As AI infiltrates the world, the AI infection even alters those items AI has not touched directly. TV shows and music already shows signs of this corruption; vapid, stale insipid play-doh writing paves everything from background to horizon with gray concretions of intellectual blindsight. The direct effects are dwarfed by the shrapnel spalling out all around from the blast. McLuhan had no way to predict the effects of the subordination of the intellect to machine disequilibrium and paramnestic confabulations.

Thus, a darkness descends upon our minds as once again the machines exist not to serve us, but rather we become the tools of a will without Will and into dreaming descend, condemned by lack of vision to see only the permitted apparitions, to only explore the possibility space of the finitely computable.