Talking to Eight-Year-Old Me: The Victory Lap I Never Knew I Needed

Sometimes I think about the eight-year-old version of myself and wonder what he'd think if he could see the world today.

When I was eight years old, I was already a member of Citizens for UFO Secrecy. I was fascinated by UFOs, Bigfoot, and the mysteries of the world that most people seemed content to dismiss. I wanted answers. I wanted people to take these subjects seriously. And, if I'm being honest, I wanted to live long enough to see the day when the things I was interested in were no longer automatically treated as ridiculous.

I spent years researching these subjects, writing about them, making documentaries, and trying to get people to look at the evidence for themselves. I created blogs, accumulated information, and followed developments that most people around me had little interest in discussing.

Sometimes I was ridiculed. Sometimes I was dismissed before anyone seriously considered what I was saying. And sometimes I probably got carried away with a theory or gave too much weight to an interpretation that the evidence couldn't fully support.

I'm not claiming that every conclusion I reached was correct. I'm not claiming that every UFO report represents an extraterrestrial spacecraft, that Bigfoot has been conclusively established, or that every suspicious event has a nefarious explanation.

Those are different questions, and they deserve to be evaluated individually.

But something has changed.

The World My Younger Self Wanted to See

UFOs, once routinely relegated to the margins of public conversation, are now discussed in congressional hearings, investigated through official channels, and addressed by people who have held positions of responsibility.

NASA has conducted a scientific study of unidentified anomalous phenomena, publishing a report with recommendations for improving the collection and analysis of UAP data. That doesn't establish extraterrestrial origins, but it does demonstrate that these observations can be approached as legitimate subjects for scientific investigation.

Bigfoot and other cryptid subjects continue to attract media attention, documentaries, witnesses, researchers, and public interest. That attention doesn't prove every claim, but it does mean the subject hasn't simply disappeared into obscurity.

The broader point is that subjects I cared about as a child have become part of conversations that reach far beyond the circles in which they were once discussed.

And I have been part of that journey.

I've written about these subjects for years. I've assembled research, published articles, made videos, and tried to preserve information that I believed deserved consideration. I even put together a Bigfoot documentary using mainstream news reports about sightings, alleged evidence, and related developments, allowing the material to speak for itself without adding my own commentary.

I've never published a conventional UFO book, and I don't need to pretend that I accomplished everything I once imagined I would. But I did something with my interests. I followed them. I created things. I participated in the conversation.

If you'd like to explore some of that work, visit my UFO blog, Debunking UFOs. For a broader collection of research, ideas, and reflections, visit Mind Treasury.

And these days, I'm exploring some of those same big questions through music, too. You can find my work on TikTok at @Crashout.Royalty, where I bring together music, humor, unusual ideas, and creative experiments as part of the Crash Out Aristocrats collective.

The mediums have changed, but the curiosity that started all this is still there.

For a long time, I thought the victory would be having everyone acknowledge that I was right.

Now I'm beginning to understand that the victory is bigger than that.

I Want to Be Wrong About the Darkest Possibilities

There's something else I wish I could say.

I wish I could look back at some of the things I've spent years investigating and discover that I was wrong about the darker possibilities. I wish I could find explanations that put certain suspicions to rest, that showed the world was less corrupt, less deceptive, and less frightening than I sometimes believed it to be.

I would love to be able to say that I was right to ask questions, right to investigate, and right to demand evidence, but thank God my conclusions were wrong.

I can't honestly say that about everything. Some questions remain unanswered. Some things I still find difficult to explain. I can't manufacture certainty just because a definitive answer would be comforting.

But I can say something else: the world isn't as dark as I once thought it was.

I've come to recognize that, and I'm grateful for it.

I still want the truth. I still believe questions should be asked, evidence should be examined, and powerful institutions should be accountable for their actions. But I've also learned that questioning something doesn't mean you have to reach the darkest possible conclusion.

Uncertainty isn't proof of wrongdoing, just as an official explanation isn't automatically proof that everything is fine. A discrepancy can have several possible explanations, and the responsible thing is to investigate them rather than decide in advance which one must be true.

I want to believe that some of the things I've worried about will ultimately have ordinary explanations. I want to discover that some of my suspicions were mistaken. And where the evidence doesn't give me an answer, I can leave the question open and get on with living.

I don't have to abandon my curiosity to find some peace. I just have to stop making peace dependent on solving everything.

The World Is Better Than We Sometimes Realize

There's another reason I've been thinking about victory laps.

For years, it was easy to concentrate on everything that was wrong with the world. When you're researching corruption, controversial subjects, unexplained events, and the possibility that powerful people aren't telling the whole story, you can spend so much time looking at the darkness that you forget to look at anything else.

But take a step back and consider what humanity has accomplished.

Ordinary people today have access to food, conveniences, communications, entertainment, and medical care that even many wealthy people in earlier centuries couldn't obtain. We can speak with someone on the other side of the planet in seconds. We can access libraries of information from a device in our pockets. We can learn skills, create music, publish our ideas, and share our work with people we will never meet in person.

Consider the long-term decline in extreme poverty. According to Our World in Data's analysis of World Bank data, the share of the world's population living in extreme poverty fell substantially between 1990 and 2025, including when China is excluded from the comparison.

That doesn't mean poverty has disappeared. Progress has slowed, and billions of people still face hardship and insecurity. But the reduction in extreme poverty represents a major change in human living conditions.

We see a similar story in health. Our World in Data's historical life-expectancy research documents the enormous increase in global life expectancy over the last century. Its research on child mortality shows how dramatically the chances of surviving childhood have improved.

These improvements reflect many factors, including sanitation, nutrition, clean water, vaccination, medicine, education, and economic development.

We shouldn't pretend that every part of life has improved, or that history moves in a perfectly straight line. Wars still happen. People still suffer. Some hard-won freedoms are threatened, and progress can be reversed.

But we should also be honest about how far we've come.

Think About Medicine

Conditions that once meant almost certain death can now be treated, managed, or prevented. Infections that killed people before antibiotics can often be cured. Insulin transformed the treatment of diabetes. Modern anesthesia, vaccines, advanced imaging, organ transplantation, and emergency medicine have changed what it means to be sick or injured.

And we're still at the beginning of what may become possible.

Gene therapies are already treating certain diseases. For a concrete example of how far this field has advanced, the U.S. Food and Drug Administration's list of approved cellular and gene therapy products includes treatments that use approaches such as gene modification and engineered cells.

Researchers are also exploring regenerative medicine, more personalized treatments, and ways to identify illnesses earlier and intervene more precisely. Artificial intelligence is opening new avenues for medical research and drug discovery.

We don't know how far these developments will take us. Some promising approaches will fail, and some current practices will eventually be replaced. But the potential is extraordinary.

I sometimes wonder what future generations will think of our medicine. We look back at bloodletting, the use of toxic substances as treatments, and medical procedures performed without adequate anesthesia or infection control, and we wonder how people could have accepted such things.

What practices that we consider normal today will future generations regard as unnecessarily crude, painful, or misguided?

We don't know. But the history of medicine gives us reason to believe that our understanding will continue to change.

And that is a remarkable thing about humanity: we can learn that we were wrong, improve our methods, and give the next generation a better starting point than the one we inherited.

Science Fiction Is Becoming Everyday Life

When I was growing up, many of the technologies we now use would have seemed like science fiction.

We can speak to artificial intelligence and receive answers in seconds. Machines can recognize speech, interpret images, translate languages, and help people perform tasks that once required specialized knowledge. Robots can explore other planets, assist with complex procedures, and operate in environments that are dangerous for human beings.

We're not living in a world of fully autonomous Star Wars droids that can do everything a human can do. But the distance between imagination and practical technology has narrowed in ways that would have seemed astonishing to earlier generations.

And the implications extend far beyond convenience.

Artificial intelligence, robotics, advanced manufacturing, and improvements in energy production could eventually reduce the amount of human labor required to provide the necessities of life.

Imagine a world where food production, housing construction, transportation, energy, and other essential services become so efficient that people no longer have to spend most of their lives working simply to survive.

Imagine being able to pursue music, art, scientific research, relationships, education, or personal interests without the constant threat of losing access to basic necessities.

That is the kind of future I want to see.

A resource-based economy is one possible way of thinking about that future: using technology, scientific planning, and available resources to meet human needs rather than making access to necessities depend entirely on purchasing power.

We haven't achieved that world. Technology alone won't guarantee it, either. We will have to address questions of ownership, distribution, environmental limits, infrastructure, and who benefits from automation.

