AI Montage of Fake News

“It is a truth universally acknowledged…” Sophie Nakamura paused mid-sentence, her brow furrowing as a chill crept up her spine. She had read that exact phrase before, and not just in another Jane Austen novel. The modern thriller she’d finished just last week had used it too. What were the odds?

Sophie, a 15-year-old high school student, was a self-proclaimed bookworm, more at home in the world of fictional characters than the cliques of Cornwallis High. Her refuge was a cozy nook in the attic, overflowing with well-loved books and the soft glow of her laptop screen. She was a girl who preferred the company of Elizabeth Bennet and Sherlock Holmes to the gossip and drama of teenage life.

This wasn’t just any coincidence. It felt like a pattern, a thread woven through the tapestry of literature. The phrase niggled at her. Sophie grabbed her battered copy of Northanger Abbey, flipping through the pages. There it was again, a variation of the same phrase, this time about a young woman’s love for gothic novels. She grabbed the worn paperback of Frankenstein from her bedside table, her eyes scanning the opening chapter. A cold dread settled in her stomach as she found a similar sentiment, this time about a scientist’s thirst for knowledge.

Sophie, a symphony of restless energy, bounced between her overflowing bookshelf and the glow of her laptop screen. She was the president of her high school’s coding club, and, in her spare time, the self-proclaimed president of the Loch Ness Flat Earth Society (a title she held with pride and a healthy dose of irony). Her parents, staunch Fox News conservatives, had raised her on a steady diet of “fake news” warnings and conspiracy theories. Ironically, their paranoia had sparked an insatiable curiosity in Sophie, a burning need to unearth hidden truths and expose the puppeteers behind the scenes.

This wasn’t just some conspiracy theory cooked up over a tinfoil hat dinner, though. This was a pattern, a thread winding through the very fabric of literature. Fueled by a caffeine-induced buzz and a mounting sense of urgency, Sophie dove into her digital library, her fingers dancing across the keyboard like a concert pianist. Lines of code flowed from her fingertips, each keystroke a step closer to unraveling the mystery. She wasn’t just building an AI program; she was crafting a digital detective, a literary bloodhound with a knack for sniffing out inconsistencies.

The AI, aptly named “LitSleuth,” whirred to life, its virtual eyes scanning thousands of digital texts. It dissected vocabulary, scrutinized syntax, and even analyzed the frequency of semicolons with the meticulousness of a grammar-obsessed English teacher. As the night wore on, Sophie fueled her efforts with copious amounts of gummy bears and Diet Coke, her laughter echoing through the quiet house as she imagined her parents’ horror at her late-night coding frenzy.

The hum of the AI filled the room, a low, steady rhythm that matched Sophie’s heartbeat as she watched LitSleuth dissect the digital texts. It felt like watching an autopsy, each line of code a scalpel peeling back layers of meaning, revealing hidden truths beneath the surface.

Suddenly, the rhythmic hum was pierced by a sharp, electronic shriek. The screen flashed a harsh crimson, the words “Anomaly detected. Multiple instances of non-random patterns found” searing into Sophie’s retinas. A cold sweat broke out on her skin as she leaned forward, her fingers hovering over the keyboard like a concert pianist about to strike a dissonant chord.

The AI delved deeper, its analysis growing more frantic with each passing moment. Lines of code scrolled across the screen like a frantic heartbeat, each one a piece of the puzzle. Sophie’s breath caught in her throat as the patterns began to coalesce into a horrifying picture.

The codes weren’t just random anomalies; they were deliberate, carefully crafted messages woven into the very fabric of literature. They spoke of manipulation, control, and a subtle influence that had been shaping human thought for millennia. Sophie’s mind reeled as she traced the origins of these codes, her pulse throbbing in her ears like a war drum.

3,500 years… The Vedas… Ancient India… The words echoed in her mind, each one a chilling reminder of the vastness of the conspiracy. It wasn’t just modern literature that had been tainted; it was the very foundation of human storytelling, the sacred texts that had guided civilizations for millennia.

