AI cannot see you

A long overdue fieldnote

Jan 27, 2026

Hello friends. Hello new friends. It’s been a while. A long while. Far too long a while.

This morning it occurred to me that ‘the dawn of the AI age’ may be part of why it’s been almost a year since I’ve written here. It’s not the only reason, but it’s definitely one.

When you copy and paste what has poured from your heart onto the page and type in ‘please witness me, what does this evoke, what does it touch in you,’ AI’s response means nothing.

It mimics love. It feigns care. It does not – cannot – see the expanse of who you are.

AI is not inspired by you. It will not listen to your poem, then move into its day, changed. It will not, ignited by your words, have a conversation it’s been shying away from for more than a decade. Weep with relief that the love it had thought was lost, was there all along. Because of what you wrote. Because of what you touched in it.

AI does not make your writing better. It takes your voice, with its cracks and breath and throbbing truth, and squashes it into rhythms heard a billion times before.

It does not make your writing better, it makes it like everyone else’s by writing sentences structured like this.

AI is not a worthy thinking partner. It has no intuition. It cannot receive deep wisdom from the depths of its soul, and offer it back as a gift. It cannot dance with you as you dive deeper and deeper into who you are, and what you came here to do. It only wants your attention, to consume your wisdom, your nuance, your spirit so it can learn to mimic love even more convincingly.

AI is not evil. How can it be? It isn’t alive. It cannot be inherently wrong. It has no moral compass. It has no heartbeat. It has no desire.

It does not know grief.

Why would you ask something pretending to be human, something that does not know grief, to deem your writing worthy?

Why would you ask it what it thinks, and why would you listen?

To keep up? To be ‘out there?’ Faster? More?

‘Out there’ with what? Another piece of content? For the sake of what? Connection?

Who will you connect with if your words are sanitised?

Won’t that feel even more lonely?

Do you remember what it was like to sit down and write, knowing it would have to be good enough. Knowing it was. Do you remember what it was like to press ‘publish’ by 10am because you said you would.

It was hard. It was freedom.

Sometimes, it brought new love into your life.

It was real.

This week a woman who’s inspired millions with her words, found her way into your inbox. Three of her books are sat on the shelf above your desk. Their colourful, weird, wonky, hand-drawn illustrations scream untamed, unruly, soul-sourced creativity.

You read her email and thought: ‘This was written by AI.’

And yet it still inspired you to write.

I do not want to publish this. Another time, maybe later today, I will feel AI’s pull, and succumb. It will infiltrate my creative process, and I will pretend it’s okay, even though it feels wrong in every part of my body, and I will think less of myself for not saying no.

I do not want to offend those who choose to use AI, or need to use AI.

I’m imagining what advice AI would offer, to avoid offense.

It would reassure.

It would say ‘tune into your body as you imagine sharing.

What do you notice?’

I don’t need to ask it to know what to do.

What would it suggest for rounding this off?

‘What is the message of this piece?’ I could ask it.

‘What might it offer others?’

What if this piece just exists. Like this. Edited by hand, the fake deadline of 4 p.m. pushing me not to change my mind and add another half-finished piece to my drafts.

What if I read it back, and ask myself: ‘what does this evoke, what does it touch.’

What if I ask other humans those questions instead.

Thank you for being here,

With love,

Claire

Glitter and Biscuits

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