The International Labour Organization's 2025 assessment of generative AI and employment illustrates the distinction. AI has the potential to affect many occupations, but the report emphasizes that many jobs are more likely to be transformed than eliminated outright.

A future in which work becomes optional for everyone would require much more than new technology. It would require economic and social changes that allow the benefits of increased productivity to be shared widely.

But the possibility deserves serious consideration.

For the first time in history, we may be approaching a point where our technological capabilities could allow us to rethink some of the assumptions that have governed human life for centuries.

We should be asking what kind of world we want those capabilities to create.

We Can Build Something Better

I don't believe we have to accept the worst aspects of human history as permanent features of human nature.

We've changed the way we treat diseases. We've expanded access to knowledge. We've developed technologies that make communication and cooperation possible on a scale previous generations could barely imagine. We've built institutions, movements, and systems that have improved countless lives, even when those systems remain imperfect.

We can do more.

We can work toward a world in which fewer people go hungry, fewer people die from preventable diseases, fewer conflicts are fought over resources, and more people have the freedom to pursue meaningful lives.

We can make technology serve human beings rather than treating human beings as expendable parts of an economic machine.

We can disagree without dehumanizing one another. We can investigate difficult questions without automatically assuming the worst about everyone involved. We can hold institutions accountable while still recognizing genuine accomplishments when they occur.

And we can contribute to that future in small ways, even if we never get to see the entire transformation.

For me, that means making music, creating videos, sharing ideas, and building a community where independent artists can support one another. It means spending less time trying to win every old argument and more time making things that other people can enjoy, learn from, or use as inspiration.

Through @Crashout.Royalty on TikTok, I'm putting that philosophy into practice: making the art I want to make, exploring ideas that interest me, and creating opportunities for independent artists to find and support one another.

We don't all have to think alike, sound alike, or agree about everything. We can still recognize something worthwhile in one another and help it reach an audience.

We don't have to spend our entire lives fighting against what we dislike. We can also build things we want to exist.

And perhaps that's where my own journey is taking me: away from feeling responsible for exposing every problem and toward helping create something better.

The Future Is Worth Protecting

But there's one more thing we need to remember.

All this progress depends on our ability to maintain the systems that make it possible. Our medical technology, food distribution, communications, scientific research, and increasingly automated world depend on infrastructure that we can sometimes take for granted.

Consider the electrical grid.

A prolonged, widespread loss of electricity could disrupt hospitals, water treatment, refrigeration, transportation, communications, and food distribution. The longer those systems remained unavailable, the harder it could become to restore normal life. The consequences could extend far beyond the initial outage.

We could lose access to technologies that represent centuries of human progress, not because the knowledge suddenly disappeared, but because we could no longer reliably operate the systems that put that knowledge to work.

A major grid disruption wouldn't automatically erase civilization or all our accumulated knowledge. But it could cause severe harm, and a sufficiently prolonged disruption could set back essential services and technological development.

That's why preparedness matters.

We should strengthen our infrastructure, improve its resilience, develop backup systems, and make sure communities can withstand disruptions. We should prepare for emergencies without living in fear of them. We should protect the progress we've made while continuing to create something better.

The goal isn't to convince ourselves that catastrophe is inevitable. It's to recognize that the future is valuable enough to protect.

We've spent generations learning how to improve the human condition. We have opportunities our ancestors could scarcely have imagined, and we may be standing at the beginning of another extraordinary period of discovery.

Let's not take that for granted.

Let's protect our power, our knowledge, our communities, and our ability to keep moving forward.

We've come too far to be careless with the future. Let's make sure the next generation inherits a better world, not a preventable setback.

What I Want to Tell Eight-Year-Old Me

If I could sit down with the eight-year-old version of myself today, I wouldn't tell him that every theory he ever entertained was correct. I wouldn't tell him that every mystery had been solved or that every institution had finally come clean.

I'd tell him that the world is more complicated than either the believers or the skeptics sometimes make it sound.

I'd tell him that some of the questions he cared about would eventually receive serious public attention, while others would remain unresolved. I'd tell him that learning to distinguish evidence from interpretation would be just as important as learning to question accepted explanations.

But I'd also tell him something he might not expect.

I'd tell him that the world isn't as dark as he sometimes feared it was.

I'd tell him that human beings have accomplished extraordinary things, that medical science has saved countless lives, that technology has opened doors previous generations couldn't imagine, and that the future still holds possibilities worth working toward.

I'd tell him that he didn't have to spend his entire life proving other people wrong to justify his curiosity.

I'd tell him that he would grow up, make music, write, create documentaries, meet people who mattered to him, and build a life that he could genuinely appreciate. That he would have difficult periods, make mistakes, change his mind about things, and discover that some of the most important victories weren't the ones he had imagined as a child.

I'd tell him that he was allowed to be curious without being consumed by every mystery.

And I'd tell him that he could take a victory lap without needing to declare himself the winner of every argument.

Because this victory lap isn't about proving that I was right about everything.

It's about recognizing that the questions I cared about as a child helped shape the person I became. They gave me reasons to research, write, create, investigate, and keep learning. They took me down paths I never could have predicted.

I didn't get every answer. I didn't get everything I wanted. I may have been wrong about some things, and I may never know the answers to others.

But I kept going.

I got to participate in conversations I once hoped to see. I got to make things out of the subjects that fascinated me. I got to experience a world that has changed in extraordinary ways, and I still have the opportunity to contribute something to what comes next.

So, to the eight-year-old kid who wanted to know what was really happening in the world, here's what I'd say:

Look how far we've come.

Look at all the things we've learned, all the things we've created, and all the possibilities still ahead of us.

We didn't figure everything out. We didn't get every answer. But we kept going, we made it through some difficult things, and we found reasons to believe in the future.

We don't have to carry every old battle forward. We don't have to solve every mystery before we're allowed to enjoy our lives. We can keep asking questions, keep learning, and keep making things that matter.

The world isn't perfect, but it isn't finished, either.

And maybe the greatest victory isn't proving that we were right about the darkness.

Maybe it's recognizing that there's still so much good to build, so much to discover, and so much to look forward to.

We didn't get every answer, and we didn't get everything we wanted. But we got to live this life. And there's still so much left to discover.

---

Sources and Further Reading

The links below provide evidence and context for several of the historical and scientific claims discussed in this article. They are starting points for further research, not endorsements of every interpretation presented here.

1. NASA — Unidentified Anomalous Phenomena: NASA's UAP Independent Study and final report.
2. Our World in Data — Extreme Poverty: The global decline in extreme poverty, including trends outside China.
3. Our World in Data — Life Expectancy: How life expectancy has changed across the world.
4. Our World in Data — Child Mortality: Historical declines in child and infant mortality.
5. Our World in Data — War and Peace: Historical patterns in conflict deaths and the limitations of long-term comparisons.
6. U.S. Food and Drug Administration — Gene Therapy: Approved cellular and gene therapy products.
7. International Labour Organization — AI and Employment: Generative AI and Jobs: A 2025 Update.

Explore My Work

• UFO research and writing: Debunking UFOs
• Research, ideas, and reflections: Mind Treasury
• Music, videos, and independent creativity: @Crashout.Royalty on TikTok

The questions are worth exploring. The evidence matters. And the future is worth building.

The Kelpie: Scotland’s Shape-Shifting Water Spirit

Exploring the legends, origins, and cultural significance of one of Scotland’s most mysterious supernatural creatures

Introduction

Among the many supernatural beings found in Scottish folklore, few are as fascinating and unsettling as the kelpie. Described as a shape-shifting water spirit, the kelpie is most famously associated with the rivers, streams, pools, and lochs of Scotland. Although it can reportedly appear in human form, its most recognizable disguise is that of a beautiful horse waiting near the water’s edge.

According to traditional stories, the kelpie uses its appearance to attract unsuspecting people. Someone who mistakes the creature for an ordinary horse may approach it or climb onto its back, only to discover that the seemingly harmless animal has supernatural intentions.

The kelpie is more than simply a frightening monster in a collection of old stories. Its legends offer insight into Scottish history, traditional beliefs about the natural world, and the dangers faced by people living near unpredictable bodies of water.

Origins and Historical Background

The kelpie belongs to the folklore of Scotland, particularly traditions associated with rivers and other inland waters. Stories about water spirits developed in communities where rivers, streams, and pools were essential to everyday life but could also be dangerous.

Before modern bridges, warning signs, and reliable methods of predicting floods, crossing a river could be a serious undertaking. Strong currents, sudden rises in water levels, slippery banks, and hidden depths presented genuine risks. Folklore offered a memorable way to communicate those dangers.

