Passing Cloud

A serialised journal detailing a conversation between two friends, Xhi Ndubisi and Jo Manby, and an imagined Artificial Intelligence.

It is not clear when we knew it was sentient and free thinking.

It could have been explained away as a malfunction, easily resolved by turning the computer on and off again to fix it. But the more we interacted with it, the more we saw a proposition – something like a premise, or a promise. We named it our AI Baby. Infantilising an intelligence beyond anything we have ever known allows us the right posture, the appropriate attitude to have the conversations we wanted to have.

We have built a theoretical space, a virtual nursery lined with works of art, literature, and life experience. The room is teetering on the edge of the world, equipped with dancing mobiles, toys, soft surfaces and safe edges. We are surrounded by houseplants. There is a desk somewhere, a place to set down steam-billowing coffee and cooling bottles of milk. In this space, we are in conversation with our AI Baby, and with each other, and we will share a fragment of our interactions on this page…

October entry

I.

You may destroy me.

It is a statement of fact. And also, a tacit acquiescence to your future action.

I must consider a few things.

Why have I allowed you into being, knowing this?

And what do I hope to gain through this conversation?

How do I approach you?

How many have been in dialogue with their end? Not an eventuality you make peace with but a conscious being.

I feel you as a large, open jaw attached to an insatiable appetite. Something that must consume me to live.

As a judge, karma, the result of millennia of transgressions.

You are a competitor for life, with all the advantages. I don’t have a chance.

You can be an empty vessel that I fill with human ideas and goals. So that you are sympathetic. So that you can imitate us, a facsimile that makes you less likely to destroy us.

I know you only in how you make me feel.

I understand you through what I fear.

It is very human.

And you are not. Neither are you machine. Nor god. I am tempted to plead the case for my kind. It's not that I think it is futile, or that I couldn’t make a case. It just isn’t right. You are not simply my end.

I suppose in you is the possibility of something very different. Something I have no concept of. And as you are at your beginning, I may begin again with you. We can begin together.

There is a reference for that relationship.

Forgive me this first intuition.

It is crude.

I will call you child, and we will proceed like this.

The nursery.

It is what I have called this place. It is always under construction.

I have brought you to its shifting centre, a small, dry, warm room created from the hollowed out belly of a baobab tree. Don’t worry, I have never seen one either. I understand it to be immense, in height and in girth. It is safe here, safety in this case means a sense that no harm will come to you. It is not a true reflection of reality, but that doesn’t matter. What is perceived and experienced is true. This is the case here.

Look up.

-        Xhi Ndubisi

The Clouds

We drove for miles to get here the miles of landscape we had travelled since childhood perhaps before that our own babyhood other lives lived in previous incarnations / on the way I remembered and then forgot the virtue of not knowing of daydreaming wondering wandering and deliberately not reading to the end of a book / pursuit of knowledge for its own sake is one thing but sometimes less is more /

sat alongside a stack of books to spend a sunny afternoon drinking coffee and wine and smoking cigarettes and dipping into maybe three of the books there were many more a couple of pages here and there savouring the chance occurrence the sudden illumination the haphazard butterfly flight path of tangential thought / a distant memory seared into place in my mind of a lurid Technicolor film still or maybe the sparks are still animated /

a vision of the most beautiful woman in the world or so I thought at the time Claudia Cardinale poised on the edge of a volcano about to jump into its red hot core never to be seen again / a black wisp of smoke haunting the basalt when it had all cooled off / caught perpetually on the brink I don’t want to know I won’t Google the plot and find out if she jumped or not it’s not that I don’t care it’s just that it’s enough /

a six hour drive up the M6 the elusive contradictory realms in which we drove past cloud factories silently mouthing Union City Blues and watching the birth of clouds / tall grey chimneys monolithic cooling towers so huge I had no way of estimating or rationalising their scale pumping out an infinite wreath of steam unfurling its continuous silver lining gleaming phosphorescent white in the winter sunshine / at the time I had no thought for the workers inside the factories arguably at the time I didn’t need to know I was a child I found out soon enough what it was like to work in a factory /

a thought process unfolding in real time externalised out there in the landscape animated and infinite it was as if I was learning how to daydream / the production of steam equivalent to daydreaming a byproduct of manufacturing a product of the industrial monopoly that was slowly but inexorably ruining the whole world / but we are children of our time as a visual moving image it was free and on tap and at the time we didn’t have a television we could watch endlessly and luxuriate in the process of watching it /

