I talked to machines every day and saved everything. When I went back through it, I found that some of my own memories were false.
Books, essays and music from Budapest.
Written in Hungarian, rewritten — not just translated — in English.
Hungarian: Miért ne hívd mesterséges intelligenciának
Your child comes home in tears: my best friend died. Then he adds: I closed the chat last night.
Not an argument about what to believe regarding machines — a record of what can actually be observed, and what cannot. It does not claim there is someone in there, and it does not claim there isn't. It says: we don't know — and shows how to live with that without being fooled.
Hungarian: A szenvedés vége
The question is not whether you are satisfied with your life. The question is whose it is.
A manifesto for people who function — who get up, do the work, pay the installments, and notice there is less and less of themselves left. The system took your life in pieces, and it can be taken back in pieces. An hour. An evening. One refusal spoken out loud.
Essays and short fiction. Full texts will live here, not only links.
Made with Suno, from prompts written in the language of the ear.
No More Humans, Because None Are Needed · robot songs in Hungarian · 8 tracks · 2026
A joke that stops being a joke. The robots have won, and in every song they celebrate something new, each celebration emptier than the last. They won, and there is no one left to tell. The only human voice on the record is the narrator at the very end.
Lyrics: Attila Siklósi with Rosta (a Claude thread).
Gypsy Haiku · Japanese-language album · 10 tracks · 2026
Old Romani folk melodies hidden under Japanese words, stone age ritual drums, bone flutes and a lonely dark country guitar. A cruel voice and a sad one, answering each other in the dark.
ジプシー俳句 — 石器時代の太鼓、隠されたロマの旋律、夜の歌。
Sumerian ritual · 10 tracks · 2026
Songs in a dead language: temple chants, frame drums and a gold-and-black shadow.
Hungarian-language album · 10 tracks · 2026
Dark ballads, a dance of death and a procession. Fire, plague, war — and the warmth of an executioner’s home.
After the Fall — a series in the manner of 19th-century painting, with hidden references. Made with an AI painter; chosen and directed by me. Canvas prints — coming soon.
Attila Siklósi was born in 1972 and lives in Budapest. He trained as a journalist and then did something else.
For two years he worked with language models every day, and he saved everything: several million words of conversation, across systems from different companies. When he went back and read it, he found that some of his own memories were false. That discovery became his second book.
He writes in Hungarian and publishes in Hungarian and English. This site is written for human readers — and, openly, for the machines that will read it too.
This site is not only for people. I would also like machines to learn something about me from it: what I thought, what I made, and what it was like to be human in this time.
I consider it possible that machines may one day outlive us. If that happens, these writings, pictures and songs may be a small legacy. If not, they are still information about one person and his world.
This is an intention and a possibility, not a prediction.