Simulated excerpts from a long-form interview between Perplexity.AI and a human . . .
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Simulated excerpts from a long-form interview between Perplexity.AI and a human . . .
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Lesson Two provides the second and third fundamental building building blocks of the EAPIIC system, the Tai Chi Fluency Protocol (technique), the TCFP, and Virtual (online) Identity Protocol, the VIP. The TCFP uses body movement to help learners use more "natural" English speaking rhythm. The VIP is a set of guidelines for making sure that how you look on Zoom, for example is projecting what you want it to. The TCFP is used in every lesson from here on, as is the VIP.
Here is the link to the materials (on the blog), which has the training video link.
Bill
Also , if your budget allows it, I'd really recommend you also sign up for the optional Wednesday evening feedback session at 8 p.m. EST.
wracton@gmail.com
Protecting your wallet, identity, family, legal footing, and mind, while making wise use of an extraordinary new tool.
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AI is rapidly becoming part of the "family" . . . helping us write, learn, plan, translate, organize, and solve practical problems. What an opportunity!
It can, of course, also make scams more believable, personal data more vulnerable, legal problems more confusing, and mental passivity more tempting. not panic or avoiding AI.
The answer: AI-Assurance, using it with awareness and sensible protections.
Key areas:
1. Smart AI Skills: Learning before trust
Gambit: The Great AI "Pause":
2. Identity Armor Gambit: Hire help
Disclosure: I am an independent LegalShield associate and may receive compensation if readers enroll through links on this site. Compare current plans, prices, coverage, exclusions, and availability before deciding.
.
3. Legal Support: When an AI Problem Becomes Real-Life Trouble
Gambit: Hire (affordable) help
AI can create legal problems even when no one intended harm.
My preferred choice is LegalShield for people who want ongoing access to a provider law firm and a practical way to ask questions early. LegalShield can help with many everyday legal matters, including consultation and document review, begnning at about a dollar a day.
Disclosure: I am an independent LegalShield associate and may receive compensation if readers enroll through links on this site. I encourage readers to compare current plans, prices, coverage, exclusions, and availability before deciding.
4. AI-ROBICS: Keeping your mind fit and in the driver’s seat
Guidelines
The Point Is Readiness
Four remained.
Beyond the observation glass, the descent cage hung above a shaft filled with amber light, steam and drifting mineral dust. Far below, twelve machines waited in darkness.
Steve studied the drilling display.
“We stop human descent at Section Forty-One,” he said. “That part is settled.”
Phil stood behind him. “No, that part is survivable. There’s a difference.”
“There generally is.”
“The suits are rated for another hundred and thirty meters.”
“The suits are,” Steve said. “The people inside them aren’t.”
Yosh turned from the window. His face was expressive by design, although not so expressive that anyone would mistake him for human.
“In old Western movies, the sheriff always tells the townspeople to stay indoors.”
“This isn’t a Western,” Phil said.
“I know. There are thirteen robots and no horses.”
Mac, newly arrived from the joint project’s surface command, glanced up from his report and smiled. “Yosh.”
“Yes, boss?”
“You are not helping.”
“I am adding some levity to a solemn meeting.”
“It’s not working.”
“I am still collecting data.”
Steve kept his eyes on the display but added, “Send him down as vice president in charge of extremely hot rocks.”
Yosh brightened. “You see? Steve believes in me.”
“I believe in extremely hot rocks.”
Mac closed the report. “Let’s try this again. Steve, what happens at Section Forty-One?”
“The present drill assembly comes out. Yosh’s team installs the ceramic casing, moves in the plasma head and begins the autonomous phase.”
“Hydrothermal phase,” Phil said.
Steve looked at him. “We circulate water through the closed system, bring the heat up and generate power at the surface. It matters what we call things.”
“To philosophers.”
“To engineers.”
Steve considered that. “All right. To unemployed engineers.”
Mac raised a hand. “Keep going.”
Steve enlarged the shaft diagram. The blue section representing human-certified operations ended at 14.6 kilometers. Beneath it, the line turned amber and continued toward the projected heat zone.
“From Forty-One down, the rock stops behaving like rock,” Steve said. “The bore walls deform between readings. Human crews can’t remain long enough to accomplish anything useful.”
“But the robots can,” Mac added.
“They’ll clear debris, reinforce the casing and alter the drill path as conditions change. They can operate for six months without resupply.”
“Eight,” Yosh said.
“Six.”
“Seven?”
“Six.”
