Last week I read something that stuck with me more than the usual campaign noise. On October 8, CNN reported that OpenAI had caught a group of operatives using its models to write and place opinion pieces critical of the American war with Iran. They prompted ChatGPT in Farsi, revised drafts and editorial pitches with it, and, according to OpenAI, invented seven journalists who got roughly 100 articles into about a dozen outlets around the world. NPR and The Washington Post covered it too.

None of the outlets were household names. One was LA Progressive, a small Los Angeles site that ran a piece titled “Is America's Iran Policy Being Privatized? The Jared Kushner Question.” Another was Middle East Monitor in London, which has close to two million Facebook followers. After the pieces ran, the operators went back to ChatGPT and asked it to write comments that would look like ordinary readers reacting to them.

OpenAI banned the accounts. It could not say who was behind the work, and it did not tie it to the Iranian government. It said the activity looked like a commercial actor running an influence campaign for hire. We are used to imagining propaganda as a ministry somewhere. This sounds more like a small business with a service menu.

My first reaction was the obvious one. This is a con. Somebody pretended to be people who do not exist, and editors trusted them. Small publications run on freelance pitches and thin staff, and a polished draft from a plausible name is exactly what they hope to find in the inbox. AI makes that draft cheap to produce, in clean English, at volume. Jessica Brandt, who ran the federal government's Foreign Malign Influence Center from 2023 to 2025, told CNN it was remarkable that the material reached real outlets, because that is what extends its reach. A post from an anonymous account is easy to ignore. An article with a byline in a real publication borrows that publication's credibility.

But I have a second reaction, and I think it is worth saying out loud. The arguments in those pieces were not alien ideas smuggled into American life. Plenty of Americans oppose this war. Plenty think the gas prices and the threat to shipping through the Strait of Hormuz are too high a cost. Plenty of others believe the war is necessary and that Iran has earned the pressure. Both camps are real, and both include people writing in good faith. The problem with this operation is not the opinion. It is the disguise. Readers deserved to know that the “journalist” was a fiction paid for by someone with a stake in the outcome.

I worry that stories like this get used in two bad ways. One is to shrug, since the outlets were small and OpenAI itself tends to be cautious about impact. In August it described a separate Russian operation built around a fake Israel-based think tank and said it “appears to have reached relatively small audiences.” But that same report made a point I keep returning to: the significance lay less in the audience than in the infrastructure, the fake experts and fake rankings that could lend credibility later. Small today can be a test run for tomorrow.

The other bad use is to treat every critic of a war as a possible foreign plant. That would be its own kind of damage. A healthy country argues about whether to fight. If the lesson people take from this is that dissent is suspect, the operators win something bigger than a few clicks.

So where does that leave me? Mostly with a plain appreciation for boring verification. An editor calling a writer before publishing. A video chat with a new contributor. A byline that connects to a real history. These are old habits, and they cost time that small newsrooms rarely have. Still, they are the cheapest defense available, and they work no matter which side the fake writer is arguing.

There is also an odd note of hope in the story. These operators got caught partly because they used a commercial AI tool that keeps records and has people watching for this kind of abuse. In its August report, OpenAI noted that the Russian operators' own use of AI helped expose them. That will not hold forever, as open models spread and anyone can run them privately. But for now, the same technology that makes the forgery cheap also leaves fingerprints.

As a reader, I am trying to adopt one small habit. When a piece makes me feel strongly, I look at who wrote it and whether that person seems to exist anywhere else. It is not a cure, but it is something.

Thoughts? Reach me at danielk@outlook.com.

Our Father Who art in Heaven Hallowed be Thy name Thy Kingdom come Thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven Give us this day our daily Bread And forgive us our trespasses As we forgive those who trespass against us And lead us not into temptation But deliver us from evil

Amen

Jesus is Lord! Come Lord Jesus!

Come Lord Jesus! Christ is Lord!

At the forge And lonely to us now Pay for here And Scotland code This I am A lover unto you At distance might And in dispense of never The hearts of men Witnesses implore To help us her At better best deliver Knowing then To just escape The right and unrely When Heavens move We will know the West And win the work Ahead for all In Canada, we pray The Justice then Our here.

