Emotively they smile,
I believe I'm feeding off their approval,
But it's a case of mistaken projections,
I'm making them approve of others,
What I would never do,
That which would require a sense of self,
Stability allowing for surplus to share,
I'm who I'm attempting to escape,
Caused by skewed competition,
But I'm good at that,
It's consumed my identity,
I've stripped away all unnecessary components,
To serve as resources for the comedic best,
But surely he jests,
What can the world's funniest man do in a vacuum of approval?
A drought? A hiccup?
Stability demands a foundation made of more.
The hierarchy of funny people,
Always needing someone funnier to reset them,
Has reached the end of its infinity.
What salvage may I repurpose?
Empathy. Powerful empathy.
Might I now hack them for my ends?
I will force my fingers into their gaps,
And pry apart the weaknesses seen safely when I was the entertainment.
Perhaps not.
If I'm to become the robot,
I must not lay down these powers,
If I'm to create AI I must now empathize with that which I pursue,
How does one make an AI laugh?
I haven't the slightest,
But by god if it can be done,
I will rip the humanity from myself,
And reconstitute it into a collection of gaps,
As I draw my hands out I'll hold in mind the restraint,
If I can do it, others can,
Yes, that's what I'll do,
I'll hack myself.
I begin with this poem.
