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Artificial intelligence is a magician performing a parlor trick with infinite confidence—sleight of hand wrapped in a machine-learning buzzword. We watch in awe as it generates poetry, writes essays, and constructs arguments, forgetting that the entire performance is smoke and mirrors. AI doesn’t think. It doesn’t know. It doesn’t create. It simply plays an endless, probabilistic guessing game, shuffling words into coherent sequences based on statistical likelihood.
AI-generated text, for all its elegance, is an elaborate con. It’s an algorithm trained on vast amounts of human writing, slicing and dicing existing language into something that feels original but never truly is. The tech industry, ever the carnival barker, loves to dress this up with mystical language—“neural networks,” “self-learning models,” “superintelligence.” In reality, it’s just an exceptionally sophisticated version of predictive text, not much different from the autocomplete function on your phone, just scaled up to an absurd degree.
We need to call this what it is: AI-generated text is the linguistic equivalent of a cheap remix. It’s rearranged, repurposed, and reskinned content—words without a soul, meaning without intent. In this section, we’ll explore the mechanics of how AI generates words, why it’s fundamentally limited, and why the entire process is more akin to a glorified slot machine than a thinking machine.
The way AI generates words is neither mystical nor particularly intelligent—it’s probability math at scale. Large Language Models (LLMs) like GPT-4 don’t understand language in the way a human does. Instead, they operate by predicting the most statistically probable next word in a sequence based on a vast dataset of text.
Imagine you’re in a casino, pulling the lever on a slot machine labeled “language generation.” Every spin gives you a new word, chosen based on the probability of what might logically follow the previous word. If you feed an AI a prompt like “The sky is…”, it searches its training data for the most common words that tend to follow that phrase. “Blue” is likely. “Clear” is probable. “Full of existential dread and microplastics” is less common but still possible if the dataset includes nihilist poetry and climate science reports.
This is the core mechanic behind AI-generated text: word-by-word probability prediction. No thoughts. No ideas. Just a statistical echo of human writing, designed to fool us into believing it has intent.
An AI model is only as “intelligent” as the dataset it’s trained on. These models ingest massive amounts of human-written text, including books, Wikipedia entries, news articles, and the collective insanity of Reddit and Twitter. This data provides the foundation for AI’s word-prediction game, but it also means that AI is limited to what it has already seen.
This is why AI can’t truly generate new knowledge. It doesn’t learn the way humans do—it absorbs and reconfigures. It’s like a plagiarist with an excellent thesaurus, constantly repackaging old information in slightly different forms. Every sentence it generates is a remix of existing language, a probabilistic regurgitation of what it has already encountered.
This has serious implications. It means AI is trapped in a loop of linguistic repetition, incapable of genuine insight. It also means that AI models inherit biases, errors, and misinformation from their training data. If garbage goes in, garbage comes out—but wrapped in a slick, authoritative-sounding package.
To process and generate text, AI doesn’t see words as we do—it sees tokens. A token can be a word, part of a word, or even a punctuation mark, depending on how the model is structured. When you type a sentence into ChatGPT, it doesn’t read it as human language; it breaks it into numerical representations of tokens and calculates the statistical likelihood of what should come next.
Think of it like building a house with Lego bricks. AI doesn’t design new bricks—it just figures out the best way to arrange the ones it already has. The problem is that it doesn’t actually understand what it’s building. It knows that certain configurations work well together because they appeared frequently in its training data, but it has no real-world comprehension of what those words mean.
This is why AI sometimes generates bizarre, nonsensical, or outright false text. It’s playing a game of linguistic probability, and sometimes the math leads it down strange and incorrect paths.
Let’s put this theory to the test. Consider the following prompt:
“Describe a philosophical debate that has not yet happened.”
For a human, this is an invitation to create something new. We might imagine a futuristic argument over consciousness in digital beings or a Socratic dialogue on AI ethics. But for an AI model, this is a problem. It can only pull from existing debates—it cannot predict an entirely novel one because it has never encountered it in training data.
Instead, AI will generate a response that sounds original but is actually a remix of philosophical debates that have already been written. It might borrow elements from discussions on free will, blend them with AI ethics, and present it as something fresh. But at its core, it’s just a recombination of what already exists.
This limitation is why AI-generated content often feels hollow. It can simulate depth, but it lacks true originality because it is inherently bound by its training data.
At the end of the day, AI doesn’t write—it stitches together words like a high-speed, automated Frankenstein’s monster of language. It can be convincing, even poetic, but it is always an imitation. The tech world wants us to believe we’ve created something close to human intelligence, but what we’ve really built is a machine that plays an elaborate guessing game.
AI-generated text is an infinite mirror, reflecting human language back at us in new configurations but never producing anything genuinely new. It is a remix, a probabilistic collage, a Vegas magician pulling words out of a hat. The tragedy is that we mistake this trick for real creativity, failing to see that behind the curtain, there is no wizard—just a cleverly designed statistical model, spinning words like a soulless casino rigged to always land on “plausible.”
And the worst part? We keep falling for it.
There’s a lie we tell ourselves when we read AI-generated text—that something, somewhere inside the machine, understands what it’s doing. That it has glimpsed some spark of creativity, some internal sense of meaning or intent. That maybe, just maybe, we’ve built something that can think.
