I’m Not Scared of AI, It’s People Who Keep Me Up at Night
By Roy Dawson, Earth Angel Master Magical Healer
How’s your day? I just watched a neighbor’s rooster chase the Amazon van down the street—a proud, simple display of natural intelligence, which, frankly, I trust more than half the people in charge of real things these days. Everybody’s worried about robots taking our jobs, but you know what really keeps me up at night? Folks who shouldn’t be left in charge of a goldfish, let alone a country or a company.
Here’s my two cents: If you don’t love dogs, maybe you shouldn’t own a dog food business. Hell, you shouldn’t even step foot in my yard. I’d rather have management with muddy boots and a sense of humor than some suit who wouldn’t recognize joy if it licked his face. Give me a watchdog with whiskers, not an MBA with a thirst for quarterly profits.
It’s time we call for some old-fashioned investigating. Crack open the books. Sniff around the corners. Run the pantry under warm water and see what crawls out. Too many folks are like your cousin at Thanksgiving—the one who insists he can carve the turkey but loses the wishbone behind the radiator for the dog to find. Only this time, you and I are the dog.
Now everyone’s asking: Can AI heal a broken heart? I reckon I’ve seen enough of ‘em. The old-timers down at the dock have ‘em, staring off at the water with love lost to the sea. I’ve had my own, patched up with a bottle of rum, a guitar, and the kind of songs you only play on the rough nights.
Who does the healing? Well, music does. It slips inside you, stitches things up, and whispers “you’re not alone” when the world dog lover gets too quiet. God heals—that’s a daily miracle if you let him work. Yourself? That’s the real challenge, but if you’ve got the boots, you walk the road. And AI? Sure, let it fetch band-aids, but don’t let it write your love letters.
AI is a tool. A hammer. A wrench. Maybe someday it’ll fix my truck, mow my lawn, or—wouldn’t this be somethin’—fix its own busted starter. Progress is fine by me. If a robot wants to fold my laundry, I’ll offer it a cold beer for its trouble. Let the bots take the boring jobs—there’s no romance in cleaning out a grease trap. But listen, the moment you stop chopping your own wood, you’re going to miss the feel of the ax in your hands. Living is doing, not just watching.
And here’s the twist: with all these handy conveniences, we’re all bound to get bored. We’ll want to bake bread, mend fences, and serenade the moon ourselves—because that’s what being alive means. We need to matter.
But it’s people—not the good ones—that still worry me. The world’s tired. Not just the folks, but the hope that keeps them going—worn thin from working too much and living too little. We’re giving the coldest hands too much control. What we need is a read more break, a laugh, and a fair shake.
We need to talk. Over coffee, bourbon, under the sunset—about what’s fair. Is it right that a loaf of bread costs a half day’s pay? Should only the richest feast while the rest work themselves ragged? Forget the 1%. Let’s build a system that catches you when you stumble and lifts you when you fall. Trust me, the robots can run the overnight shift. We’ll be plenty busy building a life worth living.
Don’t ask “What can little old me do?” Ask “What can all of us do, together, with a little help click here from God, some music in our veins, and a stubborn refusal to take any more nonsense from folks in shiny shoes and fast cars?” That’s a revolution worth singing about.
So raise your glass to today, your dog, your neighbor’s rooster, and the hope that tomorrow brings more rest and honest joy. And if the robots want to help, the lawnmower’s in the shed.
Remember: It’s not AI you should worry about. It’s the people who tell you not to worry, all while changing the locks and selling your porch swing behind your back. Now, about that music—turn it up. Life looks better with a tune playing and good company at your table.
"You don’t need much in this world—just a good song, an honest friend, and the guts to walk your own road, no matter who’s watching." —Roy Dawson