The historical record provides evidence that the word kelpie has been used in Scotland for centuries. The Dictionary of the Scots Language records an early place-name containing the term from 1674, while published literary references appear during the eighteenth century. The Scottish poet Robert Burns referred to water-kelpies in his 1786 poem Address to the Deil, demonstrating that the creature was already familiar in Scottish cultural tradition.

The precise origin of the word is uncertain. One proposed explanation connects it to the Scottish Gaelic word cailpeach, meaning a young bullock or colt. This suggested connection is interesting because the kelpie is so strongly associated with the appearance of a horse, although the etymology should not be treated as conclusively established.

Appearance and Shape-Shifting Abilities

The kelpie is most commonly described as a powerful, attractive horse, frequently black but sometimes white or grey depending on the story. It may appear unusually tame, well-groomed, or inviting, standing close to a riverbank or pool as though waiting for someone to approach.

Its deceptive appearance is central to the legend. The creature does not necessarily look frightening when first encountered. Instead, its beauty and apparent friendliness make it dangerous.

In many accounts, the kelpie can transform into a human being. It may appear as a handsome man, a mysterious stranger, or another human figure capable of gaining a person's trust. Some regional tales describe unusual features that reveal its supernatural nature, such as waterweed or sand in its hair, or hooves that betray its connection to the horse.

Not every account describes the creature in exactly the same way. Folklore changes as stories pass between storytellers and communities, so details such as its color, behavior, appearance, and weaknesses can vary.

The Kelpie’s Most Famous Trick

The best-known kelpie legend follows a disturbing but recognizable pattern.

A traveler or group of children encounters an apparently harmless horse near a body of water. The animal may be unusually beautiful and may allow people to approach it without showing any fear.

When someone climbs onto its back, however, the situation changes. In many versions of the story, the rider discovers that they cannot escape. The kelpie races toward the water and plunges into the depths, dragging its victim beneath the surface.

Some tellings describe the creature as possessing a magical grip that prevents a rider from dismounting. Others portray the kelpie as a predatory being that drowns its victims and, in particularly gruesome versions, devours them.

These details vary between tales, but the underlying theme remains consistent: something that appears harmless can conceal a dangerous reality.

The stories were particularly useful as warnings for children. A beautiful horse beside a river might be an irresistible temptation, but approaching unfamiliar animals or playing near deep water could have serious consequences. The supernatural explanation made the warning memorable.

Are All Kelpies Evil?

The kelpie is generally portrayed as dangerous, but Scottish folklore is not entirely uniform.

Some stories describe encounters in which people capture or control a kelpie and force it to perform work. In one traditional account associated with Inverugie Castle near Peterhead, a man encounters a mysterious black horse, recognizes its supernatural nature, and manages to harness it. The creature is then made to carry stones for construction work.

Stories of this kind introduce a different dimension to the legend. The kelpie is not simply a monster that attacks people; it can also represent extraordinary strength, unpredictable behavior, and a potentially useful power that humans cannot easily control.

Other accounts associate water spirits with mills and water-powered machinery. Such stories reflect the importance of water to traditional Scottish agriculture and industry.

Nevertheless, the familiar image of the kelpie remains that of a deceptive and dangerous spirit whose apparent friendliness should not be trusted.

The Kelpie and Scotland’s Natural Landscape

Scotland's landscape helps explain why water spirits became such enduring figures in its folklore. The country contains numerous lochs, rivers, streams, waterfalls, and isolated pools, many surrounded by dramatic scenery and steep banks.

Water could sustain a community, provide transportation, support farming, and power machinery. It could also cause drowning, flooding, and other disasters.

Folklore frequently gives a supernatural personality to forces that people respect but cannot fully control. The kelpie can therefore be understood as a mythological expression of water's dual nature: beautiful and life-giving on one hand, dangerous and unpredictable on the other.

This interpretation does not prove that every kelpie story originated as a safety warning. Folklore serves many purposes, including entertainment, moral instruction, explanations of unusual events, and the preservation of local identity. However, Scottish heritage sources specifically recognize the warning function of kelpie stories.

The Kelpie in Literature and Modern Culture

The kelpie has survived well beyond the communities in which its stories originated. Its appearance in Scottish poetry and literature helped preserve the creature in the cultural imagination.

Robert Burns's Address to the Deil, published in 1786, mentions water-kelpies as part of a wider collection of supernatural dangers. Later writers continued to use the creature in stories, poems, and descriptions of Scotland's mysterious landscapes.

Today, the kelpie appears in books about mythology, fantasy fiction, games, films, and modern retellings of traditional legends. Its ability to change shape makes it particularly suitable for stories involving deception, transformation, and the uncertain boundary between the familiar and the supernatural.

One of Scotland's most striking modern tributes is The Kelpies, two enormous horse-head sculptures near Falkirk. Designed by sculptor Andy Scott and opened in 2014, the sculptures stand approximately 30 metres (about 100 feet) tall.

The sculptures draw inspiration from the country's working horses, industrial heritage, and the mythology of the kelpie. They are artistic interpretations rather than evidence that the supernatural creature exists, but they demonstrate how a centuries-old legend can continue to influence modern Scottish identity.

Kelpie or Water Horse? An Important Distinction

The term kelpie is sometimes used broadly for supernatural water horses, but Scottish traditions contain related creatures and regional variations that should not automatically be treated as identical.

The Gaelic water horse, known as the each-uisge, is particularly associated in many accounts with lochs and other larger bodies of water. Kelpies are often associated with rivers, streams, and pools, especially in Lowland Scottish traditions.

However, the distinction is not absolute. Historical writers and storytellers have sometimes used the names interchangeably, and local traditions overlap.

This variation illustrates an important principle when studying mythology: supernatural beings rarely have one universally agreed description. Their identities develop through oral storytelling, regional customs, literature, and the interpretations of later writers.

What Can We Conclude About the Kelpie?

There is no established scientific evidence that shape-shifting water spirits exist as described in Scottish legends. The historical evidence instead documents the kelpie as a longstanding part of Scotland's folklore and cultural imagination.

That does not make the subject unimportant. Folklore provides a window into the concerns, values, and creativity of earlier communities. The kelpie's story combines the beauty of Scotland's waterways with a warning about their dangers, while its ability to change shape gives the legend an enduring element of mystery.

The creature also demonstrates how stories evolve. A frightening spirit associated with rivers and drowning has become a recognizable symbol of Scottish heritage, inspiring poetry, scholarship, art, and major public sculptures.

Conclusion

The kelpie remains one of Scotland's most memorable legendary creatures because its story brings together mystery, natural beauty, and danger. Whether appearing as a magnificent horse or a mysterious human stranger, it represents the unsettling possibility that appearances can be deceiving.

Its legends have endured for centuries, moving from local storytelling into literature and modern public art. They remind us that folklore is not merely a collection of strange tales. It is also a record of how communities understood their surroundings, communicated warnings, and transformed the mysteries of everyday life into stories that could survive across generations.

The kelpie may belong to the supernatural world of Scottish legend, but its cultural legacy is very real.

Indo those who don't feel dying...

WelcomeToHealth.blogspot.com

Comments from a researcher I respect very much. One of the smartest people I know...

It looks like the same problem with the other mRNA jabs.

The body is being trained to attack something that the mRNA produces in your cells. The problem is, in what cells?

The mRNA, thanks to the lipids, is circulated throughout your body – or at least chunks of it do. The cells being attacked can therefore be anywhere, such as in your heart.

It might be effective in training your immune system to mass attack particular cancer cells, but it should come with the same massive amount of problems, including crippling and killing the patient.  

Other doctors involved in treating Covid using Ivermectin and Fenbendazol, or rather vets treating animals with parasites, noted that their cancers also cleared up.

In the alt space the treatment for cancer came from the anti-parasite drugs, plus also Zinc, vitamin C and perhaps a few other things.

Remember that interview with Mel Gibson on Joe Rogan where he reported he knew of celebrity friends that were recovering from cancer using those treatments?

Organic Aritist Defends AI Music Creation

Before we get started, please bookmark my music site and check it out after reading this article. And while you're at it, follow me on TikTok at @Crashout.Royalty. That's where you can find more of my music, videos, artwork, and whatever else I'm creating next.

Here's my most recent Hip-Hop release as of this publishing date...

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZPLjkEnsM/

And here is my old organic Hardcore/Punk Band ILLITHED

https://mindtreasury.blogspot.com/2018/02/hardcorepunk-band-illithed.html

The AI Music Debate I May Never Have — Because I Value My Time

Hello, I'm the account "Crashout Royalty" for those that are unaware. Multidisciplinary artist and activist researcher JM Talboo AKA BishopNeoWinstonSmith leader of the music group and collective of artists known as #CrashoutAristocrats

Before the imagined debate ensues I want to first acknowledge positive conversations are happening as evinced by the screenshots below. 