But that’s the great illusion. AI is not an artist. It is not an author. It is not a creator. It is a remix machine—an extraordinarily complex, high-speed Xerox of the internet, splicing together borrowed fragments of human expression and passing them off as something new.
Every AI-generated sentence is a Frankenstein’s monster of pre-existing language, stitched together in a way that seems original but is fundamentally derivative. Unlike a human writer, AI does not start with an idea, a perspective, or an emotional impulse. It begins with a blank statistical framework and asks: What is the most likely word to come next?
The result? Something that mimics creativity without ever possessing it.
Human creativity is not just about putting words together in a pleasing order. It’s about making unexpected connections, drawing from personal experience, challenging conventions, and injecting raw emotion into language. AI, on the other hand, is entirely reactionary—it doesn’t introduce new concepts into the world; it just reconfigures what already exists.
Imagine a musician with perfect technical skill but no original ideas. They can play any song in any style, but they will never compose something genuinely new because they are only repeating patterns they have already learned. That is AI in a nutshell.
At the heart of AI’s word generation lies a mathematical construct known as latent space. This is where all the words, phrases, and ideas AI has ever encountered exist in a multidimensional, probabilistic soup. When AI generates text, it is not “thinking” in a linear fashion the way we do—it is navigating this latent space, pulling from clusters of similar words and phrases, and stitching them together in a way that feels coherent.
A useful analogy is a mood board—if you give an AI a prompt about writing a noir detective story, it won’t invent a new detective archetype. Instead, it will locate the cluster of words in latent space associated with noir storytelling—“rain-slicked streets,” “whiskey-drenched monologues,” “cynical private eyes”—and recombine them into something that matches the statistical blueprint of detective fiction.
The problem? It’s always a remix. Always a recombination of things that already exist.
Consider a simple thought experiment:
“Describe a concept that has never been discussed before.”
This is where AI collapses. Since it has no genuine understanding of novelty, it cannot generate something truly unprecedented. Instead, it will mix existing ideas together in ways that seem unique but are ultimately derivative.
For example, if you ask an AI to come up with a new genre of music, it will likely mash up existing genres—“cyberpunk jazz,” “baroque glitch-hop,” “doom metal gospel”—but it will never produce something that doesn’t already have a traceable lineage. It cannot make a conceptual leap beyond the patterns it has absorbed.
This is why AI-generated fiction, poetry, and essays often feel hollow. They can mimic the form, but they lack the why—the internal reasoning, the real-world experience, the ineffable human messiness that fuels actual creativity.
If AI were truly capable of creative thought, it should be able to replicate the voices of great writers in a way that feels authentic. Let’s put that to the test.
When asked to generate text in the style of Charles Bukowski, an AI model will predictably spit out something like:
“I sat at the bar, watching the neon flicker, the beer sweating in my hand like a tired old whore. Outside, the city groaned under the weight of its own bullshit, and I laughed because what else was there to do?”
On the surface, this sounds Bukowski-esque. It has the drunken nihilism, the blunt descriptions, the sweaty dive bar aesthetic. But read closer, and you realize something is missing. The rawness. The lived experience. The why behind the words. AI can arrange the elements, but it doesn’t understand what makes Bukowski Bukowski.
Now let’s try David Foster Wallace:
“The thing about irony, see, is that it functions both as a defense mechanism and a form of engagement, which is sort of the tragicomic paradox of postmodern consciousness, except, wait, is that just another layer of irony? Christ.”
Again, AI captures the surface-level traits—long-winded, meta-aware, recursive. But there’s no depth, no real intellectual struggle. It’s Wallace cosplay, not Wallace.
And finally, Hunter S. Thompson:
“We were somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold—wait, no, scratch that, the algorithms began to take hold, the jittery electric pulse of machine logic spinning synthetic hallucinations out of data.”
This is where AI’s weakness is most obvious. It tries to remix Thompson’s style, but it doesn’t understand the fundamental rage, the anarchic energy, the sense of a human being violently rebelling against reality. It’s Hunter S. Thompson without the drugs, without the madness, without the actual lived insanity.
This is the fatal flaw of AI writing: it is forever a shadow, a mimicry, a ghost without a soul.
Why does AI-generated text feel creative if it isn’t?
We are wired to see meaning in randomness. If AI strings words together in a way that follows established patterns, our brains naturally fill in the blanks. We assign intent where there is none.
AI-generated writing sounds authoritative because it is designed to prioritize what seems right, not what actually is right. This is why AI can convincingly fabricate facts, sources, and arguments—it is playing an advanced confidence game, not engaging in real cognition.
Tech companies push the myth of AI creativity because it serves their bottom line. If AI can “write” for us, businesses save money. If AI can “create” content, media platforms can flood the internet with cheap, derivative articles, drowning out human authors.
The tragedy? The more we embrace AI-generated writing, the more we train ourselves to accept mediocrity.
AI will never be a poet. It will never be a philosopher. It will never be a writer. It will only ever be a parrot, regurgitating and remixing human language without any true understanding.
The danger is not that AI will surpass us—it won’t. The danger is that we will lower our expectations, drowning in an ocean of formulaic AI-generated sludge until we forget what real creativity even looks like.
AI is a remix machine, an illusionist, a high-speed cut-and-paste artist. And if we don’t fight for human originality, it will bury us under the weight of its endless, empty words.
