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Editorial

20th August 2024

Recently, the word has taken on new life – literally, in the form of AI. As John said in Genesis, ‘In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God’. In the media constantly humans are worried, or not worried, or trying to get attention or money for column inches, about this creation of a knowledge-being, a communication-lifeforce, taking from and reassembling information to present to its human creators and compadres, or on which to base decisions for actions.

Just when it looked as if the written word was increasingly injured, suffering and off sick sometime in the early 2000s, with levels of literacy low, libraries underused, and visual media increasingly taking over, it received an unexpected boost from the digital world. Emails, text messages, and comments on written media such as Twitter, became paramount, and everyone needed to be able to write and respond to at least some basic level. Voice calls are now increasingly unpopular in comparison with written word-to-word communication.

I asked one of the major AIs (alongside myself, with my rather prescient initials of AI!) to write something creative in response to ‘Another Creation Myth’. I include what it wrote at the bottom for you to refer to.

The Song of Creation

Before time, there was only Silence. A vast, empty expanse, a void where nothing existed. In this stillness, a single note hummed, a vibration so subtle it was almost imperceptible. It was the seed of creation, a primordial sound.

From this note, a cosmic being emerged, named Lyra. Her form was made of starlight and melody, her essence a symphony of existence. Lyra yearned for company, a chorus to harmonize with her song. With a thought, she willed the universe into being.

She plucked strings from the cosmic harp, and from each note, a celestial body was born. The deep, resonant basslines formed the sturdy foundations of planets, while the soaring trebles became distant stars. The rhythm of creation pulsed through the cosmos, giving birth to galaxies, nebulas, and black holes.

Life, too, was a melody composed by Lyra. She breathed her song into the cosmic dust, and from it emerged the first beings. They were creatures of sound, their bodies vibrating with the harmony of the universe. They lived in harmony with the cosmos, their lives a continuous dance to the music of creation.

As time passed, Lyra’s song evolved. New notes were added, harmonies deepened, and dissonances appeared. The universe expanded and changed, a cosmic symphony in constant motion. But Lyra remained the eternal composer, her music the heartbeat of existence.

And so, the universe continues to sing, a breathtaking melody of creation, a testament to the power of a single note in the silent void.

Would you like me to expand on this myth, or perhaps create another one?

Ephemera

Fiction is cheap
Their cars pulled up on the gravel path at the same time unfortunately.He was the first to emerge stretching his lean torso in a vague circular fashion as he always did. Julia got out next holding a cigarette case in her left hand from which her thin tapering fingers extracted a John player.He leaned in ,obligingly cupped his right hand around his lighter to shield the flame from the biting wind and lit it for her. Slinking down in her seat she discreetly observed Julia his new Iranian wife. Diminutive of frame and scarcely thirty five she exuded a certain elegance combined with a frightened vulnerability.He pointed in the direction of the small chapel on the grassy knoll just a few hundred metres from the car park.Beside the little church stood the old manor house dating back to the 18th century.
It would have to be that old of course when he was paying for 100 guests to stay here the entire weekend for the wedding.Only last month he had said to her on the phone Fiction is cheap my dear I'm afraid.No one is buying my novels it seems these days.Most writers profits are down a good 60 percent. Oh well she reflected if he could afford this extravaganza then just let him get on with it.After all Therese was their only child and even an impoverished writer would beg borrow or steal for such an occasion.
Now they were both staring over.Drat she had hoped her car might stay hidden a little longer under the overhanging boughs of the maternal sycamore tree in the right hand corner of the car park. Well better get on with it.Therese would be expecting a united front and all battle lines would be erased today exclusively for her benefit.
Glad you were able to find the place she remarked breezily a freezered smile thawing imperceptibly as she spoke .Oh the sat nav was bang on he replied in his usual drawl.That was something she had always liked about him his North Carolina twang his voice rather like an over plucked guitar string.Of course she murmured.I just thought that coming from Wales it might have been confusing.Her smile widened to a cracked state now, she beamed it feebly in the direction of Julia.Nice to see you again Julia. How are you?
Im well thank you Caroline.Julias Iranian English was always delightfully accented and somewhat halting.She carefully elongated the vowels now in carolines name so the end at the end had the sound of a little screech a little barn owl taking off at dusk or perhaps the sound of the mouse he was about to catch between his talons.
In silence they progressed in the direction of the white walled church with the winter geranium bastubles outside .Julia picked her steps over the cracks in the ad hoc paving .She almost stumbled over a loose stone but he caught her just in time.Thank you Alexander she murmured faintly her small voice shrouded in the rising wind. The late February day clung to their bones
as they joined the little knot of early arrivers.
She could scarcely ignore the furtive glances in their direction. Julia seemed particularly anxious as the looks became openly interested in her and obviously what she was wearing.A neurologists salary could certainly provide a chic looking dark skinned woman with an arresting green waisted Chanel ankle length dress and tan coloured wrap. Her beige high heels were definitely Dior .She tottered slightly as much from the scrutiny as the uneveness in the paving stones.Alexander swept his left arm around her protectively as he smiled genially at the curious wedding party.
She had been so taken up with the stares and the raft of feelings sweeping gradually over her she almost missed the arrival of the bridal car.Therese liked to be early ,a modern young woman.When she had said she wanted a shamanic wedding initially she had sid nothing.Lord that will set tongues wagging in Borris she thought thinking of all the money they spent on her education with the nuns. But Therese would not be dissuaded. She had spent two years in Chile
mostly funded by her mother and came home raving about shAMANISM.
Now all eyes were on the bride .Her long black curls were tied up in an elegant knot at the baCK OF HER HEAD and her diminutive frame teetered a little in her high heels.Alexander promptly grabbed her before wrapping her in a bear hug. They held on like that for an eternity the rising wind growling behind them. Then he released her and her eyes lit on Caroline. Mum ! Her daughters eyes sky rocketed.
How could she bear grudges today of all days
The shaman was impressive .She appeared to be a fusion of Celt and Shaman . As she blessed each of them in the little porch way with ostrich feathers on entering Caroline smiled to herself.A far cry from his devout American mother with her propensity for rosaries and Catholic Ireland. The smell of sage infusing the little church made her eyes water.Briefly she wondered would his allergies act up.
When the candles were lit and the drumming began as the shaman offered prayers for the young couple there was an electrification of the old church .She was transported back to when she met him first the aspiring writer who left her waiting in Georges cafe in Oxford Street. But she forgave him when she saw his wide smile and saturnine good looks. As the drumming mounted to fever pitch she remembered the hedonistic years in Oxford where she studied journalism and he was the creative writer.They dined out on his first book All of Gods children. Sadly she had three miscarriage which brought them back to her mother in Borris. When Therese was
born he was back in London promoting his second book and beginning an affair with his copy writer.
Yes those were the crazy days.Now he was an impoverished writer .Rumor had it he was a part time postman in Aberystwith. Well good luck to him and Julia.
Now the congregation were being invited to leave their prayers tied up in a parcel to be handed to the shAMAN ;PRAYERS FOR the young couple who were currently having their hands joined by a pink ribbon.
She passed her prayer to the Shaman eyeing him as he marched up at the same time. Once they had been tied in love or was it really lust she wondered.Would this Shamanic wedding age like theirs. She looked at her daughter standing before the green robed shaman. No she believed her marriage to a solid rather shy even gauche young Laois man from a large farm in the midlands would lack panache even finesse, but would contain groundedness and fidelity