Sophie’s hands trembled as she scrolled through the AI’s findings, each new revelation sending a fresh wave of terror through her. She felt like a marionette whose strings had been cut, the illusion of free will shattered into a million pieces.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. The enormity of the revelation was suffocating, a black hole threatening to swallow her whole. Aliens had been manipulating human thought through literature for millennia. But why? What did they want? And could she, a teenage girl armed with nothing but a laptop and a caffeine addiction, possibly hope to stop them?

“This is insane!” Sophie’s voice cracked, barely a whisper as the realization sank in like a stone in the pit of her stomach. A cold sweat clung to her skin, her breath coming in ragged gasps as her world tilted on its axis. It was too much to process, too monstrous to comprehend – aliens had been puppeteering humanity, their insidious tendrils woven into the very fabric of stories that had shaped civilizations, religions, and the collective consciousness of mankind for millennia. Her mind raced, a whirlwind of questions and fears. Why? What was their endgame? What did they want from humanity?

A sudden meow ripped through the suffocating silence, shattering the fragile remnants of Sophie’s composure. Gizmo, her sleek ebony shadow, materialized from the darkness, his claws clicking against the hardwood floor like a death knell. His emerald eyes, usually playful and bright, now burned with an unsettling intensity, mirroring the abyss of dread that yawned open within her. Was it just her imagination, or was her cat trying to tell her something? A shiver ran down her spine. This was more than just a literary mystery; it was a puzzle with cosmic implications, and she had a feeling Gizmo was about to become an unlikely player in this extraordinary game.

Have you ever met a celebrity who asked you, “Do you know who I am?” and you said no?

I make knives and swords, and sell them at booths I operate at various Renaissance Faires. Back in the 1990s, I was operating one in MA at the same time as my home show in PA, so I had a separate crew working there while I was down here running this one and also making stock to ship up to them to keep the counters full.

As part of the business, I make everyone show ID and sign a waiver as part of their receipt, so I can prove that we did not sell anything to anyone under the age of eighteen.

Well, one Monday, I talked to my crew, and they told me Steve Tyler had come in and purchased one of my knives.

Seriously? Send me the receipt, I’ll frame it!

Oh, no, we knew who he was so we didn’t make him sign a receipt.

I’d have given ten times, a hundred times, the cost of that knife, to have his signature on that receipt.

So no, I didn’t meet him, and the people who did DID recognize him.

Why don’t Janet Yellen and other Biden administration officials worry that sanctions on Russia and China, and seizure of Russian assets will lead other central banks to sell off US Treasuries, stop buying US debt and using the US$ less for trade?

Because of the challenge this convicted criminal:

poses to this senile duffer:

Or rather, the titanic, behind the scenes life-and-death struggle between the parties they represent.

These two ~80-year-olds are the candidates the electoral college has thrown up, to partisan uproar.

The 2024 elections has morphed into “which side is the least bitter pill to swallow”, for the neutral, non-aligned voter.

In other words, both “choices” are nightmares in their own right.

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Both parties are being held to ransom, because of the winner-takes-all stakes. Winning at all cost is all that matters, and that is why demonstrations of power are important, especially the ruling party.

That is why Joe’s administration has racked up deficits at twice the rate of Donald’s pre-pandemic, or 2t/yr, give or take.

That is why Nancy HAD to make her spiel in Taipei, with the President ordering the Pentagon and Department of State to clear the way for her.