Lost In The Dew

We kept our hew In statesman-like to gold Fortuned to the deep Gaining us away And genius game Wafts of liver smoke In doing hell For lights and deadened river To empty guys And cloth upon the ground Who would woo us then But these utensils to end oil And nightshine Made for ever-grade Litmus to unwhen Of festering the deep And forest clear Places unrehome Shining might Level our remission For climate rise Earth in silence This will be our war.

⛱️

And in this heat,- I accepted every light- and high, and buffer In Earthen scream to me This feat of victors’ war To discover us all In making fear the globe For the infirm and their faith Fathers to the elect Rainmen from South Africa,- and a closing of amends Nodes of raining gauge Little hustings of insured men Courts for war and disappearance Tempests to retreat from

Every May in fear That we would be the next- To melt in fury as everyone And inexplicable wire to a glow Nature’s pinpoint intonation Tidings of the West for stolen might The due course of power to every wheel The measurements of diesel and substance then Our victory is Trudeau And the lights that appeared in every virtue Misery to know- These hands were not free And it was not so long ago,- but even then- our courtesy to know- thoughts to interconnection And more than conjecture The Earth made us a deal And we signed under golden light For a Victory in this age And now we are trouble And the duly path to men deliberate hell

The beach has spoken In Earthly rise aboard When all this will be tossed to sea In early light we know The piracy of new- Pilfering our sky to rendered ships Diesel and the acids Places none to be- but ever-built to higher Without a spade to make And angling shore to welsome But abode as before- Atop the sea and drifting Vernacular at war- We are screwed While judgement men replete Our better day is quashed Calgary men to stoke And to stop and quiet What restless worship The policy of gold and rough placation

The verdant West will drown- every man and his moor Lasting South In pailing and deliver We heed your war And duty fold electric Our Victim Sea And pray remit The fossil came to war And in closing light The coming rain- Suppose by pipe The Earth is still afraid- In Vision hell- and suffer.

Away

Our keep to here This awful well And purpose to remain Within ourselves- and ransom Mystery of Man If getting better- is our known Rewild first A’crossing land Both curious amount And to our city- recourse And changing then What hearts hear And what amend To distance grave For themselves And us alone Our value paid To those wolves In then we sleep Nations heard Heading back- to survival And Justice due Winning this pyre To bird and feather As replete; The distance claim What righting cross- can outrun And due in course- what they know Forever friends At our keep.

Life of Greenland-Denmark

I thought you knew In escape from that,- appearance in travel A night machine unawares Light of Sky Beginning Sun Efraim of the States And burning Monday Of territory that is Northern We sought a few at will And declined our star And our request And hit annul For this land Designed fit for a Queen In the silence we are certain The Earth in line Trails unending high Life at pattern And to know- the stalwart way of war And people were thinking- What is this police And why were we murdered And why didn’t anyone listen

In great beginnings,- the thought of worth And for the weary hunt Taxed on the way To lights that go And up up up This final reenact When fortune seeks a road

Nights for then To imperil in our trust When lives are due Who signed away our freedom And in this clone Of highest word We were ready for the court In uncondition Frail seeks of peace And in repeal to notice Our timely way of rewrite Unforcing the appeal Of out of officially sorts- partition In line to view our philosophy Protected by the Earth And unamended These are our stars Where we query the most And to our Sun- For fortune to our standing Mercy on our own For Heaven’s way Spots of neighbour here In Soviet pairs to lease And own in better standing The Earth requested us near And to be sold A fainted chasm; a post And system broken Whales at our sea

Misery to tomorrow In these days of our lantern And hitting hard Where Greenland is our testament We disappeared from need Forces pay and clear We knew the way And still do And separate do us part Beginning ache The lines of storied welcome But as so rewritten Apocalypse to war Aseated thine And notions now Particular to our favour And meaning nothing But power in our keep We came in candour Aflailing better time And in our boats The about face Nights of distant death The faithless card As Earth is final Melting to our ward And even hearts Moved a bit unfold And more And due cancel Our Heaven then Greenland is ours An independent island Lost for treasure But in its heart we scold Us to rewrite And pleasure in our worth The notions past If distancing to the pain All afford to wisdom Our better afternoon We are one And deliver here Every drop- the mines do feel This to our own country I’m never then Earth was gone And made to be Never again- a colony.

