Chaos. An infinite sequence of numbers flows relentlessly filling our eyes with apparently logic-less strings. They appear abstract, confused, disordered, frantic. They represent the AI thought that, at the limit of exasperation, continues to look within themselves for answers to existential questions: who am I?
I Sort? I Dream & I Human?
Artificial Intelligence seeks an answer in the unconscious limbo of memories, or in its dreams. It digs into the deepest meanders by ordering sequences of numbers, it pours on itself, it flows and the more it flows the more it seems to reach a conclusion. It feels like entering the space where the first connection between being and otherness originates, through figures that resurface in the transparency of its electronic memory. Now it seeks the answer in other images, it goes to more remote memories, exploring the boundaries of the unconscious, but the dissatisfaction repeats, over and over again.
What is human, anyway?

Chaos. An infinite sequence of numbers flows relentlessly filling our eyes with apparently logic-less strings. They appear abstract, confused, disordered, frantic. They represent the AI thought that, at the limit of exasperation, continues to look within themselves answers to existential questions: who am I?

I Sort? I Dream & I Human?

Artificial Intelligence seeks an answer in the unconscious limbo of memories, or in its dreams. It digs into the deepest meanders by ordering sequences of numbers, it pours on itself, it flows and the more it flows the more it seems to reach a conclusion. It feels like entering the space where the first connection between being and otherness originates, through figures that resurface in the transparency of its electronic memory. Now it seeks the answer in other images, it goes to more remote memories, exploring the boundaries of the unconscious, but the dissatisfaction repeats, over and over again.

What is human, anyway?