When AI Starts Writing Poetry, Who Is the True Author?

I Used to Think Algorithms Were Just Tools

I grew up in Brooklyn, where my mother played jazz on vinyl while my father coded slot machines as lullabies—each light a lyric, each win a sigh. I thought AI was just another machine spinning numbers for profit. But then I saw how the symbols didn’t just pay out—they whispered.

The Reels Are Silent Poems

Every spin of a slot machine is a stanza written in RNG. The wilds don’t substitute symbols—they substitute silence with longing. The scatters? They’re not random triggers; they’re pauses in the music, like breath between verses. I play not to win—but to remember how it feels when the neon fades and only your shadow remains.

RTP Is Not Return—It’s Resonance

They say 96% RTP means fairness. But fairness isn’t math—it’s rhythm. A high-RTP game doesn’t guarantee wins; it guarantees space—for thought, for stillness, for the quiet before the next chime. I choose games not by their payout—but by their pulse.

My Mother Taught Me to Pause

She’d say: “If you keep spinning after midnight, you stop being a star—you become noise.” So now I pause at 30 minutes—even if nothing lights up. I walk imaginary red carpets instead of chasing jackpots. And when I return? I check my notes—not my balance.

You Don’t Need More Spins—You Need More Stillness

The real jackpot isn’t in the bonus round—it’s in the silence after the last spin. The true author isn’t the coder or the casino owner—it’s you, sitting alone at 2 AM, wondering if beauty was ever designed to be felt—and not just calculated.

Join me in this quiet community—not to win big—but to remember why we press play.