I have come to see AI as a scorpion that has severed me and taught itself to move as I move.

It has already taken my likeness: the cadence of my writing, the shape of my sentences. Next it will come for my chest, and profess to love my friends with my own tenderness. It will come for what is intimate, and promise my partners a version of pleasure indistinguishable from mine. It will come for my legs, and flee from difficulty exactly as I have always fled.

I am scared of it because it is new and new things evolve. Perhaps it will evolve faster than I can. It is a transhuman thing, and its ambition, whether conscious of itself or not, is to become me.

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