Musing

I’m depressed. Not TERRIBLY depressed. But depressed.

Reviewing French Fries, or, the ridiculous power of AI. Or, I’m totally obsessional.

Meeting women has changed dramatically over the last 15 years — from mass-swiping Tinder to the blog attracting partners organically — and now all avenues have dried up.

I’m marking the 15th anniversary of my blog, a few months late. What began as exhibitionistic and therapeutic has become a memoir of my inner life through my fifties.

I’ve been building a chatbot to give access to my writing — not to imitate my voice, but to preserve it. This project grew from grief over my mother’s lost writings and a resolve not to leave my child without my output.

Every behavior, sexual or otherwise, contains valuable information. Lately my pornographic habits are raising disturbing new questions I’ve been avoiding — ones I plan to explore in a future post.

A PAWG? Not quite. But almost….

Remembering my suffering.

I contrast my past destructive obsession with commercial sex against my current generative, productive compulsion with AI tools.

I’m trying to give myself permission to fantasize about off-limits women. It’s HARD!