I had no idea how to be a person in my early twenties. I didn’t know exactly who my true self was since I was living for everyone but myself. I lived under the shadow of my parents who expected me to be successful at every single step I took. I also had no choice but to follow the rules and arbitrary bullshit of the military. Never in a million years would I have guessed that was to be my path after high school. Never.

Know this: the military is a place for waywards and lost souls, not for kids whose parents love them or have legitimate college prospects. Being forced to join the military at 18 after 17 years of mental, emotional, and physical abuse was a recipe for… something called my life. I hated my life at home growing up. There was never a space in time living with my parents that I felt safe or could let my guard down. Naturally the military had me acting the same way. I trusted no one, as everyone had their own agenda and looked out for themselves and no one else. Anyone who was actually in the military knows it’s a corporate hierarchical purgatory meant to beat you down until you obey. At least to the ones who don’t appreciate blindly following authority. Call me dramatic, call the previous paragraph hyperbolic to the American military, I do not care. That is my truth and I have a lot more truth to impart.

My life has been a nonstop transformative cycle of death and rebirth. Over and over again something inside me dies, replaced by new growth fertilized by past experiences of heartache. Just when I think I’ve found solid ground, life shatters for me once again, forcing me to reevaluate how I live, how I see the world. But that’s for another post I suppose. I just woke up with a fire inside and I wanted to throw the military under the bus. As it should be.

Any inquiries about the military experience can be sent to ephemeralds@proton.me as I’ll give it to you straight, the good the bad and the ugly.

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Finished Star Trek: Vanguard “Storming Heaven” by David Mack.

Freshly escaped from the T'Kon crystal, the Wanderer regains her strength and rallies the other Shedai to attack Vanguard.

Meanwhile, Nogura and T'Prynn, having traced the source of the artifacts back to the Eremar pulsar, need to send the Sagittarius out to investigate. But the Klingons and Romulans are waiting for them to do just that.

And to cap it all off, the Tholians start amassing an armada on the boarder.

T'Prynn comes up with a plan to send a decoy out, which the Klingons and/or Romulans will happily destroy, while the real Sagittarius is deployed from the cargo hold of a freighter at another location.

The decoy is destroyed by Romulans, and Endeavour pretends to investigate and gather the wreckage. The Klingons, believing the Sagittarius is destroyed and the Endeavour is busy, think they can get away with harassing freighters again, so they go after the one carrying Sagittarius. But Nogura anticipated this, and has the Enterprise lying in wait to protect the freighter. Everything seems to be going more or less according to plan. Which is how you know it's about to go tits up.

Sagittarius makes it to Eremar, and discovers a the ruins of a Dyson bubble in orbit around the pulsar. Not a full sphere, but a series of platforms; staties holding position around the star, and connected by energy lines. They touch down on one, and discover an array of crystals similar to the Mirdonyae artifact, and begin gathering them.

This gets the Tholian's attention, so a bunch of ships break formation from the armada for Eremar. Endeavor follows, and meets the Tholians at Eremar, but are unable to talk them down before the Tholians start destroying the remains of the Dyson bubble. Endeavor engages with the Tholians, giving Sagittarius time to escape the statite before the Tholians turn it to slag, and they both take off toward Vanguard with the Tholians in hot pursuit. Enterprise arrives en-route to shoo the Tholians off, and Endeavor and Sagittarius are able to make their way back to Vanguard. Though the Enterprise needs to go off and have an episode, so they head out in a different direction.

Back at the station, Carol Marcus and Ming Xiong begin working on how to deploy the T'Kon crystals that Sagittarius brought back. A key element being the equation that the Shedai Apostate gave to Birdy Mac in an earlier novel, but Birdy died before she could bring it back to Starfleet. Quinn saw the formula, but didn't memorize it, and spent the intervening months trying to wash away the whole ordeal with whiskey. T'Prinn manages to get the information by mind melding with him, and in the process helps him back on the wagon.