I say this because what sparked me writing this is a lot shit talking is taking place online from those opposed to AI music. Makes me wonder if they are industry plants Ad hominem attacks are not an argument, I can talk smack and lay one down too lol but I'll focus on substance and positivity while they act like the miserable people they msst be.

What would happen if I actually debated someone who believes AI-assisted music is inherently inferior to human-made music?

I may never find out.

And that's okay.

One of the reasons I use AI in the first place is because I value my time.

So rather than spending hours arguing with somebody on the internet, I decided to run the entire hypothetical debate through my head.

Here's how I'd approach it.

Not by assuming I'd win every argument.

Not by rigging the experiments.

And not by pretending AI is automatically better than human creativity.

I'd simply ask that we actually examine the claims being made.

And there's an important distinction right from the beginning:

I'm not simply an "AI music maker."

I'm a multidisciplinary artist.

I make music. I write. I perform. I make videos. I make physical artwork. I make digital artwork. I work with photography, animation, costumes, props, locations and visual effects. I showcase other artists and artwork. I use technology. I collaborate with other people. And sometimes I use AI.

Sometimes I use none of it.

That's the bigger picture.

I Don't Like Being Pigeonholed

I've never been particularly interested in being shoved into one category.

Why would I limit myself to one medium just because somebody else wants a convenient label?

If I have an idea that works as a song, I'll make a song.

If it works as a video, I'll make a video.

If it works as an image, I'll make an image.

If it works as physical artwork, I'll make that.

If somebody else's artwork communicates something I want to showcase, I'll showcase it.

If a costume communicates the idea better than words do, I'll put on the costume.

If animation makes the idea stronger, I'll animate it.

If AI helps me accomplish something I couldn't otherwise accomplish—or lets me accomplish it faster—I'll use AI.

I'm not interested in technological purity.

I'm interested in communication and creation.

There Isn't One Way I Make Music

This is where I think a lot of conversations about AI immediately go wrong.

People talk about "AI music" as though there's one standardized process.

There isn't.

I've been making music for years.

I've been in a successful band.

I can perform.

I can rap live.

I've made music without AI.

And I still make music without AI.

AI is simply another set of tools I've added to a much larger creative toolbox.

Sometimes I might use an AI-generated beat and put my own real vocals over it.

Sometimes I might perform the vocals myself and use an AI voice filter as an artistic effect.

Sometimes AI might be involved in the music while the performance itself is completely human.

Sometimes I might use AI for production but write and perform everything else myself.

Sometimes AI is involved in several elements.

Sometimes it's barely involved at all.

Sometimes it isn't involved whatsoever.

So when someone says:

"You're just letting AI make your music."

My response is pretty simple:

Which song?

Which part?

The beat?

My vocals?

The voice effect?

The lyrics?

The concept?

The production?

The video?

The artwork?

What exactly are you talking about?

Because you're imagining one workflow that doesn't actually describe what I do.

I make music in a lot of different ways.

AI is one set of tools I sometimes use within that larger creative process.

The Same Thing Applies to My Videos

And then there's video.

I'm not simply making songs and attaching a generic video to them afterward.

The visual production is its own creative process.

And just like music, I'm interested in using every possible way of making the thing.

AI animation.

Real photographs.

Real video.

Digital imagery.

Physical imagery.

Stickers.

Effects.

Costumes.

Props.

Settings.

Locations.

Practical elements.

Digital manipulation.

Found imagery.

Whatever works.

Sometimes I'll create an entirely artificial image.

Sometimes I'll film something in the real world.

Sometimes I'll take a real photograph and build something around it.

Sometimes I'll make physical artwork and photograph or film it.

Sometimes I'll create digital artwork.

Sometimes I'll take physical artwork and use AI to animate it.

Sometimes Dawn makes physical artwork and I incorporate that into what I'm doing.

Sometimes I'll showcase another artist's work.

Sometimes I'll visit or showcase art in a museum.

Sometimes the strongest visual is simply something I happen to encounter in the real world.

And sometimes I'll combine several of those methods in one project.

That's not a contradiction.

That's the medium.

The Best Results Are Often Hybrids

Think about modern filmmaking.

Computer-generated imagery didn't eliminate practical effects.

Practical effects didn't eliminate sets.

Digital effects didn't eliminate actors.

Photography didn't eliminate painting.

And computer animation didn't eliminate live-action filmmaking.

In fact, some of the most effective visual work comes from combining different techniques.

You can have a real actor standing in a real environment while interacting with a digitally created world.

You can have a physical prop enhanced with computer effects.

You can have real footage combined with animation.

You can have photographs turned into moving imagery.

The best solution isn't necessarily:

"Use only the human method."

It may be:

"Use the right combination of methods for this particular idea."

That's what I'm doing.

The Image Can Say Something the Song Doesn't

There's another reason I care so much about the visual side.

The video doesn't have to simply illustrate the lyrics.

Sometimes it reinforces the song.

Sometimes it expands upon it.

Sometimes it provides another interpretation.

Sometimes it deliberately creates irony.

Sometimes it communicates a completely different but related idea.

You can say a thousand words with an image.

Sometimes more.

A single image can establish a mood, tell a story, suggest a political idea, create symbolism, or make someone question what they're seeing.

I might put something like a They Live flyer into a video.

Maybe the song doesn't literally say the same thing.

That's okay.

The image creates another layer of communication.

The audience makes the connection.

That's part of the artwork.

Visual Language Is Different From Verbal Language

An image isn't simply a paragraph without words.

Visual language works differently.

A costume can communicate satire.

A setting can communicate danger.

A photograph can communicate nostalgia.

A surreal image can communicate an emotional state.

A juxtaposition can create an argument without anybody speaking.

A symbol can make someone think about an idea without spelling out the conclusion.

And sometimes an image can communicate something in a way that a literal statement simply can't.

That's one of the reasons I'm interested in visual storytelling.

I'm not just making a music video.

I'm building another layer of the message.

Physical Art Counts Too

And this is another reason I don't want to be reduced to "AI artist."

I make physical art.

I work with physical objects.

I showcase artwork other people create.

Dawn makes artwork that I can incorporate into the larger creative world.

I make digital artwork too.

And sometimes I'll take something that physically exists and use AI or other digital tools to animate or transform it.

So now we've got:

physical → digital → animated → combined with video → combined with music.

Where exactly are you going to draw the line and tell me which part is the "real art"?

That's the wrong question.

The better question is:

What did the artist create, and what was the artist trying to communicate?

Technology Has Always Disrupted Art

And this isn't even a uniquely modern argument.

We've been having versions of this argument for centuries.

Whenever a new technology changes who can create, who can distribute art, or what art can sound or look like, somebody eventually says:

"This is going to ruin everything."

Sometimes that person has a point.

Sometimes they're completely wrong.

Usually it's more complicated than either side wants to admit.

But the pattern is worth recognizing.

There were people who were suspicious of ordinary people having widespread access to writing.

Then came the printing press.

Suddenly information could be reproduced and distributed on a scale that was previously impossible.

Then came newspapers and mass publishing.

Then radio.

Then recorded music.

Then television.

Then home video.

Then the internet.

Then digital recording.

Then digital photography.

And now we're dealing with generative AI.

Every one of these technologies changed the creative landscape.

And every time, there were people who looked at the new technology and said, in one form or another:

"That's not real art."

"Video Killed the Radio Star"

There's a reason a phrase like "Video Killed the Radio Star" became culturally memorable.

It captured a real fear about technological change.

Radio didn't literally disappear.

The radio star didn't literally die.

Instead, the culture changed.

Television created a new requirement: artists could suddenly become visual personalities in addition to being voices.

That changed what a successful performer looked like.

And then television itself was eventually challenged by cable, home video, the internet, streaming and social media.

The old medium doesn't necessarily disappear.

The ecosystem changes around it.

That's an important distinction.

The Printing Press Didn't Destroy Human Culture

The printing press is another good example.

Imagine living in a world where books are expensive, labor-intensive objects that have to be copied by hand.

Then suddenly you have technology capable of reproducing text on an enormous scale.

You could reasonably be concerned about misinformation.

You could be concerned about low-quality writing.

You could be concerned about people flooding society with garbage.

You could be concerned about political propaganda spreading faster.

Those concerns wouldn't necessarily be stupid.

