What would Walter Benjamin say about art in the age of “AI slop”? Is truly sublime and sincere artistic expression still possible in an era where reproducibility has fallen into the hands of anyone, anyone who can write a prompt into a chatbot?
What would Marx say about work and labor in the age of AI agents?
These are the questions that constantly flood my mind. My soul finds no rest; it only seeks. We are living in a fascinating time and, at the same time, a frightening one. So many injustices still remain, or perhaps they are deepening; so many existential crises, maybe more than ever. Is there any peace in the age of AI slop? These are the answers I intend to search for.
Can we be shaken into regaining a sense of what truly matters and what is important for us as humans? Can AI help us with this? An infinite AI slap to show us the way?