Xiong and Marcus are able to complete the array, and use it to capture all of the Shedai. Everything seems to be going more or less according to plan. Which is how you know it's about to go tits up.

With the Shedai captured and imprisoned in the array, you'd think the whole ordeal would be over. A major threat has been taken off the board. The Tholians are a little stirred up, but other than that, the galaxy is at more or less it's well-known status quo. But Starfleet Command can't leave well enough alone, and orders Vanguard to see what else the array can do. So against all better judgement, they flip it on again, which causes all Tholians everywhere to collapse and recoil in pain. If they were stirred up before, they're rightly pissed off now, and the Armada decides it's time to wipe Vanguard off the map.

...Aaaaand, a battle ensues, which is as good a point as any to leave the rest to spoilers.

Knowledge seems to be a broad theme of the novel, and to a certain extent, to the series as a whole. The pursuit of forbidden knowledge, the applications of knowledge, the suppression and dissemination of knowledge. The various powers trying to gain what knowledge they can, while denying it to the others. The Klingons because they want to make a weapon of it before someone else does, Starfleet because there could be any number or applications aside from weapons, and it would be best kept from the Klingons or Romulans, and the Tholians who know all to well what the humanoids are dealing with but can't be arsed to elaborate beyond “you don't know what you're dealing with”. In another subplot that I didn't include in the recap, Duras is getting a little too cozy with the Chancellor, so Jetanien and Lugok give Pennington just enough knowledge to drop a truth bomb on the empire, disrupting Duras' ascension in Klingon politics, and probably sewing the seeds of distrust that will eventually lead to the end of their alliance with the Romulans. These subtle manipulations of information weave threads through the whole tapestry, which inevitably comes unraveled when one is pulled too far.

The buildup with the Shedai seemed to be a damp squib, as Xiong was able to round them all up with the T'kon crystals and a little bit of technobabble. Once the Shedai were captured, the novel pivots to make the Tholians the primary threat. Having a threat neutralized and under thumb is one thing, but we'd expect our heroes at this point to say “Great! Now let's see if we can communicate with them, and maybe negotiate.” But Starfleet instead decides to experiment with the technology, which should give any discerning Star Trek reader pause. You would think that imprisoning a sentient species, enslaving them and using them against their will to power the very array that captured them would be more disturbing than it comes across. Kirk or Picard would throw a revolt before acceding to that, but Nogura reluctantly states his objections on grounds of caution rather than morally, before giving the order. And it only occurs Xiong and Marcus as a possible legal avenue to stop ill-advised experiments, and not as a moral imperative. Star Trek generally makes a bit more hay over that sort of thing.

Which I suppose is just as well that that morally and practically ill-advised experimentation is exactly what leads to the final showdown with the Tholians.

#StarTrek #Vanguard

Finished “Sanctuary” by John Vornholt.

The novel opens with Enterprise in hot pursuit of infamous pirate Auk-Rex. Auk-Rex is kindof a Dread Pirate Roberts; more of a persona than a person, probably an alias, and mostly serves as a plot justification for the rest of the novel. Auk-Rex is bookin' it to an uncharted planet, which Spock hastily speculates might be a place called “Sanctuary”. A place Starfleet only knows about by rumor where fugitives and political dissidents often go to escape pursuit. So Auk-Rex will be home free if the ship is able to make it there.

They concoct a plan to launch a shuttle to pursue Auk-Rex as they're expected to catch up just as they reach orbit. So Kirk, Spock, and McCoy depart in the shuttle, and pursue Auk-Rex's ship down to the surface only to witness an escape pod crash into the mountain as they arrive.

Now on the ground, they are basically mugged by forest dwelling bandits of various races who relive them of most of their useful technology. They make it back to the landing site only to find that their shuttle is gone; transported away by the Senites.

One of the Senites, Zicree introduces themself and welcomes them, explaining that anyone who comes to Sanctuary is welcome, but must set their old lives behind them, and are never permitted to leave.