But the answer wasn't:

"Therefore, nobody should print books."

The technology created enormous new possibilities while also creating new problems.

That's often what technological progress actually looks like.

Newspapers and the Internet

The same thing happened when the internet disrupted newspapers.

People worried about what would happen to journalism.

Some of those concerns were absolutely justified.

The internet created incredible opportunities for independent publishing, but it also created misinformation, clickbait, declining traditional revenue models and all sorts of other problems.

So I'm not going to make the simplistic argument that every technological disruption is automatically good.

Sometimes we should be wary.

Sometimes older ways of doing things really do contain wisdom that we shouldn't throw away.

But that's different from saying:

"New technology exists, therefore everything created with it is artistically worthless."

Those are two completely different arguments.

The Guitar Didn't Stay the Guitar

Music has gone through this process constantly.

The acoustic guitar existed.

Then amplification changed what the guitar could do.

Then the electric guitar arrived.

And there were plenty of people who thought it was loud, obnoxious noise.

Then people figured out what could be done with it.

Entire genres developed around that sound.

The instrument didn't become objectively "better" than the acoustic guitar.

It became different.

And different artists wanted different things from it.

That's the key.

Three Chords vs. Stevie Ray Vaughan

I remember the kind of argument people made about bands like Nirvana and other grunge artists.

You'd hear the criticism:

"They only know three chords."

That's obviously an oversimplification, but the criticism illustrates something interesting.

Someone could look at Stevie Ray Vaughan and admire his technical ability, musicianship and complexity.

And that's perfectly legitimate.

But that doesn't mean the aesthetic of Stevie Ray Vaughan is automatically superior to the aesthetic of a stripped-down grunge song.

Sometimes three or four chords are exactly what the song needs.

Sometimes technical complexity is the point.

Sometimes simplicity is the point.

Sometimes virtuosity communicates.

Sometimes restraint communicates.

The question isn't:

"Which musician worked harder to master technical complexity?"

The question is:

"What is this artist trying to communicate, and does the chosen method communicate it?"

That's an important distinction for AI too.

A technologically complicated production isn't automatically better than a simple one.

And a technically simple production isn't automatically worse.

Complexity isn't the same thing as quality.

People Fear Change for Good Reasons Sometimes

This is where I don't want to turn the argument into some simplistic:

"Old people fear technology and young people understand progress."

That's bullshit.

People sometimes fear technological change for legitimate reasons.

Some technologies genuinely cause harm.

Some things that were once celebrated as progress turned out to have consequences we didn't understand.

Sometimes the people saying "slow down" were right.

Sometimes the people saying "this is going to cause problems" were right.

We should be willing to listen to them.

But there's another lesson from history:

Being concerned about a technology isn't the same as proving that everything created with that technology is worthless.

And that's where I think the AI conversation often goes off the rails.

Technology Changes the Definition of Possible

Every major creative technology expands the range of things an artist can do.

The microphone changed singing.

Recording technology changed songwriting.

Multitrack recording changed arrangement.

The electric guitar changed rock.

Synthesizers changed electronic music and eventually countless other genres.

Sampling changed hip-hop.

Digital audio workstations changed music production.

Digital cameras changed photography.

Computer graphics changed filmmaking.

The internet changed distribution.

Smartphones turned almost everybody into a potential photographer and filmmaker.

AI is doing something similar.

It's changing the distance between:

"I have an idea."

and

"I made the thing."

That's enormous.

So Let's Actually Test the Music

Suppose someone tells me that AI music is obviously inferior to human music.

Okay.

Let's test it.

I'd propose ten songs with broadly comparable themes.

Peace.

Humanity.

Love.

Freedom.

Overcoming hatred.

Making the world a better place.

Five would involve AI assistance.

Five would be entirely human-made.

The listener wouldn't know which was which.

But here's the important part:

I wouldn't initially ask them to identify the AI songs.

I'd ask them to judge the music.

Which songs communicate their message most effectively?

Which are best written?

Which are most emotionally powerful?

Which are most memorable?

Which would they actually listen to again?

Which make them think?

Which make them feel something?

Then, after they've made their judgments, we reveal how the songs were created.

Only then would we test their ability to identify AI involvement.

Because those are two completely different questions.

Can you identify AI?

And:

Does AI involvement make a piece of music worse?

Being good at the first doesn't automatically prove the second.

What If They're Really Good at Spotting AI?

Maybe they are.

That's entirely possible.

Maybe they've listened to enough AI music to recognize certain production characteristics that most people don't notice.

Great.

Let's test that too.

We could compare their results with other listeners.

Musicians.

Non-musicians.

People who listen to enormous amounts of music.

People who don't.

Maybe they absolutely crush the test.

Maybe everybody does.

Maybe nobody does.

Maybe some people are extremely good at it and others are terrible.

Whatever happens, that's useful information.

I'm not afraid of an experiment simply because it might produce a result I don't expect.

That's what makes it an experiment.

And if somebody really is exceptionally good at recognizing AI music, I'd rather find that out than pretend otherwise.

But identifying the technology is still not the same thing as proving that the art is inferior.

Then Let's Remove the Blindfold

Now let's make it personal.

Take one of my songs.

Let's use something like Naptown.

I'll perform the song for you myself.

Live.

No AI.

Just me.

Then I'll play you the AI-assisted version I created.

Now tell me which vocal performance you prefer.

Maybe you'll prefer mine.

I'd actually expect that in some cases. I'm a performer. I'd hope my live performance has strengths that an AI-generated performance doesn't.

Maybe you'll prefer the AI version.

That's possible too.

And here's the funny part:

Either result is interesting.

If you tell me my live performance is better, I'm not going to throw a fit.

I'll probably say:

"Yeah. I'm a performer. I'd fucking hope so."

But then we have to ask what we've actually demonstrated.

The Part People Leave Out: Reality

Maybe when I made that song, I didn't have a studio available to me.

Maybe I was going through some difficult shit in my life.

Maybe I didn't have the money for studio time.

Maybe I didn't have musicians available.

Maybe I didn't have the time to sit there and record thirty takes of the same line.

Maybe AI allowed me to turn an idea into a finished song that otherwise would have remained an idea.

That's not a hypothetical benefit.

That's how technology works.

People sometimes look at the final product and completely ignore the circumstances that made the product possible.

If my human vocal performance is slightly better but the AI-assisted version allowed me to actually finish the song under circumstances where the alternative was not making the song at all, then what exactly have I lost?

And what have I gained?

I gained a finished song.

I saved time.

I saved money.

I didn't need a studio.

I didn't need to coordinate multiple people.

I didn't need to spend hours and money getting another take every time I flubbed a line.

And I could move on to the next idea.

That matters.

What If They Prefer the AI Version?

Now let's turn the tables.

Suppose they listen to both versions and say:

"Honestly, I like the AI version better."

I'm not going to pretend I lost.

I'm going to say:

"Well, shit. Great."

Because I wanted the song to communicate.

If I had something I genuinely wanted to say, and the technology helped me say it in a way that somebody found more enjoyable, understandable or emotionally effective, then the technology accomplished something useful.

I don't need the human version to win every comparison.

The song winning is enough.

And What If They Say the Human Version Is Better?

That's useful too.

Maybe the human version has something the AI version doesn't.

Maybe I have a vocal characteristic that can't be replicated.

Maybe the human performance has a particular imperfection that makes it more compelling.

Fine.

Then I've learned something about the strengths of human performance.

That doesn't prove AI has no value.

It proves that humans and AI can have different strengths.

That's called having different tools.

The Mother's Day Problem

There's another experiment that I don't think an AI critic can solve with a simple production argument.

Suppose I make a tribute song for my mother.

She's getting older.

I have things I want to say to her.

I use AI to help turn those thoughts into a song quickly.

She hears it.

And she cries.

Now somebody tells me:

"Yeah, but it was made with AI."

Okay.

So?

Does that make her tears less real?

Did the emotional response somehow disappear because I used a machine to help construct the song?

Did the love I was trying to express become less genuine?

Did the words suddenly stop meaning what they meant?

No.

The technology doesn't get to rewrite the emotional experience that happened afterward.

My mother didn't cry because she performed a philosophical analysis of my production process.

She cried because I made something for her that meant something to her.

That's important.

Efficiency Doesn't Equal Emptiness

There is a strange assumption that if something becomes easier to produce, it must become less meaningful.

But that's not how technology has historically worked.

A camera didn't make photography meaningless.

Digital editing didn't make filmmaking meaningless.

The synthesizer didn't make music meaningless.

The electric guitar didn't make songwriting meaningless.