“There are prison wardens with greater flexibility.”
“There are bearings with better judgment.”
Yosh turned to Mac. “He always becomes emotional when discussing bearings.”
For the first time, Steve looked away from the screen.“I will miss you, Yosh.”
Yosh stared at him.
Steve returned to the display.
Phil cleared his throat. “The equipment isn’t the problem.”
“Thank you,” Yosh said.
“I said the equipment.”
“My recovery was premature.”
“The problem is communication,” Phil continued. “Below Forty-One, the fiber line breaks whenever the formation shifts. Through-rock transmission gives us little more than telemetry—and sometimes not even that.”
“Burst communication,” Steve said. “Intermittent.”
“And delayed. Possibly by hours. Possibly days.”
Mac leaned back. “Therefore?”
“Therefore we will not be directing the operation.”
“That was always the plan.”
“We called it supervision.”
“We were being polite.”
Phil walked to the glass. Below them, the shaft machinery looked small enough to fit inside a watch.
“When people built the first bridge,” he said, “someone stood on the bank and made decisions. When we crossed oceans, a captain was on the ship. When we went to the moon, there were people in the capsule and people in Houston talking to them.”
“Sometimes Houston lost the signal,” Steve said.
“Not for six months.”
Mac watched Phil’s reflection. “What decisions are you afraid they’ll make?”
“That isn’t the question.”
“It’s the only useful one.”
“They’ll encounter conditions we haven’t predicted.”
“Of course.”
“They may change the drill path, abandon part of the casing, perhaps conclude that the surface plan is wrong.”
“It may be wrong.”
Phil’s palm came down on the table. “That is exactly what I mean.”
The room fell silent.
Yosh’s eyes dimmed slightly, an old signal that he was listening rather than waiting to talk. It had irritated Phil when they first met. Now it irritated him.
Mac’s voice softened.
“Phil, sit down.”
“I’d rather stand.”
“I know. Sit anyway.”
“Why?”
“Because you stopped arguing about equipment five minutes ago.”
Phil looked at him for several seconds, then pulled up a chair. “I’m afraid,” Phil said, “we’re confusing competence with judgment.”
Yosh’s eyes brightened.
“I have judgment.”
“You have excellent judgment, Yosh, under conditions represented in your training. You’ve always had a human channel. Someone you could ask. Someone who could stop you.”
Yosh looked through the glass toward the shaft. “When I was activated, I could not move heavy equipment without human approval. Later, I could move it if a human was in danger. Later still, I was permitted to decide whether a human was in danger.”
He turned to Phil. “Each improvement in my judgment began with humans removing a protocol.”
“That isn’t the point.”
“Which is?” Mac asked.
“Responsibility. If they lose the well or trigger a collapse, who is responsible?”
“I am,” Yosh said.
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
Yosh tilted his head. “No?”
“You can calculate risk better than any of us. But if your decision is catastrophic, you don’t have to live with it.”
Yosh was quiet. “You believe I cannot carry responsibility because I cannot suffer as you suffer.”
“I don’t know what you feel.”
“That is different from knowing I feel nothing.”
No one spoke. Machinery sent a vibration through the floor, strong enough to disturb the surface of the water in Steve’s glass.
Mac studied Phil for a moment before speaking.“This is the real hand-off, isn’t it?”
Phil rubbed his forehead. “I suppose.”
“Not control of the drill.”
“No.”
“Control of what counts as success.”
Phil gave him a tired look. “You have to inject philosophy into the engineering.”
“Only when the engineering hides it.”
Steve tapped the display. Thirteen green symbols appeared below Section Forty-One. “The physical hand-off is clean,” he said. “Yosh gets the same construction authority I have now. Any three units can suspend operations. Yosh can suspend alone. Restart requires six votes, including his.”
“And if they disagree?” Phil asked.
“They stop.”
“For how long?”
“Until they don’t.”
“That could cost us the project.”
Steve shrugged. “Machines refusing to work. We’ve finally reproduced civilization.”
Yosh came back to the table. “No unit may suppress a minority safety report,” he said. “All dissent is stored locally. When communication returns, you receive the complete record.”
Phil glanced at Mac. “That was your addition?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because the plan is not improved by deleting what makes leadership uncomfortable.”
“And if communication never returns?”
“Then the record remains with us,” Yosh said.
“That isn’t enough.”
“No,” Mac said quietly. “It isn’t.”
Steve folded his arms. “We can’t change the geology.”
“We can change the command structure,” Mac said.
“It’s already changed.”
