dubbed ‘organic scribe’ – I lean on my brain’s might.
“…like melted icicles in my mouth…” This is how I describe the cold tap water swishing around my molars after I brush ‘em first thing.
No. I’m not out to make Pulitzer proud, but that’s hardly the point.
I just love the making. The friction of wrestling with a sentence. Conjuring up quirk. I want my thoughts to morph into words that mock homogeny. I need to feel it. All.
And I guess that makes me lucky.
© Phyllis Foundis 2026