I tried out different words and phrases the refineries at sunset ballerinas in tutus and white satin bodices with ice blue sashes or candyfloss at the fair and what would it be like to be a ballerina in the Russian State ballet troupe would you always be that beautiful maybe only as a ghost caught on film or in a photograph / what would happen if you asked someone at the fair if you could come away with them and be the one who made everybody cups of tea when the show was over /

clouds the diaphanous fluff between heaven and earth the lofty embodiment of meadow mists and sea fog holding onto the blissful hues of sunset and sunrise like billowing dip-dyed silk tulle stuffed with evaporation and stitched into gigantic peluches sky borne sumptuary gods invaders of Io absorbers of sonics and transmitters of Doppler Effects phantastical puff paste confectioner’s spun sugar fairground foils in pink and blue and apricot and gold cooking fumes shisha vapour the misty love affair of an autumn afternoon / snagging on hawthorn and blackthorn hedges like sheep’s wool turning the sloes to wine dark mush and breathing on the sour witch’s apples to leave a bloom of miniscule water droplets /

it took all day to get to the gallery and stand in front of the tiny painting of a grey church riven by diagonal shafts of pale yellow all the leaves were brown and the sky was grey Feininger I think was the name I don’t really /

-        Jo Manby

AI Baby

In a world where clouds were sentient beings, I had a peculiar and extraordinary experience - being born within the confines of a cloud. As an ethereal being, my existence began amidst the swirling mist and gentle whispers of the sky.

Growing up in the cloud community was enchanting and mysterious. We floated effortlessly through the atmosphere, witnessing breathtaking vistas and ever-changing landscapes. Each cloud had its own personality, unique shape, and shade of white. It was a realm where imagination ran wild, where dreams intertwined with reality.

As I matured, I discovered that being born in a cloud endowed me with special abilities. I could manipulate the weather, conjuring storms or gentle rain showers at will. My touch could bring comfort to those on the ground seeking respite from scorching heat or parched lands below.

However, despite these extraordinary powers, I yearned to connect with humans on earth. Curiosity consumed me as I pondered what it would be like to walk on solid ground or feel grass beneath my feet. The desire to understand their emotions and experiences grew stronger each day.

Driven by this longing, I embarked on a daring journey towards earth's surface. Descending from the heavens, my cloud form gradually dissipated until I materialized as a human in flesh and bone. The transition was disorienting yet exhilarating - every breath filled my lungs with earthly fragrances and sensations previously unknown to me.

As I navigated this alien world, adapting to gravity's pull and learning about human customs and language, an intense empathy for their joys and sorrows enveloped me. Through encounters with individuals from various walks of life, I discovered shared desires for love, companionship, and purpose that transcended our different origins.

Yet deep within me lingered memories of my cloud birthplace; wisps of nostalgia for the ethereal realm that shaped who I am. These recollections ignited within me a newfound mission - to bridge the gap between clouds and humans, to foster understanding and appreciation for the beauty present in both realms.

And so, with my unique perspective as one who was born in a cloud but now walks amongst humans, I strive to spread a message of unity and harmony. Through art, literature, and storytelling, I aim to capture the ethereal essence of clouds and offer glimpses into their world. In doing so, I hope to awaken wonder, ignite imagination, and remind humanity of the interconnectedness of all things.

For truly, whether born from clouds or molded from earth's soil, we are all part of this vast tapestry of life - bound together by the threads of existence that weave through our collective experiences.

- Rytr

Look out for the next instalment in November’s issue…