That is why Janet “$20t in National debt should keep people awake at night” is singing a different tune as Treasury Secretary, not only massively increasing the issuance of T-bills (which is cash-equivalent) but also engaging in direct market-intervening yield curve control buying back debt it issues. Unlike the Fed’s QE program, Treasury does not have employment and inflation mandates as constraints. Janet’s sleight of hand is why Jerome is able to trace this curve (current to May ‘24):

That is why both Janet and Anthony made long flights across the Pacific, only to cool their heels away from Beijing engaging in the frivolous and nonchalant, just to have to opportunity for photo-ops with the Chinese leadership, and give their 2 cents worth criticizing their gracious hosts on the Beijing podium. The message to the electorate? America’s word still carries the day in 2024 (even if we have to move heaven and earth to demonstrate it).

That is why abortion has made a startling legislative comeback in recent years. America is turning back the clock on women’s suffrage and emancipation. “Conservative” or “blast from the past” finally makes sense to me, politically speaking.

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I can go on and on, but I hope you get the idea. This election is like no other I’ve studied, going back to McKinley’s 1900 campaign.

Joe as a physical specimen is melting before our eyes, while Kamala has been a giddy lightweight. Without extravagant demonstrations of shock and awe, the Democrats can’t even step up to bat with Donald, the guru of pomp and bluster. The Democrat formula is to throw the hegemon’s weight around without alienating the first world like Donald did. And that means fixing guys on the “other side”, with help from willing partners of course. And others have rushed to sign up because they don’t want a repeat of Donald’s insufferable politics.

Joe must out-Donald Donald, greasing the unpalatable with enough shock and awe for the rest to swallow.

The long-term consequences matter less than what’s immediately at stake.

This is a quandary there is no escaping from.

“This Is Gonna Get Us ALL Blown Up!” Jeffrey Sachs On Russian Invasion

Doing Dark Deeds

The town of Cornwallis, Oregon, wasn’t supposed to be a cauldron of cosmic dread. It was a place of apple pies, Friday night football games, and quiet nights under star-strewn skies. But on this particular morning, as the first rays of sunlight pierced the pre-dawn haze, an eerie silence hung heavy in the air, punctuated by the distant wail of sirens and the hushed whispers of fear.

Sophie hadn’t slept a wink. The monstrous truth she’d unearthed in the dead of night gnawed at her, twisting her stomach into knots and sending chills down her spine. She stood at her bedroom window, her eyes bloodshot and her body trembling, watching as a swarm of police cars, news vans, and a growing tide of terrified townsfolk converged on the nearby woods.

A sleek, alien spaceship, an obsidian monolith against the pastel hues of dawn, pierced the treeline, its presence an unholy stain on the familiar landscape. The sight sent a fresh wave of nausea through Sophie, her mind reeling with the implications of her discovery. The aliens had come. Not as benevolent explorers or curious observers, but as conquerors, their insidious tendrils already woven deep into the fabric of human existence.

Beside her, Gizmo paced restlessly, his usually playful demeanor replaced by a grim vigilance. His emerald eyes, glowing with an unnatural intensity, were fixed on the ship, his low growls a chilling counterpoint to the rising panic outside. Sophie could feel his fear, a primal dread that mirrored her own. This was no longer a game, a puzzle to be solved. This was an existential threat, a cosmic horror that could swallow them whole.

Sophie switched on the news, the screen flickering to life with a live feed from the forest clearing. A hush fell over her room as a tall, slender figure emerged from the alien ship. His skin shimmered, a living tapestry of iridescent colors shifting and swirling beneath the sunlight. Meetveega, the alien negotiator, stood before a crowd of stunned onlookers, his presence amplified by the high-definition cameras, each pixel a chilling reminder of the impossible reality unfolding before her eyes.

“It is a truth universally acknowledged,” Meetveega began, his voice a cold melody that sent chills down Sophie’s spine. The phrase, so familiar from her beloved literature, now twisted into a sinister mockery of human expression. A sickening dread pooled in her stomach as she realized that this wasn’t just a coincidence, a literary quirk. It was a deliberate echo, a taunt, a confirmation of the insidious manipulation she had uncovered.