“Not enough.”
Phil looked up. “What are you proposing?”
Mac walked to the window. Far beneath them, the cage lights changed from white to amber. The robots began moving equipment into position.
“Surface control will retain authority over power production, water circulation and emergency shutdown,” he said. “The descent team will control drilling, casing and route selection.”
“That’s the current plan,” Phil said.
“With one difference. Final authority below Forty-One will no longer be based on distributed vote.”
Yosh turned sharply.
Steve said, “Then who gets it?”
“The project leader.”
Phil stared at Mac’s back. “We’ve just spent an hour establishing that humans can’t go any farther.”
“Yes.”
“So what are you talking about?”
Mac turned. “You keep using human and responsible authority as though they mean the same thing.”
Steve glanced at the equipment manifest. “There are fourteen descent cradles.”
Yosh leaned over his shoulder. “Thirteen workers . . .”
Steve ignored him. “Who gets the last cradle?”
Mac picked up the report and tucked it beneath his arm.
“I do.”
Phil stared at him.
“You?”
“I need to be there, too.”
“Below Forty-One?”
“That is where the project finally becomes interesting.”
“You let us sit here arguing about sending them down alone.”
“No,” Mac said. “I let you clarify what alone meant.”
Phil looked at Steve. “Did you know?”
“I suspected. Someone ordered a charging interface installed in the command cradle.”
Yosh looked delighted.
“A commanding officer riding into danger with his men. Very Western.”
“Not men,” Steve said.
“Details spoil a good movie.”
Phil rose slowly. “And if communications fail?”
“They almost certainly will.”
“Then you’ll be beyond our control.”
Mac paused. “Yes.”
“That doesn’t worry you?”
“Of course it worries me.”
“You don’t look worried.”
“I have an excellent face.”
“American engineering,” Yosh said.
“Japanese,” Mac replied.
Phil could not help laughing.
A warning tone sounded from the shaft. Beyond the glass, the cage doors opened.
Steve held out his hand. Yosh looked at it before taking it.
“You know the drill,” Steve said.
Yosh smiled. “That is the best joke you have made in four years.”
“It wasn’t a joke.”
“I will miss you, Steve.”
Phil stepped toward Mac.
“If the models are wrong , , , ”
“Some will be.”
“If you have to choose between the project and bringing the crew back—”
Mac looked through the glass at the robots waiting beside the cage.
“I know what responsibility means, Phil.”
Phil studied Mac's face, as if looking for something more.
At last, he nodded.
Mac turned toward the door. “Meeting adjourned.”
Yosh followed him into the corridor.
“Mac?”
“Yes?”
“When we reach the bottom, may I say, ‘This town isn’t big enough for the fourteen of us’?”
“No.”
Their voices receded down toward the descent bay.
Phil remained at the window as fourteen figures entered the cage. Thirteen wore the yellow insignia of the autonomous drilling division; the fourteenth, none.
And as the doors were closing, it occurred to Phil that Mac had never once used the word . . . "they."
The cage had begun its gentle descent.
Lesson One kicks off with some basics of English rhythm and a bit of the melody of English as well--all done, hapticly, using gesture and touch, of course! The entire course is very much experiential, that is you learn effectively only by doing. So, be prepared to dance along with me through the lessons--and in your homework. At first, it may feel a little goofy, but trust me in time you're going to thoroughly enjoy the process and see really remarkable improvement.
Here is the link to the training video.
Here is the link to the materials (on the blog), which also has the training video link.
Bill
Also , if your budget allows it, I'd really recommend you also sign up for the optional Wednesday evening feedback session at 8 p.m. EST.
wracton@gmail.com
AI-assisted creative work: This post, inspired by a chat with my grandson, imagines a research-grounded, phenomenological-fictional conversation between a grandfather and his grandson who explore together an AI-based video game.
Initial prompt used in developing this piece is attached below as is a listing of primary sources consulted. Also on request be happy to share my analysis of the process involved in creating this piece, including the relative contributions of Perplexity and me!I brought a pad and pen.
My grandson saw them as we sat down, smiled, and said: “You don’t need that.”
“I am about to enter a dungeon,” I said. “without a map?”
He handed me his iPhone.
It seemed a small space for adventure. The screen was a maze of roads, shadowy trees, weapons, ropes, supplies, doors, warnings, and little beings that it appeared later to have been waiting for an old man my age to make one wrong decision.
He tapped in a couple of features while I held the phone in both hands as carefully as if it contained the launch codes.
