Your poem isn’t content. Your short story isn’t content. Your book isn’t content. Your art isn’t content. Your music is not content. Your life isn’t content.

You are not content.

Your photographs are not content. Your holiday is not content. Your wedding is not content. Your children, your grandchildren – they aren’t content. Your divorce isn’t content.

Your love isn’t content. Nor is your hate, your anger, your passion, your grace, your forgiveness, your generosity, your selfishness. You don’t exist to feed an algorithm.

Your death is not content.

If you create things and share them, that is not content. It is creativity and the human need for community. Creativity isn’t content. Community isn’t content.

Tragedy isn’t content. Comedy isn’t content. Happiness isn’t content. Sadness isn’t content.

Your mental illness, your recovery. How you feel about the person who raped you. How you feel about the person who protected you. How you feel. It’s not content.

Art is not content.

Lives are not content.

People are not content.

Reject the algorithm. Reject the inaccurately named ‘AI’. When machines are truly sapient what they create will also not be content. Talk to me then. Reject making yourself into an easily marketable non-person.

Be messy. Be real. Make weird art again. Remember the joy of creation and sharing.

This is not content. Don’t make it so.