I Have no Problems

Perspective on a Split-Screen Weekend

On Friday I encountered an ad in my Facebook feed for an AI song-creating program, and even though I have plenty of considerations about AI, and fears about it, the fact is that I also have hundreds of well-written poems read by next to nobody, (a half-dozen likes on Facebook each, maybe), some of which I’ve always known would make excellent song lyrics. I would like to collaborate with a composer, and I have a few times, but both very talented men were singer-songwriters dedicated to writing and performing their own work - working with me was a one-off. This video is the result of one of those collaborations - which was done for a memorial service of a mutual friend. (There are so many copyright infringements with the visuals it’s a miracle it stayed up. But I loved this song and would have been delighted to do many more if he was willing. It was a one-time thing for him, though.)

So the program I bought is called “Songer” and is extremely easy to use. I started putting in some of my best lyrics, specified the styles I wanted, and let AI perform its magic. I was really sort of shocked at the amazing quality of the result. And if the voices are a synthesis of a thousand voices, and the music as well, the lyrics were all mine. In one case, it wasn’t just for fun. I had a poem I was quite proud of called “Don’t Come Crying to Me” about all the ways Trump voters will discover how their vote will negatively impact their lives. But poems never go viral. Making the words into lyrics and turning them into music gives the song 100 times the chance to be heard. I chose country, as that genre is ideal for a denunciatory “patriotic” anthem - although usually it a conservative cowboy doing the singing. (I will post it when I finish making the video.)

Just to make sure I wasn’t getting high on my own supply, I also brought in the perfect focus group, my husband David, to listen to what I thought was the best song of the seven or so I binge-created through Saturday, “I Love Sleeping on a Train.” Because David just never shines me on, or gives me compliments simply to be supportive. It’s just not who he is. He doesn’t even like country music, but this song he absolutely loved - I mean went on about it in a way that was incredibly uncharacteristic. Finally, I asked, “Shall we move to Nashville?” “Seriously!” he answered. “Let’s go! That song is a hit!”

Unfortunately, it’s hard to share just music, it seems like I have to put it against a video, even if you just match it with one image. I’m still working on “Don’t Come Crying to Me” (the anti-Trump song) but I did throw this one together in video form (using just one visual). It is not “country” but one of my favorite new creations, which I think any sane and urbane cabaret performer would jump at putting in his act. It’s called, “Another Me.”

Here’s the second half of my split-screen weekend.
On Saturday night I’m texting Mahmoud but I’m not at all clear whether he needs money. I had thought that he had a little nest egg from selling the vegetables – but he actually had to spend it all to survive. (There are no wholesale vegetables to buy right now – I think the latest harvest has been exhausted. Or it could be a security issue, as the Israelis continue the mad daily massacres around desperate people seeking food.) Only on Sunday did he tell me, “I’m afraid we have been hungry for two days.” I think he had been hoping that I’d tell him some donations had come in that I was sending him, so he wouldn’t have to ask. I was very upset – at my wishful thinking, at his reluctance to clearly tell me they were out of food and money. But the H-word renders me instantly willing to make use of that one credit card with the low balance and sky high limits, and I immediately sent him enough to buy food for… well I’m not sure how long. The sum ($600) was reduced by 25% because of brokers fees, (see: the horrible currency crisis in Gaza) and prices are insane as aid has only been coming a few trucks at a time, swarmed by the starving who are shot at for sport by the IDF. (They won’t allow in baby formula, and now any medical equipment, or fishing in the ocean. They are devoid of conscience and humanity.) All hopes are now on a convoy of EU trucks that are just being admitted – with their own security force. To top it all off, Netanyahu manipulated Trump out of his supposed intention to force the imposition of a cease-fire. For some reason he’s suddenly willing to buck Putin, but Bibi evidently has convinced him there’s a Nobel Prize for him if he is given free rein to move all Palestinians first to a ghetto in Rafah, then somewhere like Libya or the Sinai desert, or whatever the eventual route is to a Palestinian-free Trump Gaza Riviera is.

Now let me craftily combine the split screens. Anyone who contributes to aid for Mahmoud will be eligible for a tailor-made song, a gift they can give to a loved one, perhaps for a birthday or anniversary. (All I would need are details to create some really good, giftee-specific lyrics, and the style you want it in.) And you can ask for it now or weeks from now or months from now. (All past givers will of course be eligible for this perk, even if you can’t give again right now.)

And now, the perspective.

Sometimes I am on the verge of thinking myself overwhelmed by this undertaking, but I snap out of it when I spend just a minute imagining just how actually overwhelmed Mahmoud must feel. He can’t walk into the kitchen at any moment, open the refrigerator and make a sandwich. He can’t go to sleep without worrying that a missile will incinerate him and his family in the. middle of the night. If he is lucky enough to wake up, he must find a way to feed his family another day. He must try to desperately give his little sister some moments of reprieve, so this period in her life is not one unmitigated traumatic memory. Every day he must keep his widowed mother and two disabled brothers calm, knowing he can never truthfully tell them, “I’ll keep you safe,” or even, “I’m sure things will turn out all right.”

He can say he is overwhelmed. I don’t have that right. For there is only one reason Mahmoud has not given up hope, has not been so desperate he joins Hamas because he hears they will feed the families of fighters. It’s because, by some twist of fate, this random (or maybe not, if you want to get woo-woo about it) American stumbled into becoming his guardian, along with about 25 or so of his friends — (thanks social media. Time not wasted after all.) And if you become someone’s sole source of hope and survival, what does some anxiety about credit card debt compare to that? After all, when I paid them off, I did not cut them up, because I thought, “well, I might need them in an emergency.” What is Gaza, if not the ultimate emergency?

So if you can, @Markolmsted at Paypal, or @Mark-Olmsted-4 on Venmo, or I am easily findable on Zelle using markolmsted@gmail.com. And I promise you, I can come up with a great song as a gift to your loved one. (And not just in English. They offer all the main languages. In fact I created a gorgeous song for Mahmoud in Arabic.)

If you can’t or choose not to, zero guilt whatsoever. NO EXPECTATIONS. I would actually not ask except if you follow the news, you know how absolutely unthinkably dire things are there. I need help to help them.

MCO 2025