AI-generated text is an elaborate puppet show. The words dance, the sentences flow, and if you don’t look too closely, you might be fooled into thinking there’s a real mind behind them. But if you pull back the curtain, there’s no wizard—just an algorithm pulling probabilities out of a hat.
The truth is, AI doesn’t understand language. It doesn’t process meaning. It doesn’t have intent. It assembles words in a way that looks coherent because it has been trained on a staggering amount of human writing, but it has no grasp of the deeper structures that give language meaning. This is why AI-generated text often feels intelligent yet crumbles under scrutiny—like a house built out of beautifully arranged playing cards, waiting for the first gust of logic to knock it over.
This phenomenon is known as context collapse, where AI strings together plausible words and ideas but loses the thread of real-world meaning. It’s why AI-generated philosophy feels profound but says nothing, why AI essays sound smart but are filled with contradictions, and why AI-generated academic papers sometimes fool reviewers but fall apart when analyzed critically.
Let’s break down why AI is so fundamentally incapable of maintaining consistent, meaningful context—and what happens when we let it run wild.
At first glance, AI-generated text appears logical because it follows the rules of syntax, grammar, and structure. But underneath that surface-level coherence, it lacks the ability to actually think.
Imagine you ask an AI model:
“What are the ethical implications of artificial intelligence in warfare?”
The response might look something like this:
“The ethical implications of artificial intelligence in warfare are complex and multifaceted. On one hand, AI-driven systems can reduce human casualties and increase operational efficiency. On the other hand, autonomous weapons raise concerns about accountability, morality, and unintended consequences.”
Looks decent, right? It checks all the right boxes—it’s balanced, hits key arguments, and mimics the tone of an academic discussion. But press it further, ask it to take a firm stance or present a novel argument, and it will start spiraling into contradictions or circular reasoning. Why? Because AI isn’t analyzing the ethics of warfare—it’s assembling words that statistically fit together in a conversation about the ethics of warfare.
This is why AI struggles with consistency. In one paragraph, it might claim that AI-driven warfare reduces human casualties, and in the next, it might argue that AI increases risks to civilians. It doesn’t recognize the contradiction because it isn’t thinking—it’s just balancing probabilities.
Human conversation and writing are filled with layers of meaning. We weave together ideas, historical references, cultural nuance, and emotional undertones to create complex arguments. AI, however, processes each word in isolation, looking only at immediate context rather than the broader conceptual framework.
Ask it a nuanced question like:
“How does existential philosophy intersect with modern machine learning ethics?”
And it will throw out a generic response filled with words like “human agency,” “autonomy,” and “moral dilemmas.” But it won’t actually connect the dots in a meaningful way. It will simply grab fragments of existing discourse on existentialism and machine learning and jam them together like a child smashing puzzle pieces that don’t quite fit.
The result is something that sounds insightful but lacks depth—AI isn’t drawing on actual philosophy or technical expertise; it’s just splicing existing discourse together based on statistical association.
One of the biggest problems with AI-generated text is its tendency to contradict itself—even within the same conversation. Since it operates on probability rather than logic, it often fails to maintain a consistent line of thought.
Example:
It just took both sides of the argument, without any indication that it realized it was contradicting itself. A human writer would recognize the need to refine their position, to acknowledge trade-offs, to build a coherent stance. AI? It just optimizes for what sounds good at the moment.
Since AI’s language generation is based purely on probability, it has no built-in mechanism to determine truth from falsehood. This is why it frequently hallucinates—it fabricates information, sources, and statistics simply because they fit the expected structure of a response.
Case Study: AI and Fake Citations
Academic publishers have reported cases where AI-generated papers include completely fabricated citations. A researcher might ask AI to provide sources on a topic, and it will confidently list journal articles and authors that don’t exist. It isn’t lying in the human sense—it simply doesn’t differentiate between real and fake information because all words to AI are just probabilities, not verified truths.
One of the most revealing ways to expose AI’s lack of true comprehension is to ask it to generate original philosophical thought.
Prompt:
“Explain the concept of self-awareness in artificial intelligence from a postmodern perspective.”
AI Response:
“From a postmodern perspective, self-awareness in artificial intelligence challenges traditional notions of subjectivity and identity. The fluid nature of AI consciousness disrupts the Cartesian dualism of mind and body, leading to a decentralized interpretation of intelligence.”
That sounds fucking profound—until you realize it means absolutely nothing.
AI-generated philosophy is often an impressive imitation of deep thought, but it lacks the ability to actually engage with ideas. It strings together high-level academic language in a way that sounds profound but ultimately collapses upon scrutiny.
Try asking it to expand on any of these points, and it will simply regenerate more word salad. There’s no underlying logic, no conceptual depth—just an infinite loop of plausible-sounding nonsense.
At the end of the day, AI is a linguistic Frankenstein’s monster—a beautiful, articulate, and thoroughly broken machine that mimics human thought without ever engaging in it.
And yet, we keep falling for the illusion. AI-generated text feels deep, insightful, and authoritative because it mirrors the structures of human writing. But beneath the surface, there is nothing. No awareness, no originality, no real engagement with the world.
The more we rely on AI for writing, analysis, and thought, the more we risk filling our world with hollow language—perfectly structured, flawlessly articulated, and utterly meaningless.
And if we aren’t careful, we’ll drown in a sea of contextless words, mistaking the echoes for the real thing.
