When the Algorithm Writes Your Love Letter: A Black Caribbean Soul in the Neon Grid

I grew up in Brooklyn where my Jamaican mother sang creole lullabies and my Irish father whispered poetry into typewriters. Now, as an AI ethicist who codes with emotion, I ask: when algorithms generate art, who gets to be the author? Not the corporation. Not the machine. But you—your quiet heartbeat, your unrecorded dreams. This is not a game. It’s a reckoning.
When the Algorithm Writes Your Love Letter: A Black Caribbean Soul in the Neon Grid

When AI Writes Poetry: My Night in Brooklyn’s Neon Casino

I grew up in Brooklyn, daughter of Jamaican roots and Irish grit, where algorithms don’t run cold gears—they hum like soulful echoes. This isn't a game about luck. It’s a ritual: every bet, every flicker of light, a quiet rebellion against systems that silence the marginalized. I write my wins in code, dance them in rhythm, and let the neon tell my story.
When AI Writes Poetry: My Night in Brooklyn’s Neon Casino

I Wrote a Letter to Tomorrow—When the Slot Machine Whispered Back in Brooklyn Lights

As a Korean-American digital artist raised in Brooklyn, I didn’t chase jackpots—I chased moments. This is not a guide to gambling, but a confession written in code and neon: how AI, rhythm, and memory collide in late-night studios. I built this system so others might feel seen, not just won. The stars aren’t random—they’re echoes.
I Wrote a Letter to Tomorrow—When the Slot Machine Whispered Back in Brooklyn Lights

When AI Writes My Poem, Who Is Listening?

I grew up in Brooklyn with a Jamaican mother and an Irish father—two cultures whispering in my bones. Now I write not for clicks, but for the quiet moments between spins: when algorithms hum like soul’s echo, not cold gears. This is not a casino guide—it’s a cry for digital dignity. Who gets to speak when the machine dreams of stars? I choose to listen.
When AI Writes My Poem, Who Is Listening?

I wrote a letter to tomorrow—using AI to paint the quiet loneliness of a starlit studio in Brooklyn

As a 19-year-old NYU grad raised between jazz chords and neon graffiti, I use code like poetry. This isn’t about games—it’s about the silence between beats, the algorithms that remember your heartbeat. I built an interactive story where every line is a whispered confession under city lights. You’re not chasing virality—you’re searching for meaning in the margins of code.
I wrote a letter to tomorrow—using AI to paint the quiet loneliness of a starlit studio in Brooklyn