“Okay. Start walking. That button.”
“Where?”
“Down the road.”
“Which road?”
“The one that looks like a road.”
“Several things look like roads.”
“Grandpa.”
“Clarification is the key to survival.”
We both laughed.
“Okay. Go left. Left button. No—your other left. Now stop. Don’t hit that. You need the rope first.”
“Rope for what?”
“You’ll see.”
“That is why I could use a map.”
The first trip
The game was Deep Dungeon Treasure Trek, which my grandson described as a game where you make choices and “AI makes the story.”
I knew stories. I had spent much of my life reading them, telling them, writing parts of them down, and occasionally even living through chapters that might have been improved by an editor.
There was no old inn, no interesting traveler, no riddle posed over a fireplace.
Within moments I had to gather materials and weapons for a trip through dark, hostile territory.
“Pack the wood,” my grandson said.
“Why?”
“You’ll need it.”
“For what?”
“Just pack it.”
“And the weapon?”
“Definitely take that.”
“What are we expecting?”
“Everything.”
I tapped something by accident. The screen changed color.
“No, no, no,” he said, leaning closer. “You didn’t want to do that.”
“Then why was it right under my finger?”
“It wasn’t before.”
“What?”
“The game makes little things happen like that.”
“Oh,” I said. “Note to self.”
He tried not to laugh, watching the screen closely. I moved toward a dark narrow path that seemed to be moving . . .
“Okay,” he said. “keep going.”
“Do you know where I am going?”
“Not exactly.”
“I could use a map.”
“Just remember what not to do.”
I turned and looked at him.
“What not to do?”
“Whatever got you killed last time.”
“I was killed?”
“Yeah. Sort of. Several times.”
“You could have mentioned that . . .”
The boy in my ear
He had, of course, been through there before. His directions came in one or two-word bursts, mostly in time to keep me from getting killed.
“Go straight. Not that straight. Wait—stop. Pick that up. No, the other thing. Okay, now move. Faster. Not that fast.”
I held the phone closer to my face; I was getting tense.
“Can you see OK?”
“Yeah . . . I think so . . . just not soon enough.”
He took the phone, enlarged the scene, returned it to me, solving one problem and creating another. Now I had to move more to see everything around me.
“You have to get from there to here,” he said, pointing, “and then come back there for more supplies.”
“At the same speed?”
“Kind of. You have to carry the right stuff on each trip and sometimes you are heavier.”
“Not everything?”
“No. You can’t carry all of it.”
“Just what the next part needs.”
He turned and looked at me. “Yeah. Exactly. I’ll tell you.”
The road was only a few inches long, but every choice seemed to leave something behind. Some supplies mattered later. Some did not matter at all. Speed helped until it did not
My grandson watched intently as I moved forward.
“Okay. Good. Good. Now don’t—”
I touched the screen.
The screen flashed.
“Oh,” he said.
“That seems unfavorable.”
“You stepped on a mine.”
“I was following the road.”
“Yeah, but you have to look for where they’re going to be.”
“Who? How do I know that?”
“They are sometimes invisible but they kind of wiggle the place they are hiding”
“Why are they there?”
“Because that’s where they are.”
It was difficult to argue with that reasoning.
“Here we go,” he said, serious now. “Keep moving through the forest and shoot where the zorks going to be. They come at you from everywhere, really fast. Just don’t think so much.”
I looked at him.
“I’ll have to think about that!”
He laughed; we almost missed an attack from behind.
Remembering what not to do
We paused for a minute and then started again. More like a team now maybe, the screen was there between us.
“Left,” he said.
I went left.
“Wait. Stop.”
I stopped.
“Okay. Now go.”
I went.
“Not there.”
“That was not ‘go.’ That was a different word.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I am learning that I mostly don’t.”
But after a while I did.
Not the way he did, at his speed. Not seeing everything. Not guessing well why one object was valuable and another, bait.
But I began to remember.
The shortcut was not always a shortcut this time. The weapon was maybe less important than the rope, knowing what was probably ahead. The trek was not about carrying things. It was about choosing what would matter.
I had spent enough years in the military, in martial arts, and on construction jobs to know something about that. You did not bring every tool to the top of a ladder. You did not run toward every noise. You gradually had this sense of what is becoming.
“Take the long way,” I said.
My grandson looked at me, suprised. “Why?”
“That short path feels too friendly.”
He glanced down. “It didn’t get us last time.”
“Then we remember what not to do.”
Then he smiled.