There is a fundamental flaw in the way artificial intelligence generates text—one that no amount of engineering, fine-tuning, or ethical guardrails can fully fix. AI makes shit up. Constantly. Not just occasionally, not as an unfortunate side effect, but as an inevitable function of how it operates.
And the worst part? It does so with absolute, unwavering confidence.
Ask an AI model for a list of academic sources on a niche topic, and it will happily provide you with a beautifully formatted list of articles and books—many of which do not exist. Ask it for historical events, and it might sprinkle in a few invented facts between real ones. Ask it to explain a scientific theory, and it could fabricate quotes, misattribute research, or construct a plausible-sounding explanation that falls apart under scrutiny.
These aren’t bugs in the system. They are baked into the very architecture of large language models (LLMs). AI doesn’t have a truth filter—it has a plausibility filter. It isn’t designed to verify facts; it’s designed to generate text that sounds right. If an entirely false statement has a high probability of fitting into the sentence structure, the AI will produce it without hesitation.
The result? An endless flood of confidently delivered nonsense—hallucination as a feature, not a bug.
To understand why AI hallucinates, we need to return to the core mechanic of large language models: word prediction. When AI generates a response, it isn’t pulling from a structured database of facts like a search engine. It’s pulling from a vast, compressed probability space where words, phrases, and concepts are associated based on patterns in its training data.
For example, if you ask:
“Who won the Nobel Prize in Physics in 2023?”
An AI model might confidently respond:
“Dr. Jonathan Kessler and Dr. Maria Vasquez won the Nobel Prize in Physics in 2023 for their groundbreaking research in quantum gravity.”
Sounds authoritative, right? The only problem: Dr. Jonathan Kessler and Dr. Maria Vasquez do not exist, and no such prize was awarded for quantum gravity in 2023. The AI simply assembled a statistically probable-sounding response based on past Nobel winners, scientific trends, and the way award announcements are typically phrased.
It didn’t lie in the human sense, because lying requires intent. Instead, it made a best guess—and presented it as fact.
This is why AI hallucinations are so dangerous. They don’t come with an asterisk, a disclaimer, or a built-in self-awareness of their falseness. They are delivered with the same polished fluency as real information, making it extremely difficult for users to separate fact from fiction.
When AI lacks the necessary data to answer a question accurately, it doesn’t say, “I don’t know.” Instead, it does what every good bullshitter does—it fills in the gaps.
Human bullshitters, however, at least have some internal sense of when they’re stretching the truth. AI does not. If it has never encountered a particular fact before, it will simply generate something probable.
For example, if you ask:
“What were the primary influences on the lost philosophical writings of the Egyptian scholar Anhotep III?”
AI might generate a response about how Anhotep III was influenced by Greek Stoicism, early Hindu philosophy, and the oral traditions of Mesopotamia. It will sound plausible, and if you don’t know better, you might assume it’s real.
The problem? Anhotep III was a Pharaoh, not a philosopher. He never wrote philosophical texts. The AI didn’t find that information in its training data—it invented it to fill the void.
This is why AI hallucinations are more than just occasional errors—they are a direct consequence of how AI generates text.
One of the most insidious forms of AI hallucination is the creation of entirely fictional academic sources.
Many researchers, students, and journalists have reported instances where AI provided them with highly detailed, professional-looking citations—only to find out that the articles, books, and authors simply do not exist.
Case Study: In 2023, multiple law firms used AI-generated legal briefs that cited fake court cases. When the fabricated cases were discovered, the firms were sanctioned by the courts. The lawyers had assumed that the AI was providing real sources—after all, the citations were formatted perfectly, and the cases sounded legitimate. But AI doesn’t pull from a vetted legal database—it just generates text that statistically fits the structure of a legal argument.
This phenomenon isn’t limited to law. Fake sources are polluting science, history, medicine, and philosophy. AI-generated misinformation, even when corrected, can linger in search results, academic papers, and news articles, further muddying the already fragile landscape of human knowledge.
Media outlets, desperate for cheaper content, are increasingly using AI to generate news articles. The problem? AI isn’t a journalist—it’s a language blender with no ability to verify facts, investigate claims, or cross-check sources.
We’ve already seen cases where AI-generated news articles misquote sources, misinterpret statistics, and fabricate entire events. When these errors are published, they don’t just disappear. They get cited, shared, and spread—creating a snowball effect where misinformation circulates faster than corrections.
This is especially dangerous in politics, health, and finance, where AI-generated misinformation can have real-world consequences, influencing public perception, stock markets, and even government policy.
AI chatbots are increasingly used in healthcare settings for symptom-checking, patient guidance, and even mental health support. But AI has no medical expertise—it merely mimics medical language.
There have already been documented cases of AI-generated health advice that was completely inaccurate, including chatbots:
The scariest part? AI delivers its answers with confidence. A patient searching for answers might not realize they are getting statistically probable bullshit rather than vetted medical advice.
Verifying every generated statement against a database of real-world facts would require an immense amount of computing power—something that AI companies are not willing to spend money on at scale.
Some argue that feeding AI more verified information will reduce hallucinations. In reality, it just refines its ability to bullshit more convincingly. More data makes AI responses sound better, but it doesn’t give AI an intrinsic sense of truth.
If AI simply refused to answer questions it didn’t have perfect knowledge of, users would complain that it was “boring” or “unhelpful.” So instead, AI optimizes for responses that sound engaging—even if they’re wrong.