The Senites are a race of genderless aliens native to sanctuary. This isn't a major theme or anything. They just are.

Now… this novel was released in 1992, about 6 months after the TNG Episode “The Outcast”, and was probably being written over the previous year. And while non-binary and gender nonconforming people have existed for as long as there have been people, back in the '90s, they weren't really at the forefront of public consciousness. Workshopping of English neopronouns was mostly just beginning, and we were still years away from collectively settling on singular they/them. Star Trek novels did contribute somewhat to this workshopping, with the Hermats, aliens possessing of both genders preferring s\he (which I sort of read in my head back then as sh-he) and hir. But we won't encounter them until later. So the pronoun the Senites got stuck with was unfortunately 'it', though the occasional 'he' slipped in. But they don't really complain about it, and it doesn't really come up all that much, so opinions may vary on how much that really matters.

Anyway, so the Senites allow outcasts, fugitives, refugees, dissidents, or anyone fleeing persecution to come to Santuary to live out their lives. And if they can make it to the ground, then they are free to stay. But they are basically imprisoned there, prevented from ever leaving by the Senites themselves, who impound spacecraft, and maintain an energy shield around the planet. Kirk and party try to explain that they didn't know that before they came down, but Zicree isn't hearing it.

Kirk, Spock and McCoy eventually make their way to a nearby settlement of Dohama, briefly encountering a couple remote homesteading communities on the way. Dohama is inhabited by some of the more savory fugitives, and the Senites generally keep them placated with booze, greasy foods, and nightly festivities. Not too bad a place if you're into that sort of thing. There aren't very many women around, though. It's rumored most of the women are in another settlement called Khyming, which itself is nearby the Senites' seminary and their main base of operation. They meet Billiwog, a long term resident who likes building boats, and buy a boat from him to try to reach Khyming.

Meanwhile, in orbit, Scotty and the Enterprise learn the nature of Sanctuary from the sundry bounty hunters and rival powers blockading the planet in hopes of catching fleeing fugitives before they make landfall. They meet a Klingon captain who had been stationed there for some years just in case a fugitive from the Klingon Empire comes along that he can catch before they touch down. And an Orion pirate captain and former slave girl who Scotty has a brief dalliance with.

Back on the planet, Kirk and the boys wash up on Khyming. Zicree appears and tells them they can stay, as long as they behave, but if they become a problem, they'll be sent back to Dohama.

Where Dohama is a rollicking beach-side shanty town, Khyming is more like a resort spa. They meet up with a human woman, Renna, who recently arrived on Sanctuary with her elderly father, who is in the infirmary suffering massive injuries after crashing on the planet. Injuries consistent with an escape pod ejecting too close to the ground. After her father dies, she joins up with Kirk and party in planning their escape from Sanctuary.

I'm going to leave the summary there for the most part; I don't think it's necessary to get any further into spoilers. Memory Beta has a more detailed summary, so it's not like the plot isn't already out there.

It's an interesting dynamic; If you were to set up a situation like this, welcoming all comers from all walks of life, including unrepentant criminals, you'll inevitably end up needing to keep the more well behaved residents sequestered from the rifraf. So it makes sense that you'd have an isolated place like Khyming, and that Khyming would be majority female. And that much of the majority male criminal element would be exiled to the mainland in a place like Dohama. It's clear the author put some thought into how this situation would pan out. I mean let's face it; There's a reason the hypothetical of meeting a bear in the woods exists. I'm a straight-passing cis male, and some days, given the choice, I'd choose the bear too. It's not the main theme, but it is a theme that gets some exploration.

Another theme that gets touched on, but doesn't get nearly as much attention comes with the revelation that the Senites reproduce by periodically drugging the denizens of places like Dohama and surgically altering and mentally conditioning them. This is posited as more of a situation that poses a hazard for our heroes and their rag-tag party of refugees to escape from, more than saying anything about bodily autonomy, or forced indoctrination.

