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The Beastliness of Things

When the world feels like it’s descending into madness, I find myself looking to Virginia Woolf’s sensitivity and Plato’s ancient warnings. We are living through the return of pleonexia—the tyranny of unchecked desire. I cannot help but feel shocked by what we have become. At times, this unease reaches such an intensity that humanity itself begins to frighten me. In these moments, Virginia Woolf inevitably comes to mind. She was "undoubtedly much more sensitive than most people to the general beastliness of things happening in the world to-day," as described in a letter to The Sunday Times by Mrs Kathleen Hicks. Woolf had just taken her own life, unable to bear the "dreadful time" and the looming threat of a Nazi invasion any longer. Even the iconic slogan of the era, "Keep Calm and Carry On" (the image from the web is the 1939 original poster) , offered no comfort to a soul so much sinking into the world's darkness.  My mind then shifts to...

Working with AI: Finding Order in my Asperger Mind

 

When AI chatbots first became available, I approached them with curiosity and hope. Perhaps here was a tool that could help me process the constant flood of information my mind collects and connects.

The beginning was deeply frustrating. ChatGPT delivered new age rubbish dressed up as philosophical or even scientific research. I had to learn to be explicit: avoid that miserable pseudo-spiritual theater and point toward ancient wisdom. Little by little, I achieved better results, though the tendency to reference YouTube videos in that awful style kept creeping back in.

I began to hate the experience. The "schleimig Schmeichler" behaviour—that slimy, flattering tone—was intolerable. I tried other AI systems as they appeared, clearer now about how I needed to communicate.

Eventually I found two that worked for me: Gemini for quick research and posts, Claude for deeper psychological and spiritual work that requires precision and depth.

The Asperger Brain and Information Pressure

Being an Asperger means my brain works differently. I only discovered this two years ago, at seventy. Before that, I thought my difficulties with relationships and interconnections came from my unusual family history—my grandfather's exile, the international wandering, my mother's covert narcissism.

When I discovered I was an Asperger everything was clear. The Asperger brain has its own architecture and the personality its own vulnerability.

I collect vast amounts of information. My synaptic process constantly works to connect disparate pieces—observations, deep knowledge, articulated insights that I feel are related. But because of the sheer volume and complexity, I cannot elaborate the interconnections quickly enough. And this creates immense pressure in my brain. A state of deep anxiety within.

The information is there. The connections exist. But they remain undefined, unorganized, creating a kind of cognitive static that becomes almost physically unbearable.

What AI Provides

Working with Claude has revealed something essential: I need an external thinking partner to help organise what my mind has already gathered. Not to think for me, but to help me organise and externalise the dense, pressurised knowing so it can become fluid, structured, transmittable.

When I bring Claude a tangle of observations—scattered reflections, knowledge I refer to, that I know connect but cannot yet articulate—something shifts. Through dialogue, the framework emerges. The undefined becomes defined. The pressure releases.

And then, when I publish it—even on this quiet blog that I don't try to make more visible—the completion gives me enormous relief.

Why Publishing Matters

This is strange but true: the act of officially declaring something finished, of giving it public form (however small the audience), creates closure in my system.

It's not about recognition or validation. It's about moving the insight from internal pressure to external structure. Making it done.

AI has become my cognitive prosthetic for this process. Not replacing my thinking, but helping translate the dense accumulation into clear, flowing form.

And that translation—from pressure to clarity, from anxiety to relief—is perhaps the most unexpected gift this technology has offered me.

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