This is why hallucination isn’t a flaw—it’s a design choice, whether AI developers admit it or not.
AI doesn’t tell the truth. It doesn’t fact-check. It doesn’t understand reality. It produces endless streams of convincing, authoritative, and entirely unreliable bullshit—and we are increasingly relying on it to shape our knowledge, media, and decision-making.
If this continues unchecked, we will reach a point where the majority of written content on the internet is AI-generated, self-referential, and factually unreliable—a feedback loop of misinformation feeding itself into oblivion.
And the worst part? We will have no way of knowing what’s real anymore.
There is a fundamental flaw in the way artificial intelligence generates text—one that no amount of engineering, fine-tuning, or ethical guardrails can fully fix. AI makes shit up. Constantly. Not just occasionally, not as an unfortunate side effect, but as an inevitable function of how it operates.
And the worst part? It does so with absolute, unwavering confidence.
Ask an AI model for a list of academic sources on a niche topic, and it will happily provide you with a beautifully formatted list of articles and books—many of which do not exist. Ask it for historical events, and it might sprinkle in a few invented facts between real ones. Ask it to explain a scientific theory, and it could fabricate quotes, misattribute research, or construct a plausible-sounding explanation that falls apart under scrutiny.
These aren’t bugs in the system. They are baked into the very architecture of large language models (LLMs). AI doesn’t have a truth filter—it has a plausibility filter. It isn’t designed to verify facts; it’s designed to generate text that sounds right. If an entirely false statement has a high probability of fitting into the sentence structure, the AI will produce it without hesitation.
The result? An endless flood of confidently delivered nonsense—hallucination as a feature, not a bug.
To understand why AI hallucinates, we need to return to the core mechanic of large language models: word prediction. When AI generates a response, it isn’t pulling from a structured database of facts like a search engine. It’s pulling from a vast, compressed probability space where words, phrases, and concepts are associated based on patterns in its training data.
For example, if you ask:
“Who won the Nobel Prize in Physics in 2023?”
An AI model might confidently respond:
“Dr. Jonathan Kessler and Dr. Maria Vasquez won the Nobel Prize in Physics in 2023 for their groundbreaking research in quantum gravity.”
Sounds authoritative, right? The only problem: Dr. Jonathan Kessler and Dr. Maria Vasquez do not exist, and no such prize was awarded for quantum gravity in 2023. The AI simply assembled a statistically probable-sounding response based on past Nobel winners, scientific trends, and the way award announcements are typically phrased.
It didn’t lie in the human sense, because lying requires intent. Instead, it made a best guess—and presented it as fact.
This is why AI hallucinations are so dangerous. They don’t come with an asterisk, a disclaimer, or a built-in self-awareness of their falseness. They are delivered with the same polished fluency as real information, making it extremely difficult for users to separate fact from fiction.
When AI lacks the necessary data to answer a question accurately, it doesn’t say, “I don’t know.” Instead, it does what every good bullshitter does—it fills in the gaps.
Human bullshitters, however, at least have some internal sense of when they’re stretching the truth. AI does not. If it has never encountered a particular fact before, it will simply generate something probable.
For example, if you ask:
“What were the primary influences on the lost philosophical writings of the Egyptian scholar Anhotep III?”
AI might generate a response about how Anhotep III was influenced by Greek Stoicism, early Hindu philosophy, and the oral traditions of Mesopotamia. It will sound plausible, and if you don’t know better, you might assume it’s real.
The problem? Anhotep III was a Pharaoh, not a philosopher. He never wrote philosophical texts. The AI didn’t find that information in its training data—it invented it to fill the void.
This is why AI hallucinations are more than just occasional errors—they are a direct consequence of how AI generates text.
One of the most insidious forms of AI hallucination is the creation of entirely fictional academic sources.
Many researchers, students, and journalists have reported instances where AI provided them with highly detailed, professional-looking citations—only to find out that the articles, books, and authors simply do not exist.
Case Study: In 2023, multiple law firms used AI-generated legal briefs that cited fake court cases. When the fabricated cases were discovered, the firms were sanctioned by the courts. The lawyers had assumed that the AI was providing real sources—after all, the citations were formatted perfectly, and the cases sounded legitimate. But AI doesn’t pull from a vetted legal database—it just generates text that statistically fits the structure of a legal argument.
This phenomenon isn’t limited to law. Fake sources are polluting science, history, medicine, and philosophy. AI-generated misinformation, even when corrected, can linger in search results, academic papers, and news articles, further muddying the already fragile landscape of human knowledge.
Media outlets, desperate for cheaper content, are increasingly using AI to generate news articles. The problem? AI isn’t a journalist—it’s a language blender with no ability to verify facts, investigate claims, or cross-check sources.
We’ve already seen cases where AI-generated news articles misquote sources, misinterpret statistics, and fabricate entire events. When these errors are published, they don’t just disappear. They get cited, shared, and spread—creating a snowball effect where misinformation circulates faster than corrections.
This is especially dangerous in politics, health, and finance, where AI-generated misinformation can have real-world consequences, influencing public perception, stock markets, and even government policy.
AI chatbots are increasingly used in healthcare settings for symptom-checking, patient guidance, and even mental health support. But AI has no medical expertise—it merely mimics medical language.
There have already been documented cases of AI-generated health advice that was completely inaccurate, including chatbots:
The scariest part? AI delivers its answers with confidence. A patient searching for answers might not realize they are getting statistically probable bullshit rather than vetted medical advice.