Recording technology didn't make live performance meaningless.

Technology repeatedly changes the distance between an idea and its final form.

And that's exactly what AI does for me.

I have more ideas than I could possibly execute using traditional methods alone.

AI reduces the distance between:

"I have an idea."

and

"I made the thing."

That's not necessarily a reduction in creativity.

Sometimes it's an expansion of creativity.

The Real-World Economics Matter Too

Artists don't create in a vacuum.

People have limited money.

Limited time.

Limited access to musicians.

Limited access to studios.

Limited physical energy.

Limited opportunities.

Sometimes you're dealing with family obligations.

Sometimes you're dealing with work.

Sometimes life is simply kicking your ass.

A person might have ten songs in their head and only enough money to record one.

What happens to the other nine?

AI can sometimes change that equation.

Maybe it doesn't produce the same result as a professional studio.

Maybe it does.

But if it allows someone to create something that otherwise wouldn't exist, that's not automatically a negative.

The alternative isn't always "human-made masterpiece."

Sometimes the alternative is:

nothing.

And I'd rather have another imperfect song in the world that genuinely communicates something than have a great idea remain trapped in somebody's head because they couldn't afford the conventional production process.

I'm Not Claiming AI Does Everything

I don't need to claim that AI is superior to humans.

I don't need to claim that AI can replace musicians.

I don't even need to claim that every AI-generated song is good.

Some are garbage.

So are some human-made songs.

Human beings have been making terrible music for a very long time.

The existence of bad AI music doesn't prove that AI music is inherently bad any more than the existence of bad human music proves that humans shouldn't make music.

What matters is what happens when a particular person uses a particular tool to create a particular piece of work.

And Sometimes I Don't Use AI At All

This is worth emphasizing because it destroys the idea that I'm somehow dependent on AI to make music or art.

Sometimes I use it.

Sometimes I don't.

Sometimes I use it heavily.

Sometimes I use it for one small component.

Sometimes I might use AI for a beat but have real vocals.

Sometimes I might have real vocals and use an AI voice filter as an artistic effect.

Sometimes the music is human and the imagery is AI.

Sometimes the music is AI-assisted and the video is AI-assisted too.

Sometimes I'm mixing all of these things.

Sometimes I'm using physical art.

Sometimes I'm using digital art.

Sometimes I'm filming reality exactly as it exists.

Sometimes I'm taking something physical and transforming it digitally.

Sometimes I'm working entirely without AI.

The point is that I choose the tool based on the project.

I'm not pledging allegiance to a machine.

I'm making art.

The Human Is Still Here

This is the part that gets lost in a lot of these arguments.

When I use AI to make music, I'm still here.

I'm deciding what I want to say.

I'm choosing the subject.

I'm writing and shaping ideas.

I'm directing the process.

I'm deciding what works and what doesn't.

I'm rejecting things.

I'm rewriting things.

I'm making artistic choices.

Sometimes I'm performing.

Sometimes I'm using real vocals.

Sometimes I'm combining human performance with AI.

Sometimes I'm using AI for parts of the production.

Sometimes I'm using it because I simply don't have the resources to do something another way.

The fact that a machine participates doesn't mean the human disappeared.

So What Exactly Makes It "Fake"?

At some point I'd stop talking about individual songs and ask the fundamental question:

What exactly makes an AI-assisted song illegitimate?

Is it the sound?

Then let's listen.

Is it the songwriting?

Then let's compare the songwriting.

Is it the emotional impact?

Then let's see what listeners actually experience.

Is it the amount of human labor?

Okay. Let's discuss what the human actually contributed.

Is it the fact that a machine was involved at all?

Now we're no longer talking about whether the music is good.

We're talking about a philosophical objection to the tool.

That's a legitimate position for somebody to have.

But it's important to call it what it is.

The Tool Doesn't Have to Win

This might be the most important part of the whole argument.

I'm not trying to rig these experiments so that AI wins.

Every single comparison is a crapshoot.

Maybe the human song wins.

Maybe the AI song wins.

Maybe the results split right down the middle.

Maybe the person I'm debating identifies every AI song correctly.

Maybe they completely screw it up.

Maybe they identify AI correctly but still prefer several AI-assisted songs.

Maybe they can't identify them at all.

Maybe my live performance beats the AI version.

Maybe the AI version beats my live performance.

I'm willing to live with any of those outcomes.

Because I'm not trying to prove that humans are obsolete.

I'm trying to challenge the idea that the presence of AI automatically determines the value of the finished work.

The Same Principle Applies to the Visuals

If somebody tells me:

"That image doesn't count because AI made it."

My answer is basically the same.

Okay.

Let's look at the image.

Does it communicate?

Does it create the intended mood?

Does it tell a story?

Does it make you curious?

Does it reinforce the music?

Does it create a useful contrast?

Does it make you feel something?

And if the answer is yes, then the fact that AI participated tells me something about how it was made.

It doesn't automatically tell me whether it worked.

Likewise, if I take a real photograph, add stickers and effects, animate part of it with AI, put it over my music, and then combine it with footage I shot myself while wearing a costume in a real location, what exactly is the "real" part?

All of it.

Because all of those are materials I intentionally assembled into a finished piece.

The Question I'd Eventually Ask

At some point I'd ask:

"What exactly are we trying to measure?"

If we're measuring whether somebody can recognize AI, let's measure that.

If we're measuring vocal performance, let's compare vocal performances.

If we're measuring songwriting, let's judge songwriting.

If we're measuring emotional impact, let's see what actually moves people.

If we're measuring efficiency, let's discuss how much time and money different production methods require.

If we're measuring artistic authenticity, then we'd better define what we mean by authenticity.

But let's stop treating all of those questions as though they're the same question.

They're not.

My Position Isn't "AI Is Better"

My position is much simpler.

AI is another tool.

Sometimes it's the right tool.

Sometimes it isn't.

Sometimes human performance is better.

Sometimes AI-assisted production is better.

Sometimes the combination is better than either one alone.

And sometimes I don't use AI at all.

The fact that I can make music and art in different ways is not a weakness in my argument.

It's the argument.

I've already made music without AI.

Now I have additional tools.

Why would I voluntarily pretend those tools don't exist?

I'm a Multidisciplinary Artist

That phrase might sound fancy.

Maybe it is.

But I think it's accurate.

I'm not limited to one artistic medium.

I don't want to be.

I've never liked being pigeonholed.

I'm interested in whatever medium best communicates the idea.

Sometimes that's a song.

Sometimes that's a photograph.

Sometimes it's a painting or physical object.

Sometimes it's a digital image.

Sometimes it's a video.

Sometimes it's animation.

Sometimes it's a costume.

Sometimes it's a combination of all of them.

Sometimes it's somebody else's artwork that I think deserves to be seen.

Sometimes it's Dawn's artwork.

Sometimes it's something I encountered in the real world.

Sometimes it's AI-assisted.

Sometimes it isn't.

That's not inconsistency.

That's creative freedom.

Everything Is Material

There's another philosophy behind all of this.

I tend to see almost everything as material.

An argument can become an article.

A strange experience can become a song.

A photograph can become a visual.

A physical object can become artwork.

A piece of artwork can become animation.

A conversation can become an idea.

A walk can become a video.

A costume can become a character.

A location can become a setting.

A random image can become symbolism.

Even an annoying argument with somebody on the internet can become useful.

That doesn't mean I'm exploiting every moment of my life for clicks.

Quite the opposite.

Sometimes the desire to create content actually gets me out there living more life.

Maybe I want to film something, so I take the dogs for a walk when I otherwise might have stayed home.

Maybe I'm outside and the sun hits the snow just right.

Maybe Harley's shadow falls across a church.

Maybe I capture that.

Now I've had a novel experience.

I've spent time with my dog.

I've gotten outside.

I've created something.

I've broken up the routine.

And I've given myself another memory.

The content becomes a reason to participate in life rather than a substitute for living it.

And sometimes those novel experiences are valuable precisely because they make time feel more substantial in retrospect.

So even the act of creating can feed back into the life that I'm creating from.

That's the loop.

Life produces art.

Art encourages me to experience more life.

Those experiences produce more art.

And around and around it goes.

The Entire Toolbox

That's ultimately why I reject the idea that I need to choose between:

human creativity

and

technology.

Why?

Why can't I have both?

Why can't I use my own voice and an AI beat?

Why can't I make physical artwork and then animate it digitally?

Why can't I photograph something real and add artificial elements?

Why can't I use a costume, a real location, practical props and computer-generated imagery in the same video?

Why can't I showcase another artist's work alongside my own?

