Why MAINSPRINGS?

I was taken aback by how upset some people were on Facebook when I promoted the MAINSPRINGS project in the Antique Typewriter Collectors group. They got the impression that we were asking people to use AI, or celebrating the technology. Some understood better—that we are open to contributions that envision either negative or positive aspects of AI, and that we will consider submissions that use some AI. (For instance, someone might want to represent a dialogue between a person and AI, and use actual AI-generated responses in the dialogue. If the author discloses this honestly and it works artistically, OK.) But even this is too much for diehard AI haters. And others are just (understandably) sick of hearing those two vowels repeated ad nauseam! 

So what is my concept for this volume, anyway? And why bother?

Whether we like it or not, generative AI has arrived in the 2020s like an asteroid hiting Yucatán. This event is comparable to the rise of the personal computer in the '80s, the Web in the '90s, or social media in the aughts—but it may have more impact than any of the above. None of us can avoid interacting with it, short of isolating ourselves from all digital technology (a scenario I explored in Evertype). Just by publishing a blog post or communicating on social media we are feeding the Large Language Models. AI is everywhere, and it's just getting started.

Am I pleased by this? Generally, no. However, as an old science fiction reader, I'm not above being fascinated by new inventions at the same time as I try to be alert to their dangers. And we are all challenged to think about those dangers, allures, and potential benefits as this rapidly developing technology affects all corners of Earth. A large proportion of this year's jobs for philosophers ask for specialization or competence in philosophy of AI. But I suspect that equally valuable insights may come from those who use and appreciate "obsolete" technology and who want to explore the possibilities of the new technology through imaginative scenarios. 

That's the point of MAINSPRINGS. I expect that most contributions are going to illustrate the advantages of human intelligence and simpler technology, and the dark side of AI. But I also expect to be surprised—and to learn. That's the point of the book: to give us all food for thought.

Weird typewriters, real and unreal

Suddenly I find that my daily eBay search for typewriters is cluttered with hundreds of terrible AI-generated images, available to order as prints on canvas. When I say terrible, I mean 2023 quality, which could practically be considered medieval by today's AI standards. Who is generating these things? And who, if anyone, is buying them?

By the way, some folks seem to have gotten the impression that the MAINSPRINGS project is encouraging the use of AI. No! Some AI may be allowed if it's honest and artistically appropriate, but the point of the project is to invite imaginative explorations of encounters between AI and typewriters. Those encounters may be hostile (I expect most of them will be), and they can be dreamed up without any digital assistance.

Meanwhile, I got up at 4 am on Saturday to watch the latest Breker auction in Cologne. I even bid on a couple of machines, but was immediately overwhelmed by other collectors with deep pockets. Here are a few highlights (the prices shown are the selling prices in all cases; note the buyer's premium that must be added!).

That McCool was a relatively good deal. This Sholes & Glidden and Fitch brought much less than their estimates:

The really pricey machines were a Thürey and an Automatic:

The source of these images is screenshots from the Invaluable app, which makes it seductively easy to bid on auctions on another continent!

Typing at the Sign Museum

The American Sign Museum is ten minutes away from my house, but I'd never gotten around to a visit until my friend Sam and I were invited to type poems for guests at a bat mitzvah party there last night.

The museum is bigger than I'd expected. You feel like you're walking down streets that are crowded with advertising icons and neon.

Sam and I were very impressed with a display of glass panels from a Victorian artist's "specimen book." These are only about six inches across, and they show unbelievable craft.

A movie theater marquee advertised Naomi's bat mitzvah ...

... and tables were set up for a hundred guests. I hadn't been expecting such a big event!

My Voss and Sam's Remington were on duty for four hours. (The Remington is a 1923 machine that I offered through Urban Legend Typewriters over a decade ago. It's still going strong.)

Once the guests arrived, we got a steady stream of muses, mostly small kids who wanted poems on topics such as Pumpkin the Cat, Ajax the Dog, soccer, and squishies.

Sam and I listened respectfully and read the poems to our muses ... until loud dance music made it impossible to hear. Then the written list of people and their desired topics came in very handy.

All our poems were appreciated, but most of what I was able to create under these circumstances really isn't worth reproducing here. In case you're really curious, here's a poem about a lazy cat.

And I think these poems for adults are OK.

'

This first-year law student is hoping to go into immigration or fertility law:

This muse had heard of me and my book, which was nice to know:

We finished by writing poems for each other about the night's events. Here's Sam's. I didn't take a picture of mine, but believe me, you're not missing much.

I love "Watch us become." It was, in fact, a night for becoming: for Naomi to become a young Jewish woman, for her friends and family to become happy with dance and drink, for our typewriters to become conduits for new words, and for me to become a little more experienced in this practice of listening, making, and giving.