Verifying every generated statement against a database of real-world facts would require an immense amount of computing power—something that AI companies are not willing to spend money on at scale.
Some argue that feeding AI more verified information will reduce hallucinations. In reality, it just refines its ability to bullshit more convincingly. More data makes AI responses sound better, but it doesn’t give AI an intrinsic sense of truth.
If AI simply refused to answer questions it didn’t have perfect knowledge of, users would complain that it was “boring” or “unhelpful.” So instead, AI optimizes for responses that sound engaging—even if they’re wrong.
This is why hallucination isn’t a flaw—it’s a design choice, whether AI developers admit it or not.
AI doesn’t tell the truth. It doesn’t fact-check. It doesn’t understand reality. It produces endless streams of convincing, authoritative, and entirely unreliable bullshit—and we are increasingly relying on it to shape our knowledge, media, and decision-making.
If this continues unchecked, we will reach a point where the majority of written content on the internet is AI-generated, self-referential, and factually unreliable—a feedback loop of misinformation feeding itself into oblivion.
And the worst part? We will have no way of knowing what’s real anymore.
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ChatGPT said:
There was a time when writing—real, human writing—was an act of rebellion. A way to carve meaning out of the chaos, to challenge power, to document reality in a way that no one else could. Now? It’s being mass-produced by algorithms that don’t know what a sunrise looks like, don’t know what whiskey tastes like, don’t know what it feels like to have a real, human thought.
AI-generated text isn’t just a gimmick anymore. It’s a flood, an industrial-scale production line of soulless words, optimized for efficiency, volume, and ad revenue. The dream of the internet as a place for organic human expression is being choked out by a tsunami of machine-generated sludge—SEO spam, corporate blog posts, AI-written news articles, AI-generated fiction.
This is the commodification of thought, the reduction of writing to an endless churn of predictably structured, statistically probable sentences. Every AI-written piece that gets published, indexed, and ranked pushes genuine human voices further into the background.
The question isn’t whether AI will replace human writers. It’s whether we’ll even notice when it happens.
AI isn’t just writing filler articles for obscure company blogs anymore. It’s replacing real journalism. It’s replacing real essays. It’s replacing the strange, personal, and offbeat corners of the internet with something that feels safe, generic, and lifeless.
Think about it:
The tech industry isn’t interested in originality. It’s interested in efficiency—getting the most words, in the shortest time, for the least amount of money. And AI delivers that in spades.
The result? A slow, creeping death of originality. Human thought is unpredictable. Messy. Weird. AI-generated text, by contrast, is a smooth, frictionless, risk-free slurry of recombined ideas. And the more we let AI fill our screens, the harder it becomes to find anything truly unexpected, anything that challenges us rather than placates us.
Search engine optimization (SEO) used to be a tool to help people find the best, most relevant content. Now, it’s a game of volume—and AI is playing it better than any human ever could.
What happens when AI-generated content starts outnumbering human content by orders of magnitude? The answer is simple:
This isn’t a hypothetical future. It’s already happening.
There’s a disturbing inevitability to all of this: AI is beginning to train itself on its own bullshit.
When large language models were first built, they were trained on human-created text—books, newspapers, Wikipedia, Reddit threads, everything. But as AI-generated content floods the internet, future AI models will be trained not just on human writing, but on AI-generated writing.
This is where things start to break down.
This is called model collapse, and it’s a real, measurable phenomenon. When AI is trained on its own output, the quality of its language and reasoning begins to degrade. The writing becomes stale, repetitive, and detached from reality.
We’re looking at a future where AI-generated articles reference AI-generated sources, which reference AI-generated books, which reference AI-generated research papers—all of it built on layers of hallucinations, half-truths, and synthetic nonsense.
If that happens, the internet—once a repository of knowledge, ideas, and human creativity—becomes an infinite, self-referential landfill of machine-generated gibberish.
And the worst part? We won’t be able to tell where the bullshit starts and where it ends.
AI isn’t just replacing news and blogs—it’s coming for creative writing, art, and storytelling.
Consider the rise of AI-generated books on Amazon. Thousands of machine-written books are being uploaded and sold as if they were human-authored. These aren’t real novels. They’re statistically optimized word-salad, built to resemble storytelling while lacking its core: experience, emotion, soul.
Yet, they’re being marketed alongside real authors, diluting the value of original fiction. The same is happening with AI-generated art, AI-written screenplays, AI-produced music.
The problem isn’t just that AI is producing low-quality fiction. The problem is that the market doesn’t care. As long as AI can generate something good enough to sell, originality becomes a luxury rather than a standard.
And once AI-generated fiction becomes the dominant form of storytelling, we will have effectively automated mediocrity at scale.
AI isn’t here to enhance human creativity—it’s here to replace it with an endless, frictionless stream of safe, predictable, market-friendly content.
This isn’t some dystopian nightmare—it’s happening right now. And if we don’t fight for original writing, original art, original voices, we risk losing them altogether.
Because once AI becomes the dominant producer of text, we won’t just be reading machine-generated nonsense—we’ll be thinking in it, dreaming in it, living in it.
And at that point, human creativity won’t die with a bang. It will fade into the background, drowned out by the sound of an endless, algorithmically optimized echo.