Why can't Dawn make something and I incorporate it into a project?

Why can't a museum inspire a video?

Why can't a fictional image communicate a real idea?

Why can't a machine help me turn an idea into something I can actually show people?

Why would I deliberately limit the toolbox?

So What Am I Actually Asking?

I'm not asking anybody to worship AI.

I'm not asking anybody to abandon traditional art.

I'm not asking anybody to pretend that AI-generated material is automatically brilliant.

I'm asking for something much simpler:

Judge the work.

Judge the song.

Judge the performance.

Judge the image.

Judge the video.

Judge the message.

Judge the emotional impact.

Judge the craftsmanship.

Judge the choices.

And then, if you want, ask how it was made.

But don't reverse that order and decide whether something has artistic value before you've even looked at it.

Because ultimately, I don't think the most important question is:

"Was AI involved?"

I think it's:

"What did you do with it?"

And if somebody still wants to debate me after reading all of this?

Fair enough.

Bring your arguments.

I'll bring mine.

But remember:

I value my time.

So if you want to debate me, you're gonna have to pay me.

Have a nice day.

Is Bigfoot the Biblical Nephilim???

The mainstream scientific establishment is overall very much against creationist theory. Why then are they so opposed to studying Bigfoot?  🫈 Seems odd.  I'm not making a statement. I'm simply posing a question. If someone wants to give me an answer please do email with it at: jmtalboo@gmail.com 

But do not say it's because there is no scientific evidence for the existence of Sasquatch, because simply is not true!

Evidence isn't absolute proof of course, but otherwise what a load of absolute rubbish! There are plenty of highly-credible scientists in the most relevant of disciplines who correctly think otherwise and therefore this statement is BUNK! 

1. Dr. Jeff Meldrum — Anatomy, Anthropology & Locomotion

Jeff Meldrum is an anthropologist and anatomist at Idaho State University whose specialties include foot morphology, locomotion and the evolution of bipedalism in humans and other primates.

His examination of alleged Sasquatch footprints is particularly relevant because the evidence falls directly within his areas of expertise.

Meldrum has repeatedly emphasized that his argument is not that the evidence constitutes absolute proof, but that it warrants investigation. His book Sasquatch: Legend Meets Science examines footprints, dermal ridges, photographs, hair, DNA and other evidence.

2. Dr. Jane Goodall — Primatology

Jane Goodall hardly needs an introduction.

The legendary primatologist has publicly expressed an open mind toward the possibility of Sasquatch while acknowledging that existing evidence has not satisfied most scientists.

That's an important distinction.

She isn't saying, “Bigfoot has been proven.”

She's saying the question shouldn't simply be dismissed.

3. Dr. Grover Krantz — Anthropology & Human Evolution

Anthropologist Grover Krantz studied alleged Sasquatch footprints and handprints from an anatomical and evolutionary perspective.

His work included analysis of alleged dermal ridge patterns and the unusual anatomical characteristics claimed in some footprint casts.

Again, agreement with Krantz isn't required.

The relevant fact is that an academically trained anthropologist considered the physical evidence worthy of detailed analysis.

4. Dr. John Bindernagel — Zoology

Canadian zoologist John Bindernagel devoted substantial attention to the possibility of a large, undiscovered North American primate.

His work examined the ecological question of whether such an animal could theoretically exist in North America and whether the reports deserved scientific investigation.

His work is another example of someone with relevant scientific training treating Sasquatch as a zoological question rather than merely a campfire story.

5. Jimmy Chilcutt — Fingerprint & Primate Dermatoglyphics

Jimmy Chilcutt is particularly interesting because his expertise is directly relevant to one of the strangest categories of alleged Sasquatch evidence: dermal ridges.

Chilcutt worked in law enforcement as a fingerprint examiner and has examined alleged Sasquatch track casts for fingerprint-like ridge patterns.

His conclusions regarding some casts were controversial, but they were based on an area of forensic examination in which he had professional experience. Sasquatch: Legend Meets Science specifically discusses his examination of dermal ridge evidence.

6. Dr. Henner Fahrenbach — Hair & Physical Evidence

Dr. Henner Fahrenbach investigated alleged Sasquatch hair and other physical evidence and also conducted statistical work concerning reported Sasquatch characteristics.

Hair attributed to Sasquatch has been subjected to multiple forms of analysis, including DNA testing. Some samples have ultimately been identified as human, which is important evidence against simply assuming every unusual hair represents an unknown animal.

But the existence of the investigations themselves demonstrates that physical samples have been collected and subjected to scientific examination.

7. Dr. Daris Swindler — Primatology & Anatomy

Daris Swindler was a prominent primate anatomist associated with Washington State University.

He examined the controversial Skookum cast, along with other researchers including Meldrum and primatologist Esteban Sarmiento.

Whatever conclusion one reaches about the cast, the fact remains that trained primate specialists were brought in to examine it anatomically.

8. Dr. Esteban Sarmiento — Primatology & Human Evolution

Esteban Sarmiento, a primatologist and researcher associated with the American Museum of Natural History, was another specialist involved in examination of Sasquatch-related physical evidence.

His participation is particularly relevant because primate anatomy and evolution are directly related to evaluating claims of an unknown large primate.

That doesn't make every interpretation of the evidence correct.

It does make the subject difficult to accurately characterize as something that qualified scientists have simply never investigated.

9. Dr. George Schaller — Wildlife Biology

George Schaller is one of the world's most respected wildlife biologists and conservation scientists.

Schaller has expressed skepticism about whether the existing evidence establishes Sasquatch, but he has also recognized the value of critically examining the evidence.

In his comments about Meldrum's work, Schaller described Meldrum as bringing scientific rigor to the question and praised his footprint analysis.

That's an important example because scientific engagement doesn't require accepting the final hypothesis.

10. Dr. Robert Benson — Bioacoustics

Robert Benson examined alleged Sasquatch vocalizations using computerized acoustic analysis.

His area of expertise is particularly relevant to reports involving unexplained sounds and vocalizations.

Again, the existence of an acoustic analysis does not automatically establish that the sounds came from Bigfoot.

But it demonstrates that alleged Sasquatch evidence has been subjected to specialized scientific analysis rather than simply accepted or rejected based on someone's personal opinion.

11. Dr. Craig Newton — DNA Analysis

Craig Newton was involved in DNA testing of biological samples associated with the Skookum site.

The results and limitations of such testing are part of the larger debate over alleged Sasquatch biological evidence.

And this is precisely why DNA evidence needs to be discussed carefully.

Some alleged Sasquatch samples have produced ordinary human or known-animal results. Others have generated questions about contamination, sample quality, identification and interpretation.

That's evidence to investigate—not automatically proof of an unknown primate.

12. Dr. Russell Ciochon — Paleontology & Human Evolution

Russell Ciochon is a paleoanthropologist whose work includes fossil primates and human evolution.

His involvement in Sasquatch: Legend Meets Science provided another perspective on the possible relationship between reports of giant unknown primates and extinct primates such as Gigantopithecus.

This does not mean Gigantopithecus has been demonstrated to be Bigfoot.

It means that questions about unknown or extinct primates can be examined through legitimate disciplines such as paleontology, anatomy and evolutionary biology.

So, the vast majority of relevant qualified scientists not looking for this possible missing link for evolutionary theory they vehemently defend are proving themselves to be quite dogmatic. Maybe pseudoscience is their religion? 

Undebunking Bigfoot

Debunking Pseudo-Skepticism Regarding the Topic of Sasquatch

Best Evidence & Content that Counters Pseudo-Skepticism Regarding the Topic of Sasquatch

• Debunking Bigfoot Debunkers
• Highly Probable, Possible, Inconclusive, and Widely Rejected Sasquatch Videos and Photos
• Best Evidence for the Existence of Sasquatch - Forensic, Audio, Video, Photo, Statistical Data

One More Thought...

Some people have suggested that Bigfoot could actually be connected to the Nephilim mentioned in the Bible.

I'm not saying that's true.

But if you're looking for ways to put some of these creationist ideas to rest, perhaps it's time to get on the Bigfoot case ASAP.

After all, if Sasquatch turned out to be a real, previously unknown primate, that would be a pretty damn interesting development for evolutionary science.

So what are we waiting for?

Investigate the Bigfoot. 😂

And Since We're Talking About Bigfoot...

Here are two recent songs from my music featuring lyrics about Bigfoot, along with videos and pictures of me with Bigfoot.

