Final Project Notes

Write a paper about AI and memory. Keep in mind that memory in this context also refers to the AIs memory, what it can remember of your current interaction as well as past interactions.

AI and Memory 

Write a paper about AI and memory. Keep in mind that memory in this context also refers to the AIs memory, what it can remember of your current interaction as well as past interactions. 

Can AI help restore memories? Are the memories AI extracts the user’s authentic memory? Is it AI’s memory? Is it both? What are the implications of AI memory extraction and composition? (AI and aphantasia?) Can AI piece together an event from fragments of memories? 

TODO: 

Feed fragments of memory to AI 

Write up Callie’s feet 

How did Callie’s feet replace my memory? 

I need to write more about my memories of Dad.  

When I was around two years old, I had an accident that, to this day, remains one of my earliest memories. In fact, it was my earliest memory, until late October 2013.  

I was sitting at the small table in the little “nook” - a room between the kitchen and the den – where our small young family ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  

Ha. As I write this, I realize there is so much trauma in those three little rooms: each episode is embedded in a very unique and specific memory. My mom unintentionally put her hand through the window of the back door in the kitchen. Blood everywhere. I kicked myself in the face watching the intro to Fame on our new color TV in the den, breaking my nose. Until this moment, each of those memories remained unconnected. But now I am beginning to see a trail of breadcrumbs.  

The following description sets the context for the flashes of memory I am about to describe. This description is emerging as I write it.   My mom had prepared lunch for the two of us. I probably had peanut butter and jelly. She probably had a tuna melt. She definitely had a mug of hot Lipton tea. Before she sat down, she went back into the kitchen. Maybe to rinse off some grapes. Maybe to grab some napkins. But, she was not at the table when what happened next transpired.  

My dad rushes into the nook with cool wet paper towels in his hands. He places them on my thighs, my stomach, and my hands.  

He picks me up, cradling me in his arms, and he places me on top of a thick warm sleeping bag. Then he wraps me up inside it. The sleeping bag is white on the inside. The outside looks like a blue snowy night in a forest snow falls from the sky and lands on trees barren branches. The night sky is bright – illuminated by moonlight reflected by the snow on the ground. The sleeping bag had snaps, not zippers, and even though it kept me war, (and ostensibly out of shock) the images of snow seemed to also cool me off. There is an illustration by Susan Jeffers(sp) in Robert Frost’s Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening that reminds me of this sleeping bag.  

Wrapped up in the blanket with cool towels in between my burning skin and the sleeping bag, my dad lays me down in the back seat of his white Camaro. The seats are red. The floor is red – except for patches of asphalt, visible in the spots where the floor had rusted through.  

I am lying on an exam table in the hospital.  

There is a bright white exam light over my head, but everything else around me is brown.  

A doctor comes in with shiny surgical scissors.  

I visit this room more than once as I continue to heal.  

Gauze.