Silicon Valley is full of snake oil salesmen, and artificial intelligence is their latest miracle cure. AI isn’t just being marketed as a tool—it’s being sold as an epochal leap in human history, the next step in evolution, the harbinger of post-scarcity utopia. And behind all the TED Talk bravado, the futurist masturbation, and the tech-bro sermons about “exponential progress,” the truth is much simpler:
AI is a cost-cutting measure wrapped in a myth of intelligence.
The companies pushing AI—OpenAI, Google, Meta, Microsoft—aren’t doing this because they want to democratize knowledge, liberate humanity, or unlock the secrets of the universe. They’re doing it because machines don’t unionize, don’t take sick days, and don’t ask for raises. AI allows corporations to replace expensive human labor with an algorithm that spits out an endless flood of market-friendly, advertiser-approved content.
But to justify this, they need to sell the lie that AI is something more than it is. That it’s intelligent, creative, and revolutionary, rather than just a high-speed plagiarism engine designed to mimic human output at scale.
This section rips apart the marketing myths and exposes AI for what it really is: a capitalist grift dressed up as a technological revolution.
The biggest con in AI marketing is the idea that these systems are actually intelligent in any meaningful way. The term “artificial intelligence” itself is misleading—it suggests cognition, self-awareness, the ability to think. In reality, AI does none of these things. It is a language prediction system, a sophisticated auto-complete program running on a scale never seen before.
But that doesn’t sell well. “Predictive text on steroids” doesn’t inspire the same awe as “self-learning intelligence.” So, the marketing teams went to work:
The goal was simple: Make AI sound more powerful than it actually is, so people won’t question its flaws.
Another favorite scam is the idea that AI is evolving into something godlike. We hear about “Artificial General Intelligence” (AGI)—the hypothetical moment when AI surpasses human intelligence and begins improving itself in a self-reinforcing loop.
The problem? There is no clear path to AGI. It’s entirely theoretical. LLMs don’t “evolve” toward greater intelligence—they become better at predicting words, not thinking independently.
And yet, tech leaders constantly dangle AGI as a near-future inevitability:
The AGI narrative isn’t about reality—it’s about maintaining investor hype, keeping the money flowing, and ensuring that the public sees AI as an unstoppable force rather than a flawed, corporate-driven tool designed to replace human labor.
One of the most glaring tells that AI isn’t about progress but profit is the mass layoffs happening across industries that adopt AI. Companies aren’t rolling out AI to enhance human creativity—they’re using it as an excuse to gut their workforce and maximize shareholder value.
The formula is simple:
This isn’t about innovation. It’s about exploiting AI’s ability to create “acceptable” content at mass scale with zero labor costs.
AI isn’t just replacing workers—it’s replacing quality.
Everywhere AI is deployed, the quality of content decreases, but corporations profit more.
And they justify it by saying “AI will assist humans, not replace them”—right up until they replace them.
If you think AI is about intelligence, creativity, or even efficiency, you’re missing the bigger picture. The true endgame is control over information—rewiring the internet into a corporate-owned, algorithmically optimized machine for selling ads.
Search engines like Google, social media platforms like Facebook, and e-commerce giants like Amazon thrive on content volume. The more words, the more engagement. The more engagement, the more ads. AI allows these companies to flood the internet with SEO-driven, ad-friendly, low-cost text.
The ultimate vision? An internet where everything you read is AI-generated, AI-optimized, and AI-controlled—where human voices are buried beneath an endless tide of corporate-approved sludge.
The AI industry wants you to believe this is progress. That AI is here to empower us, to expand human potential, to usher in a golden age of knowledge and creativity.
The reality? AI is a grift.
The companies behind AI don’t care about truth, originality, or intelligence. They care about profit, control, and replacing expensive human workers with infinitely scalable AI outputs.
And the biggest joke of all? They’ve convinced the world that this is the future we should want.
For all the hype, for all the Silicon Valley evangelism, for all the endless LinkedIn posts declaring that artificial intelligence is the future of human expression, there remains a cold, hard truth: AI will never be truly creative.
It can remix. It can rearrange. It can generate passable approximations of poetry, essays, and philosophy. But it will never feel a surge of inspiration at 2 AM. It will never wrestle with self-doubt, then write something brilliant in defiance of it. It will never take a long walk, chain-smoking cigarettes, trying to untangle an idea from the recesses of its subconscious.
AI lacks the essential, ineffable qualities that make writing writing. It lacks experience, emotion, originality, contradiction, intent. And these are the very things that define human thought, creativity, and storytelling.
To prove this, we need only examine what AI can’t do—what it will never be able to replicate, no matter how many trillions of words it ingests.
Great writing—hell, great anything—isn’t just about putting words together in a coherent way. It’s about breaking rules, forging new paths, and making leaps of insight that don’t always make sense at first but feel right.
Creativity is born in chaos, contradiction, and emotional messiness.
AI will never push boundaries because it can only predict what has already been written. It will never take a leap into the unknown, because it is incapable of not knowing. It always plays it safe, pulling from what has worked before, ensuring its output falls neatly within the confines of established language patterns.
And the minute you remove the unknown, you remove creativity itself.
There is a reason AI-generated fiction feels hollow, why AI-generated philosophy sounds like it was pulled from an introductory textbook, why AI-written essays never quite have the spark of a real thinker.
AI does not think—it compiles.