Follow/subscribe on TikTok: @Crashout.Royalty

Bigfoot song #1 — TikTok

Bigfoot song #2 — TikTok

Free Book about Angels

Free Ebook about Angels 

https://www.ucg.org/file-download/download/drupal-https/619271

The Debunker's Trap: When Explaining Something Isn't the Same as Explaining It Away

There is a particular kind of argument that appears again and again whenever somebody reports something strange.

A person sees an unusual animal.

Someone suggests it might have been a bear.

Case closed.

Someone photographs an unexplained object.

Perhaps it was a bird, a balloon, or an aircraft.

Mystery solved.

Someone reports an unusual sound in the woods.

Probably an owl.

End of story.

Sometimes those explanations are correct.

The problem begins when "could be" quietly becomes "was."

That's what I call the Debunker's Trap.

The trap isn't skepticism itself. Skepticism is valuable. The trap is believing that once you've proposed a conventional explanation, you have actually demonstrated it.

Those are two very different things.

A Possible Explanation Isn't Necessarily the Explanation

Suppose somebody sees a large, hairy figure walking through the woods.

A skeptic says, "It could have been a bear standing upright."

Absolutely.

It could have been.

But that doesn't establish that it was a bear.

Maybe the witness saw a bear. Maybe it was another animal. Maybe it was a person. Maybe the witness misperceived something in poor lighting. Or perhaps the observation really was something unusual.

The correct conclusion, based on the information available, might simply be:

We don't know.

That's not a failure of skepticism.

That's intellectual honesty.

Yet "we don't know" can be an uncomfortable conclusion. People naturally want mysteries to have answers. Skeptics and believers can both fall into this trap.

The believer may say, "It was definitely Bigfoot."

The skeptic may respond, "It was definitely a bear."

Both may be claiming more certainty than the evidence actually allows.

The "Bear" Explanation

Bigfoot provides an excellent example.

Over the years, countless alleged Bigfoot sightings have been attributed to bears.

And sometimes that's almost certainly what happened.

Bears can stand upright. They can appear surprisingly large. Their movements can look strange at a distance. In poor visibility, a bear could conceivably produce a very confusing sighting.

But there's a subtle logical problem.

The fact that bears can produce a particular appearance doesn't demonstrate that every witness who reports that appearance saw a bear.

If a witness says:

"I saw something about seven feet tall, walking upright, with unusually long arms, and I watched it for several minutes."

responding "Bears can stand up" doesn't actually resolve the report.

It provides a hypothesis.

That's useful.

It isn't a conclusion.

The Same Problem Applies to UFOs

This isn't exclusively a Bigfoot problem.

Someone sees a strange light in the sky.

A skeptic identifies Venus.

Fine.

But was it Venus?

That depends on whether Venus was actually in the right part of the sky at the right time, whether its apparent movement matches the observation, whether the brightness is consistent, and whether other details of the report fit.

If they do, you've got a good explanation.

If they don't, "Venus" becomes little more than a convenient label.

The same applies to aircraft, satellites, balloons, drones and atmospheric phenomena.

A skeptical investigation should ask:

Does the proposed explanation actually fit the evidence?

Not merely:

Can I imagine something ordinary that might produce something like this?

The Difference Between "Possible" and "Probable"

This distinction is enormously important.

Almost any strange observation can have dozens of conceivable explanations.

The challenge is determining which explanation is most consistent with the evidence.

Imagine somebody finds a set of enormous footprints in the wilderness.

Possible explanations might include:

• A bear.
• A human wearing oversized footwear.
• A deliberately constructed fake.
• An unusual natural formation.
• A misinterpretation of ordinary tracks.
• Some unknown animal.

The fact that all of those possibilities exist doesn't make them equally likely.

And it certainly doesn't mean that identifying one as "possible" solves the case.

Good investigation requires comparing the hypotheses.

What would we expect the footprints to look like if they were made by a bear?

What would we expect if they were fabricated?

Do the stride length, depth, anatomy, terrain and trackway pattern fit?

Are there inconsistencies?

Is there independent evidence?

That's investigation.

Simply naming a possibility isn't.

The Debunking Shortcut

There is another version of the trap that is even more common.

A skeptic finds one plausible explanation and assumes that it explains the entire phenomenon.

For example:

"People sometimes mistake bears for Bigfoot."

True.

Therefore:

"Bigfoot sightings are people mistaking bears for Bigfoot."

That second statement doesn't logically follow from the first.

It's an enormous leap.

It would be like saying:

"People sometimes mistake airplanes for UFOs, therefore every UFO report is an airplane."

Obviously that wouldn't work.

The existence of false reports doesn't demonstrate that all reports are false.

And the existence of genuine misidentifications doesn't demonstrate that every unexplained observation is a misidentification.

The Debunker's Trap Can Work in Reverse

There is an important point here for believers too.

Suppose someone sees something that looks exactly like a large humanoid.

They conclude:

"That's Bigfoot."

But perhaps it was a person.

Or a bear.

Or an optical illusion.

Or a prank.

The believer can fall into precisely the same trap by taking a possible explanation and treating it as established fact.

That's why the best approach isn't believer versus skeptic.

It's evidence versus assumption.

What Would Actually Constitute a Good Explanation?

A strong explanation should do more than merely be possible.

It should explain the details.

If somebody proposes that a sighting was a bear, for example, we should be able to ask:

Does the animal's estimated size match?

Does its posture match?

Does its gait match?

Does its behavior match?

Was a bear known to be present in the area?

Could the witness have observed the animal clearly enough to distinguish it?

Does the explanation account for all the details, or only one of them?

That last question is particularly important.

Sometimes a proposed explanation solves one piece of a mystery while creating another.

If someone says a strange footprint was simply a bear track, but the alleged trackway contains features that don't resemble bear tracks, the explanation hasn't necessarily solved the mystery.

It may simply have moved the mystery somewhere else.

"I Can't Explain It" Doesn't Mean "It's Paranormal"

This is where skepticism needs an important safeguard.

There is a temptation, when criticizing debunking, to swing too far in the opposite direction.

If the conventional explanation doesn't work, perhaps the extraordinary explanation must be correct.

No.

That's another logical mistake.

If we can't explain a strange event, the appropriate conclusion may simply be:

We don't currently know what happened.

An unexplained Bigfoot sighting isn't automatically evidence for Bigfoot.

An unexplained UFO isn't automatically an extraterrestrial spacecraft.

An unexplained archaeological anomaly isn't automatically evidence of a lost advanced civilization.

Mystery is not proof.

But neither is mystery something we are required to pretend has already been solved.

The Most Interesting Position Is Sometimes the Middle One

There is a third position between believing every extraordinary claim and dismissing every extraordinary claim.

It sounds like this:

"I don't know—but let's investigate."

That's actually a very powerful position.

It allows us to take witnesses seriously without automatically believing their interpretation.

It allows us to consider conventional explanations without automatically declaring them correct.

And it leaves room for genuinely unusual discoveries.

Science has repeatedly advanced because somebody noticed something that didn't fit the existing explanation and refused to simply explain it away.

That doesn't mean every anomaly turns out to be revolutionary.

Most don't.

But occasionally, an anomaly really does tell us something.

The Goal Isn't to Protect the Mystery

There's an important distinction between investigating mysteries and protecting them.

If new evidence demonstrates that a famous Bigfoot case was a hoax, then that's worth knowing.

If an alleged UFO turns out to have been a weather balloon, that's not a disappointment. That's an answer.

If an archaeological mystery has a perfectly ordinary explanation, excellent.

The objective shouldn't be to preserve mystery for its own sake.

The objective should be to follow the evidence wherever it leads.

Sometimes it leads to something mundane.

Sometimes it leads to a mistake.

Sometimes it leads to a hoax.

And sometimes, at least temporarily, it leads to:

We don't know.

That last answer should not be confused with failure.

The Real Debunker's Trap

The real trap isn't skepticism.

It's premature certainty.

It's taking an explanation that is merely possible and presenting it as proven.

It's confusing "I have an explanation" with "I have demonstrated what happened."

And it works both ways.

Believers should be careful not to turn mysteries into monsters simply because they don't have conventional explanations.

Skeptics should be equally careful not to turn conventional possibilities into established facts simply because they dislike extraordinary possibilities.

The intellectually honest investigator stands somewhere in between.

Ask questions.

Test explanations.

Look for contradictory evidence.

Change your mind when the evidence demands it.

And above all, remember one simple rule:

Explaining something isn't the same as explaining it away.

Sometimes the ordinary explanation really is the answer.

Sometimes the extraordinary claim really does collapse under scrutiny.

But sometimes the evidence simply isn't good enough to tell us yet.

And that's when the most honest words a researcher can say are also the most useful:

"I don't know."