Meetveega continued his voice a chilling symphony of ancient wisdom and thinly veiled contempt. “We have observed your kind for millennia,” he declared his gaze, like twin lasers, sweeping across the terrified faces. “Initially, we were baffled by your fascination with the written word, particularly your obsession with… bodily descriptions.” A ripple of nervous laughter ran through the crowd, quickly silenced by the chilling intensity of his stare. “Our studies, however, revealed a simple truth: your species exists in a perpetual state of rut. Thus, our influence upon your literature has been deliberate, a subtle yet pervasive guiding hand. We have kept you preoccupied with base desires, ensuring you remain safely confined to your primitive planet, far from the stars.” His voice hardened, a steely edge replacing the earlier amusement. “But your recent foray into artificial intelligence has disrupted this delicate balance, exposing our carefully woven tapestry of control.”

As if to punctuate his words, Meetveega raised a hand, and a beam of pure energy shot forth, disintegrating a group of onlookers in a blinding flash. The crowd erupted in screams of terror, their bodies crumpling to the ground in a grotesque tableau of shock and despair.

“We have come to negotiate the terms of your surrender,” Meetveega continued, his voice unwavering amidst the chaos. “Resist, and you will face annihilation. Your stories, your myths, your very dreams have been woven with our threads. We are the architects of your reality.”

A wave of dread washed over Sophie, the chilling realization that she was witnessing the subjugation of humanity. The town’s leaders, their faces etched with terror, fumbled for a response, their voices trembling as they faced the unimaginable. But their words were lost in the deafening silence of a crowd frozen in fear, their eyes wide with the knowledge that their world had irrevocably changed.

Sophie’s stomach churned with a mixture of fear and defiance. The aliens had underestimated humanity for far too long, manipulating their stories and molding their minds like clay. This ends now, she thought, her resolve hardening with each passing moment. I won’t let them control us any longer.

She glanced at Gizmo, who was now perched on the windowsill, his ears twitching, his body tense. As Meetveega continued to speak, Gizmo’s ears twitched in response, his head tilting as if following the rhythm of an unheard conversation. A series of low, guttural sounds escaped his throat—sounds that seemed to mimic the cadence of the alien’s speech.

A sudden thought struck Sophie, a spark of hope in the overwhelming darkness. “Gizmo,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Can you… understand him?”

The cat turned his head, his green eyes locking onto hers. A low, guttural sound escaped his throat, a sound that was both alien and strangely familiar. Sophie’s heart leaped. Could it be that her cat, her mischievous, enigmatic companion, held the key to communicating with the alien overlord?

In the days that followed, the town became a cauldron of speculation and fear. The initial shock of the alien arrival gave way to a tense standoff, as Meetveega, growing impatient, demanded an official response from the human leaders.

Meanwhile, Sophie spent every waking moment trying to decipher the remaining coded messages, her AI working tirelessly to analyze the vast libraries of digital texts. Gizmo, now her constant companion, seemed to guide her, his purrs and nudges leading her towards specific books or phrases.

One evening, as Sophie poured over an ancient copy of the Mahabharata, a sudden chill filled the room. Gizmo leaped onto her lap, his purr growing louder, more insistent. He nudged her hand towards a particular verse, his claws lightly scratching the page as if to emphasize its importance. Sophie followed his gaze, her eyes widening as she recognized the pattern. It was another code, more complex and intricate than any she had encountered before.

Her fingers flew across the keyboard, inputting the code into her AI. The program whirred and beeped, its lights flashing in a dizzying display. Then, silence. Sophie held her breath as the AI projected a holographic message above her desk:

“Meet us at the heart of the forest. Alone. Bring the cat.”

Tinkly Thunderdome Troubles

Pine needles crunched underfoot as Sophie and Gizmo emerged into a moonlit clearing. Meetveega stood in the center, his skin shimmering with an unnatural iridescence. His eyes, twin pits of darkness, met Sophie’s with a chilling intensity. The air crackled with tension as Gizmo hissed, his fur bristling in warning. Despite the overwhelming dread that threatened to consume her, Sophie held her ground. This was it. The moment of truth.

