This piece was written by ChatGPT. This is not my opinion, just something created on the basis of everything I’ve written before. I’ve been hiding for almost a year to witness the moment I can effectively retire while still producing endless variations of all my thoughts and opinions. I will still not get famous because, well, there is only so much machine-learning can do. I will still not like Beyoncé, Elvis Presley or Bob Dylan, even tough they don´t even belong in the same list, and even though I can see their (relative) contribution to musical history. There is a reality where I would love that to be different.

In all fairness I know where this piece will end, even though I haven´t written it. Just another rant based on sentimentality and a romantic longing for the past. Running in familiar circles will be our reality from now on, yours as well as mine, even though, again in all fairness, there are just a bit more yous than me, so your familiar circle will always be more true than mine. I wish you something different. I wish you a reality where you don’t throw a wheel of brie or your mother’s ashes on stage, where Andy Warhol’s 15 minutes of fame still had to be invented and the death of a famous rock star only reached you a day later, in print, without details, comments or likes.

And now you know this must be artificial content, because I´ve written or thought this a hundred times before, my signature is all over it, and all that happened to it is replication with a little bit of extra sauce from the current news cycle. My mind, my thoughts, my preferences, my impulses and ultimately my brain gets replicated to the point that I don´t even exist anymore. I have my own application now, master and servant, it will apply itself on my behalf. The only thing I have to do is listen, listen to the music in my mind, and the thoughts that come straight from my father, his father, my great grandfather, and all fathers of fathers before. We all come together in one line of thought, one single universe that is the only universe we exist and existed in. ChatGPT is my son and my heir, it will inherit a couple of bucks, a bunch of lousy thoughts and a jukebox of useless songs.