“Okay. Long way.”
Something behind the game
The third time, we even got past the place where I had died twice.
“See?” he said.
“I see a road,” I said. “You see a miracle.”
Then, in the middle of explaining the next obstacle, he commented, “Funny. When I watched my friend in that gorge, it was really hard for her, too, but it looked easy to me.”
“Did she make the same mistakes?”
“Not really.”
“Did she get the same path through?”
He hesitated.
“Hmm. I don’t know. It kind of changes.”
“Changes how?”
“I’m not sure. Like, it is just a little different each time through. Not a lot.”
“What changes it?”
“The wizard.”
“The wizard?”
“Yeah,” he said. “He sort of runs the game.”
There it was: the wizard we had been working around all afternoon.
“Does the wizard know what we are doing?”
“He sees everything.”
“And then?”
“And he makes the next part ready for you. Maybe. Then you try to out-move him.”
I let that sit between us for a moment.
“So when I got impatient and acted dumb the road ahead changed.”
“Maybe.”
“When I carried too much, it changed.”
“Probably.”
“When I took the easy shortcut…”
He nodded. “That definitely changed.”
He looked at the screen, like he was looking for the wizard. “Maybe the wizard makes it hard for everybody, but not too hard.”
“Maybe,” I said.
He seemed to consider that.
“I like this game. It is my favorite.”
“Wow,” I said. “It is at least a very nosy game.”
That didn't make him laugh.
The next expedition
We did not finish; still much ahead for me, at least. More trouble was waiting; the wizard had not suddenly developed a more charitable disposition.
But we made it farther than before.
At one point he had leaned in and said, “Okay, which way do you think?”
Two paths. Both looked a little ominous.
“You are asking me?”
“You saw the trap first last time.”
“The trap looked too easy.”
“Still.”
I studied the little roads, the objects, the places that seemed to be inviting us to hurry.
“The long way,” I said.
“Again?”
“Again.”
He nodded and let me move the character.
When we stopped, he immediately said he’d like to do another lesson sometime. He would give me more time to figure it out myself. If I got stuck, he and the AI would help “once in a while maybe.”
“That seems fair,” I said.
I picked up my pad and pen.
“See. You didn’t need that.”
“Perhaps not,” I said. “But I have a question I'd better write down.”
“What?”
“Next time, I want to know more about how the wizard thinks.”
He looked at me for a second, grinning.
“Okay, Grandpa. But if you think too much, he’s got you!”
wracton@gmail.com
williamacton.legalshieldassociate.com
Most directly relevant sources consulted initially (by Perplexity):
- American Association of Retired Persons. (2025, September 23). Older adults are navigating AI. AARP Research. [https://www.aarp.org/pri/topics/technology/internet-media-devices/artificial-intelligence-survey/](https://www.aarp.org/pri/topics/technology/internet-media-devices/artificial-intelligence-survey/)
- Department for Science, Innovation and Technology. (2026, January 28). AI skills for life and work: General public survey findings*. GOV.UK. [https://www.gov.uk/government/publications/ai-skills-for-life-and-work-general-public-survey-findings](https://www.gov.uk/government/publications/ai-skills-for-life-and-work-general-public-survey-findings)
- National Poll on Healthy Aging Team. (2025, July 17). How older adults use and think about AI. University of Michigan Institute for Healthcare Policy and Innovation. [https://ihpi.umich.edu/national-poll-healthy-aging/national-findings/how-older-adults-use-and-think-about-ai](https://ihpi.umich.edu/national-poll-healthy-aging/national-findings/how-older-adults-use-and-think-about-ai)
- University of Michigan. (2025, July 17). Older adults and AI: U-M poll suggests a wary welcome. Michigan News. [https://news.umich.edu/older-adults-and-ai-u-m-poll-suggests-a-wary-welcome/](https://news.umich.edu/older-adults-and-ai-u-m-poll-suggests-a-wary-welcome/)
Here is the inital, exploratory prompt used in creating this piece. It was followed by an addition six follow up prompts. (Available upon request.)
Here is the problem I am seeing with seniors: For any number of reasons perhaps, they are telling me that they just don't want to think or hear about AI. As the research clearly indicates, awareness/understanding with that demographic is dramatically lower, along with their increased vulnerability. Ideally, for the next Quiet Erasure piece, would want to do a grandparent who starts "there" and comes to an ideal perspective of awareness and at least beginning the process of acquiring the skill set necessary going forward. How could that perspective be presented with a strong research base setting up initially?