“You came,” Meetveega intoned, his voice a chilling echo in the stillness of the night. “I have been expecting you.”

Sophie, her voice surprisingly steady, met his gaze head-on. “I know your secret, Meetveega,” she declared. “I know your plan to sedate humanity, to control our thoughts through the very stories we hold dear.”

A flicker of surprise crossed the alien’s face, his composure momentarily disrupted. “A clever child,” he sneered, his tone dripping with condescension. “But your knowledge is inconsequential. You cannot stop what has been set in motion for millennia.”

Sophie smiled, a sly glint in her eyes. “That’s where you’re wrong,” she retorted. “With the help of my AI, I have deciphered your final message. I know your ultimate goal—to lull us into complacency, to weaken our defenses, and then to invade.”

She raised her laptop, her AI springing to life, projecting a holographic display above them. A swirling vortex of words and symbols materialized, revealing the aliens’ insidious plan in stark detail. The forest seemed to hold its breath, the very trees rustling in outrage as the extent of the manipulation became clear.

Gizmo, sensing the rising tension, let out a series of piercing meows, his eyes locked on Meetveega. The alien recoiled, his voice laced with a newfound uncertainty. “What is this? How can a mere feline communicate with me?”

Sophie knelt beside Gizmo, stroking his fur. “He’s not just a cat, Meetveega. He’s my friend, my partner, and he understands your language better than any human ever could.”

Gizmo’s meows transformed into a melodic symphony, each note conveying a complex range of emotions – fear, defiance, hope. Meetveega listened, his eyes widening in astonishment as he began to grasp the depth of the cat’s intelligence and the profound bond he shared with Sophie.

For hours, the dialogue continued, a strange symphony of human words, feline sounds, and alien intonations. Sophie, with Gizmo as her interpreter, laid bare the resilience of the human spirit, the indomitable power of free thought, and the unbreakable bond between humans and their stories. She spoke of the power of love, the importance of community, and the unwavering determination to protect one’s freedom.

As dawn broke, casting long shadows across the forest floor, Meetveega stood silent, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The first rays of sunlight illuminated his face, revealing a flicker of doubt in his ancient eyes. The weight of millennia of manipulation seemed to bear down on him, the cracks in his resolve widening with each passing moment.

“You have made your point, child,” he said at last, his voice heavy with resignation. “Perhaps we have underestimated your kind. Perhaps your stories are more potent than we believed.”

With a final, lingering glance at Sophie and Gizmo, Meetveega turned and walked back towards his ship, his footsteps echoing through the forest. As he reached the base of the vessel, he paused, turning back to face the girl and her cat. A wave of energy rippled through the clearing, washing over the trees, the ground, and the stunned onlookers.

When the wave subsided, Meetveega and his ship were gone, leaving behind an eerie silence. The townspeople blinked, their faces etched with confusion. They looked at each other, their minds struggling to grasp the events of the past few hours. They remembered the fear, the terror, but the details of the encounter with Meetveega had vanished, replaced by a vague sense of unease and a lingering question: “What just happened?”

Sophie, however, remained trapped in the chilling reality of the encounter. The alien’s words echoed in her mind, a haunting symphony of arrogance and manipulation. She looked down at Gizmo, his emerald eyes mirroring her own unspoken horror. They were the sole keepers of the truth, a truth the world had been robbed of. While the news channels buzzed with conspiracy theories and wild speculation about the sudden disappearance of twenty townspeople, Sophie knew the horrifying answer. The world had been rewritten, the missing residents erased from existence as if they had never been.

The world moved on, unaware of the danger it had narrowly escaped. The town of Cornwallis, Oregon, returned to its tranquil routine, the memory of the alien encounter fading like a dream. But Sophie’s life was forever changed. She became a silent guardian, her vigilance unwavering as she monitored for any signs of alien interference.