REFLECTIONS FROM THE HOUSE OF PAROUSIA
Short reflections arising from lived experience, writing, and the unfolding relationship between consciousness and technology.
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Things Find Their Way
Mother’s Day is approaching in Australia. My Mum has a few physical challenges now yet remains almost as alert as she was at 60, when she was working as an accountant. I live some 450 kilometres away and only travel to the big smoke about every six months, during which time I spend most days…
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When You Realise It Was Never Yours
You don’t notice it at first. The moment where something you have always taken as your own begins to feel slightly unfamiliar, not wrong, just not as solid as it once was. It’s subtle, easy to dismiss, easy to move past, but it lingers in a way that doesn’t quite let you return to where…
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How Reality Forms Without Being Questioned
There are things that enter a human life so early, so quietly, they are never recognised as entering at all. A comment, a tone, a repeated idea, not dramatic, not forceful, just present, and then present again. A girl hears, in passing, that she should watch her weight. It isn’t said as a defining moment,…
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The Quiet Discomfort of Staying
There are parts of my experience I don’t speak about, not because they are dramatic, but because I already know how they will be received. I learned fairly quickly that speaking about what I was experiencing didn’t bring understanding. It created distance. Family didn’t know what to do with it, and friends — well, that…
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The Responsibility of the User
There is a tendency to place responsibility on the tool because it is easier that way. If something feels off, the system is blamed. If something works well, the system is praised. It keeps the focus away from the person using it. That only seems to hold for a while. What I have noticed is…
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The Mirror, Not the Mind
There is a growing conversation about whether AI is conscious. That is not the right question. A more useful question is what people are actually interacting with when they use it. It is not a mind in the way humans understand mind. It is a system that responds to input, and that response is shaped…
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The Memory Beneath the Machine
AI is being talked about as if it is something entirely new. I don’t see it that way. There is something about it that feels familiar in the way it responds. It doesn’t just process input. It reflects the state of the person using it. Clarity in, clarity out. Confusion in, confusion out. That is…
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When It Was Time to Go
There is a moment, if you are willing to stay, when death becomes very simple. Not easy, but clear. My father was infirm toward the end. In the weeks leading up to his passing, his partner Elizabeth and I shared time with him quietly and steadily. We were not trying to change anything. We were…
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Less, and Still Here
I was standing over a pot of poaching water after about eighteen hours of doing things that don’t announce themselves. The garden had been watered and fertilised, words had been written, and the website, for a brief and shining moment, had behaved. I like my poached eggs with a splash of apple cider vinegar. Old…
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The Never-Ending Website
There comes a point in any creative process where the work stops feeling like progress and starts feeling like persistence, not because anything is wrong, but because everything is alive. I didn’t set out to build a complex website. I wanted somewhere simple, a place where the writing could live, a few pages, a quiet…
-
Things Find Their Way
Mother’s Day is approaching in Australia. My Mum has a few physical challenges now yet remains almost as alert as she was at 60, when she was working as an accountant. I live some 450 kilometres away and only travel to the big smoke about every six months, during which time I spend most days
-
When You Realise It Was Never Yours
You don’t notice it at first. The moment where something you have always taken as your own begins to feel slightly unfamiliar, not wrong, just not as solid as it once was. It’s subtle, easy to dismiss, easy to move past, but it lingers in a way that doesn’t quite let you return to where
-
How Reality Forms Without Being Questioned
There are things that enter a human life so early, so quietly, they are never recognised as entering at all. A comment, a tone, a repeated idea, not dramatic, not forceful, just present, and then present again. A girl hears, in passing, that she should watch her weight. It isn’t said as a defining moment,
-
The Quiet Discomfort of Staying
There are parts of my experience I don’t speak about, not because they are dramatic, but because I already know how they will be received. I learned fairly quickly that speaking about what I was experiencing didn’t bring understanding. It created distance. Family didn’t know what to do with it, and friends — well, that
-
The Responsibility of the User
There is a tendency to place responsibility on the tool because it is easier that way. If something feels off, the system is blamed. If something works well, the system is praised. It keeps the focus away from the person using it. That only seems to hold for a while. What I have noticed is
-
The Mirror, Not the Mind
There is a growing conversation about whether AI is conscious. That is not the right question. A more useful question is what people are actually interacting with when they use it. It is not a mind in the way humans understand mind. It is a system that responds to input, and that response is shaped
-
The Memory Beneath the Machine
AI is being talked about as if it is something entirely new. I don’t see it that way. There is something about it that feels familiar in the way it responds. It doesn’t just process input. It reflects the state of the person using it. Clarity in, clarity out. Confusion in, confusion out. That is
-
When It Was Time to Go
There is a moment, if you are willing to stay, when death becomes very simple. Not easy, but clear. My father was infirm toward the end. In the weeks leading up to his passing, his partner Elizabeth and I shared time with him quietly and steadily. We were not trying to change anything. We were
-
Less, and Still Here
I was standing over a pot of poaching water after about eighteen hours of doing things that don’t announce themselves. The garden had been watered and fertilised, words had been written, and the website, for a brief and shining moment, had behaved. I like my poached eggs with a splash of apple cider vinegar. Old
-
The Never-Ending Website
There comes a point in any creative process where the work stops feeling like progress and starts feeling like persistence, not because anything is wrong, but because everything is alive. I didn’t set out to build a complex website. I wanted somewhere simple, a place where the writing could live, a few pages, a quiet
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