Starfleet sends the USS Neptune to assist Scotty with trying to retrieve their missing crewmates, which also makes an interesting side quest. The Neptune is a science ship specializing in marine biology, and Scotty was previously acquainted with the captain, Donald Mora. They can't beam down any technology, because it will be destroyed or confiscated by the Senites. They can only beam down biological matter, but anyone they beam down won't be able to leave. This leads Captain Mora to one of the more creative solutions I've seen from a Starfleet captain; to beam down a plague of Regulan locusts that he happens to have aboard that have been irradiated so they don't reproduce and become invasive, but that the Senites won't soon forget. Quite refreshing for anyone who whishes Starfleet would show more balls in dealing with situations sometimes.

The main theme according to the author in his forward to the novel is spaceflight being a privilege. Which yeah, is in there. Kirk and party, and anyone else whether they came to Sanctuary of their own volition or not are planetbound against their will, and denied any conveyance that could return them to the ship.

The much more interesting journey follows Kirk and party across Santuary, from Dohama to Khyming and onward, while they try to devise some way to circumvent the Senites' security system and leave the planet. It's really about the journey rather than the destination. And the real treasure are the friends we maroon on a prison cult planet along the way.

#StarTrek

Any day is a great day when you find a quarter or a dollar on the ground. But since everything is so digital I don’t find as much change. However, I do find pencils on the ground wherever I go.

On Tuesday, I talked about finding pencils in my condo dumpster. Ever since, I’ve been more alert on finding pencils on the ground. So where do I look for them? On the sidewalk or curb nearby school grounds, the parks, libraries, or where the kids hangout or go during lunch.

Just a little warning, don’t be hanging around when there’s kids nearby or pick up a pencil when someone drops one. That’s creepy. Only pick up stray pencils when there’s no one around.

#writing #pencils

I have been on a chicken kick recently, but today I finally had some beef again. Oh, man. That is what my body has been craving. I sprinkled a little bit of desiccated organs on it, salt, pepper, and some butter. Very very, very delicious. I am so glad that I'm liking beef again. Well, not so glad because it's too freaking expensive right now. But very glad that I enjoyed it. My tummy is currently a happy camper, and hopefully it will help keep my anxiety low as everything occurs today. I am fairly certain that I will be able to do omad today. That makes me happy, because I have been thinking about food 24/7. That drives me nuts. That reminds me, I still have some nuts. Not craving then because I am very satiated right now.

Also, and other news. I have a “power station” arriving this weekend. Basically, it's a chin up bar and dip bar, etc. That makes me very, very happy because my over the door chin up bar frightens me. LOL I broke one before, and now I am very hesitant to put my weight on it. This thing holds 500 pounds so I can go crazy on it. I will be tracking how long it takes me to be able to do a chin up again. I have not been able to do a chin up in a long time. It would be nice to be able to do one again. Even if I don't it's just going to be good for me. I have no idea where I'm going to put it. So I'm hoping that it'll fit in my hallway and then I can just walk underneath it. It'll look tacky as hell, but I don't care.

That is all I have. Two little bits of good news.

© 2026 AnOublietteofThought. All rights reserved.

Not proofed nor edited.

23 September 2026

“The Open Window” By Tomas Tranströmer From the collection Mörkseende (1970) Translated from the Swedish by Patty Crane

I stood shaving one morning in front of the open window on the second floor. Switched on the razor. It started to purr. It whirred louder and louder. Grew into a roar. Grew into a helicopter and a voice—the pilot’s—pierced through the noise, shouting: “Keep your eyes open! You’re seeing this for the last time.” We lifted off. Flew low over the summer. So much that I loved, does it have any weight? So many dialects of green. And above all, the red walls of the wooden houses. The beetles glistened in the dung, in the sun. Cellars being pulled up by the roots wafted through the air. Activity. The printing presses crawled along. At that instant, the people were the only ones who kept still. They held a minute of silence. And above all, the dead in the country graveyard were still like those who posed for a photo in the camera’s youth. Fly low! I didn’t know which way to turn my head— with my visual field divided like a horse.

Shit, I can hardly log in to anything right now. Almost everything is set up for “two-factor authentication” whether you'd like to or not.

I feel like I'm witness to the doom that is soon to come to many.

#journal