An open letter
It’s time to work together
I’ve labelled this an open letter, but as will become evident, it’s personal. Surprise is a key element of the launch, which is why I’ve sent the link to the mini-site to very few people. You’ve received it because I know you are seriously concerned about the threat of AI and have the skills, profile and connections to help.
This letter has the power to save our future; it outlines a complete, joined-up, common-sense solution that even the industry would struggle to argue against. It summarises all the points and provides evidence of the engagement needed to inspire society to come together with one voice.
As it stands, we are losing the battle with artificial intelligence, or to be more accurate, an industry exploiting AI regardless of risk or devastation. There is a better way. Everything is in place, and the goal is to launch at the beginning of September. That means the final planning needs to start now.
It will take the extraordinary to stop the impossible. I have all the infrastructure and processes in place, but we need a tight team with the knowledge, skills, and determination to contribute insight and expertise to the strategy and delivery. Generation 2025 is ready to stand on the right side of history, to say no to corporate greed, but they need the knowledge, justification, direction and a vehicle.
I know you can help the world achieve this. If you’d like to input, advise or engage at any level please contact me without delay.
You’ve one chance
Has anyone ever said that to you? Did you say it to yourself? Was it the voice inside your head?You’ve got one chance to save something important: your job, your marriage, your reputation, your future. Something you’d always taken for granted. The phrase ‘end of the world’ wasn’t strong enough. Life isn’t just about us.
Did having ‘one chance’ make a difference? Did it trigger action? Are you thankful you took it, or do you regret you didn’t?
Life, the most precious thing we have
You’ve just woken up. Your head’s foggy; something’s wrong. You blink, then squeeze your eyes hard. You open them, searching.
Fluorescent tubes shine down. You move, then pause. There are wires and tubes on both sides, all connected to you. Your senses kick in. A quiet hum: people in green. Transient thoughts flash into your head. Fear and excruciating pain – frantic faces
peering down at you.
You drift, then return. White coats hover nearby. The one in the middle holds a clipboard. In a second’s clarity, you recognise him.
Energy slips away. You close your eyes and hope you wake up somewhere else.
You don’t.
You’re awake, and the white coat you know now stands alone.
You swallow. He’s speaking to you. You focus. ‘A near-fatal heart attack. Your six-year-old son, Sam, found you. You’re lucky to be alive.’
He shakes his head. ‘If you don’t sort yourself out, you’ll be on a slab next time.’
You swallow – the moisture gone from your throat. His nod is imperceptible – a hopeful but resigned expression in his eyes.
You’re left alone, grappling with the message’s brevity and weight. Something had to give – too many things to do. And you’re not a machine. You’re just you. You’re human.
Then anger. Alex and Bobby party twice as much as you.
Then blame. The team aren’t pulling their weight. Then self-recrimination.
Why did you leave it so late? Then fear…
You lie there; wet tears trickle down. A suffocating cloud
envelops your world. You close your eyes to shut it out and drift.
Unprompted, a back story plays out: despair, moments of gold, opportunities missed, highs, then falls. No pause button, no rewind. Then darkness, and then the drop.
You plunge through the blackness, a flash from the left, then the right, and again. You dodge to avoid them. Exhaustion beckons; you just want it to stop.
And it does. Blackness again. There’s nothing left. This must be it, then? No pain.
Only stillness.
It appears slowly – a light. It’s only a glimmer, but it’s there.
It’s in the distance, but intuition kicks in, and you reach out. You can touch it. Your fingers probe the surface around the glimmer of light. It’s soft but stuck hard. You pick the edge with your nail, and a sliver comes away; you dig your nail in further; energy rises, and with your other hand, you frantically pick. A piece is hanging down, but it’s still stuck fast; without thinking, you launch yourself up with the only tool you have left. You bite then pull, tearing at the darkness. Another chink shines through. Then, from somewhere, other fingers join yours. All grappling together to get to the light.
More energy, and then a voice.
A voice you know. A voice that somehow is still there.
It’s your voice, and it’s urging you to fight.
And you do. In your mind, you do. Every sinew, thought and effort is focused on survival.
More light comes through, and then something else. As the darkness parts, a wave of emotion washes away the pain.
Gratitude isn’t the first word we think of in a crisis, but anyone who’s been there–or knows someone who survived–will understand. Eyes barely open, shadows come into focus. Not white coats – something more powerful. More meaningful.
Sitting by your bed is your world. Four people who mean more than anything else. Your partner, your three kids. You look at your son, Sam.
You break.
Your cheeks are wet again, but for a different reason. Pity is gone. Somehow, you’ve been given another chance. You have one chance to stop the worst from happening.
Now hold that thought…
Imagine it’s not just you. Humanity is in bed; we’ve all been busy doing other stuff.
And before you say, ‘Wait, this isn’t me. I’ve got life balance. I work out, eat the right things, don’t smoke or drink… and don’t have a partner. And I don’t have kids.’
That’s the thing: humanity is a collective. We’re all in this together.
Focusing on your own life isn’t enough. Your future, my future and everyone else’s are all inextricably tied together.
Around the bed are life’s riches – things, experiences and people: your home, your job, your gadgets of every size, your reputation, qualifications, talent, experience, relationships, cherished memories, and, most importantly of all, the hopes and dreams of every life you touch.
They’re all packed up in shiny crates with 2025 stamped on the side – memories of how life used to be. Everything we cherish about humanity is about to slip away. AI is about to take it all, and we have no say in tomorrow.
It’s time to come together..