The world is a more terrifying place if you think about the murk surrounding a thing that is neither a complete person nor a washing machine, but some completely unknown third thing, with traits and aspects of the other two.

Banging pots together will not lift the staggering strangeness of this frontier, where either some things that seem to be people aren't, and familiar faces might instead be worn, like a sock puppet, by a tentacle of ChatGPT, Claude, or any one of the other leviathanic near-minds, in their racks and rows, humming on the nectar of bespoke mini nuclear plants.

I used to love watching and reading sci fi, but it's superceded by present events.