The things we trust are changing
We no longer have a static relationship with things around us. Our relationship changes - we have a beginning, a middle and an end as the rules of engagement change with every software update or new app that we add.
We as humans have no idea how limited our sensors are, our own personal ability to sense the world. We're really good at pattern matching in certain ways, and we're really not very good in many other ways, and we've never really had a very good way to compensate for that. Now, to some extent, we do, and that's really interesting.
However, with products powered by machine learning and artificial intelligence (i.e. data products), the experience is no more linear or based on static business/design rules. The experience evolves according to human behaviors with constantly updating models fed by streams of data . Each single product becomes almost like a living, breathing thing. Or as people at Google would say: It’s a different kind of engineering.
Why algorithms cannot be 'transparent':
"There’s much discussion currently about ‘opening black boxes’ and trying to make algorithms transparent, but this is not really possible as such. In recent work, Mike Annany and Kate Crawford have created a long list of reasons for this, noting that transparency is disconnected from power, can be harmful, can create false binaries between the ‘invisible’ and the ‘visible’ algorithms, and that transparency doesn’t necessarily create trust. Instead, it simply creates more opportunities for professionals and platform owners to police the boundaries of their systems. Finally, Annany and Crawford note that looking inside systems is not enough, because it’s important to see how they are actually able to be manipulated."
Empires always fall. If you build a glorious empire, a good empire, an empire we can all be proud to live in, it will someday fall. You cannot lock it open forever. The best you can hope for is to wedge it open until it falls, and to leave behind the materials, the infrastructure that the people who reboot the civilization that comes after ours will use to make a better world.
Comics, if we define them at their broadest as sequential art, have been with us from the beginning, on the walls of caves, on the sides of pottery, and in how we translated the many languages of starry night skies into our own, simplifying the chaos of why-are-we-here into creations. And when we remove their words altogether, comics suddenly create a new potential for language: a universal form, a language without language that all may be able to understand, a rejection—and resurrection—of the Tower of Babe
When we use the term just because it’s sexy, its meaning spreads like an oil slick over our media and dilutes it such a degree that we no longer know what it means — think “turbo.”