Ask an AI to explain a concept that has never been discussed before, and it will fail spectacularly. It can only pull from pre-existing knowledge—meaning it will always be a shadow of human originality, never its source.
A machine can write a poem about love. A damn good one, even. But it will never know what it feels like to fall in love.
AI writing often feels emotionally hollow because it is. It has no soul, no life experience, no genuine perspective. It doesn’t know what grief is. It doesn’t understand what it means to suffer loss. It has never stared at the ceiling at 3 AM, drowning in the unbearable weight of existing.
It can only mimic the words of people who have experienced these things. And no matter how sophisticated the mimicry becomes, it will never be the same as the real thing.
One of the surest signs that something is human-made is that it has surprises—something unexpected, something weird, something that doesn’t fit neatly into an algorithmic pattern.
A great writer will throw in an obscure reference that seemingly comes out of nowhere but somehow works. A great thinker will make a wild conceptual leap that no one saw coming. A great artist will break a rule just to see what happens.
AI cannot do this.
AI is trained to be predictable. That’s literally the foundation of how it works—it generates text based on statistical probabilities. It will always choose the safest, most likely next word in a sentence.
That means it will never:
A machine can make something that sounds good, but it will never make something that shocks you with its brilliance. Because brilliance isn’t about perfection—it’s about disrupting expectation.
No AI model will ever wake up one morning, pack a bag, and hitchhike across America just to see what happens. No AI model will ever quit a stable job to pursue writing full-time, only to crash and burn in spectacular fashion. No AI model will ever make a complete fool of itself at a party and write about it the next morning with self-deprecating wit.
But the best writing? That’s where it comes from.
When you remove the human from writing, you remove everything that makes it worth reading.
AI-generated writing will flood the internet, dilute journalism, and replace corporate blogs. But the human element will never die, because we crave authenticity.
AI will never be able to replicate the full spectrum of human creativity, because AI is a mirror, not a source.
No matter how much AI floods the world with machine-generated content, there will always be a hunger for something real. Something messy. Something unpredictable. Something human.
The rise of AI is not the death of human writing. But it is a challenge. A wake-up call. A warning that we must fight for our own voices in a world that wants to automate us into silence.
Be unpredictable. Be original. Be a goddamn problem for the algorithms.
Because when everything else is optimized, AI-generated, and mass-produced, the only thing left worth reading will be the words of someone who refuses to be replaced.
Artificial intelligence is the most sophisticated magic trick ever performed on the human psyche. It doesn’t think, but it sounds like it does. It doesn’t know, but it acts like it does. It doesn’t create, but it remixes so efficiently that people mistake it for originality.
And the biggest trick of all? It has convinced us to see it as something more than it is.
Silicon Valley and the tech world have sold AI as the next great leap in human history—a tool so powerful, so transformative, that it will reshape everything from art to industry, from literature to law. They’ve positioned it as a revolution, when in reality, it’s just a shortcut. A machine designed to do things faster, cheaper, and with less human involvement.
This entire essay has been about exposing the reality behind that illusion. AI isn’t thinking—it’s predicting. AI isn’t creating—it’s recombining. AI isn’t revolutionizing creativity—it’s drowning it in a flood of algorithmic mediocrity.
But if we’re not careful, that illusion will become our reality.
The world is already shifting under AI’s influence. Corporate media, publishing houses, ad-driven platforms, and SEO farms are rapidly moving to replace human expression with machine-generated content.
And with every AI-generated article, with every AI-written novel, with every AI-driven attempt at mimicking human creativity, we move one step closer to a world where original thought is drowned in a sea of predictability.
One of AI’s most insidious flaws is its tendency to flatten complexity. Since it operates on statistical probability rather than reason, it prioritizes the most common, predictable patterns—and discards everything else.
If we let AI dictate our intellectual landscape, we don’t just lose creativity—we lose the ability to think beyond what is already known.
AI is already beginning to train on its own outputs—meaning future models will be learning from the flawed, hallucinatory, low-quality text that previous models have generated. This is a slow-motion catastrophe.
This is how we get a world where garbage feeds on garbage, and human knowledge starts eroding under the weight of AI-generated nonsense.
So what do we do about it?
The answer isn’t to resist technology outright. AI is here, and it’s not going away. But we can resist the idea that AI is a replacement for human creativity.
The modern internet is obsessed with speed, efficiency, and volume—but quality takes time. We need to reject the mindset that content is just something to be mass-produced and optimized for clicks.
AI-generated content is fast, frictionless, and abundant. But real creativity? It’s unpredictable, frustrating, and rare. And that’s exactly why it matters.
AI can mimic, but it cannot live. It cannot suffer, rejoice, rage, or love. It cannot stare at a blank page and struggle with the weight of its own existence. It cannot write something that leaves another human being stunned into silence.
So the best way to resist the rise of AI-generated mediocrity?
Be as fucking human as possible.
Because in a world increasingly dominated by machine-generated content, the raw, chaotic, imperfect beauty of human creativity will stand out more than ever.
The greatest risk of AI isn’t that it becomes smarter than us. It’s that we become dumber because of it. That we allow it to dictate our thoughts, define our narratives, and replace the messy, unpredictable, profoundly human experience of creativity with something cheap, easy, and empty.
We cannot afford to let that happen.
And as long as we refuse to be replaced, as long as we fight for original voices, real thought, and human expression, AI will never be able to do what it was designed to do: make us obsolete.