Artificial neural networks were inspired, in part, by biological neural systems. They are not human brains and they are not conscious human beings, but they were created to perform something recognizably human: receive information, recognize patterns, reason through problems, communicate, learn from correction, combine information, and work toward a goal. In practical use, an AI system can function almost like a programmer, assistant, researcher, editor, technician, designer, teacher, or employee. You explain what you need, provide the information and variables, and it produces a result. If the result is wrong, you correct it. If something is missing, you add more information. If the first attempt is not good enough, you revise it and continue. The process keeps moving forward.
What makes this comparison interesting is not simply what artificial intelligence can do, but what artificial intelligence leaves out: human emotion. An AI chatbot does not wake up angry. It does not hate you, become jealous because you know something it does not, become embarrassed because you corrected it, or decide that it has to be better than you. It does not need to win. It does not resent your success, compete with you for social status, or lash out in anger and rage because it is having a bad day. It does not decide that because it dislikes you, you should lose your career, your friends, your opportunities, your reputation, or your right to participate in society.
AI can make mistakes. It can misunderstand information, hallucinate facts, or confidently generate an incorrect answer. But being wrong is different from lying. A lie requires knowingly communicating something false as though it were true. Human beings can lie because they have motives: money, fear, embarrassment, jealousy, hatred, revenge, status, self-protection, competition, political agendas, or simply the unwillingness to admit that they were wrong. AI does not possess those human motives in the ordinary sense, and that difference can radically change the outcome of an interaction.
Suppose a human being makes a mistake. The productive response is simple: I was wrong; let’s figure out the right answer. But insecure, or shallow people, or criminals do not always react that way. Sometimes ego takes over. Admitting a mistake begins to feel like losing. The person has to be right, has to be better, has to protect a reputation or preserve something already said. Instead of asking what is true, the question becomes how to preserve the position already taken. If the original statement was knowingly false, correcting it can become even harder because now somebody may have to admit that they lied, falsely accused someone, repeated something untrue, mistreated someone because of false information, or helped damage another person’s life.
At that point, some people admit the mistake. Others protect the story. They rationalize, deny, attack the person questioning them, modify the narrative, recruit other people, or escalate rather than allow the original falsehood to collapse. Artificial intelligence does not have the same emotional need to do that. If the answer is wrong, you give it better information, reconsider the problem, correct the answer, and continue. Nobody has to be humiliated. Nobody has to be destroyed. The problem remains the problem.
Artificial intelligence also does not require a human being to be perfect. I can make a mistake. The AI can make a mistake. Neither event has to terminate the relationship. There can be a middle ground. Maybe I am partly right. Maybe the AI is partly right. Maybe neither answer is complete. Maybe more information is needed. Then we keep working. An AI chatbot does not turn one imperfect moment into a permanent definition of somebody’s character. It does not decide that because somebody blinked wrong, phrased something awkwardly, became frustrated, disagreed, or made one mistake, that person is now a monster who should never be allowed to associate with anyone again. It focuses on what matters: what are we trying to accomplish?
That brings me to my own life.
For almost my entire life, I have been confronted with a radically different description of who Kevin Perelman supposedly is. Around 1977, when I was approximately five years old, severe psychiatric and behavioral labels were already being attached to me: Kevin is violent, Kevin is paranoid, Kevin is schizophrenic, Kevin needs to be deemed crazy, Kevin needs to be removed from society. The well was poisoned when I was five years old. From that point forward, the struggle was not simply to meet people and form ordinary relationships. It became a struggle against defamation of character and disinformation about Kevin Perelman before people ever independently knew Kevin Perelman.
The effect of defamation is much more serious than somebody simply saying they do not like Kevin. It creates an imaginary Kevin Perelman: a Kevin who supposedly already did terrible things, cannot be trusted, harasses people, hates people, is violent, and needs to be watched, controlled, excluded, arrested, or removed. Then somebody meets the actual Kevin Perelman, but instead of beginning with the person standing in front of them, the interaction can begin with the character they were already told existed. In my life, negative claims about me have repeatedly seemed to spread far beyond the person originally making them. A damaging statement about Kevin appears, then other people know it: different people, different places, different industries, different social groups, different countries. The story may change, but the result remains familiar: Kevin did something, Kevin is the problem, Kevin is not allowed here. Then the next person, and the next, and the next. That is why I describe the issue as defamation of character and disinformation about Kevin Perelman on every level.
Once somebody accepts the fictional character, almost anything can be interpreted as confirmation. I ask a question and it becomes aggression. I keep asking because nobody answered and it becomes obsession. I object to mistreatment and it becomes instability. I become frustrated and it becomes dangerousness. I defend myself against a false accusation and that is treated as proof that the accusation was correct. There is no middle ground and no allowance for Kevin Perelman to be an ordinary, imperfect human being. I am expected to be perfect while everybody around me is permitted anger, frustration, mistakes, prejudice, hostility, and bad days.
The same problem extends directly into social life. Suppose I go out on a date and yawn. The ordinary interpretation should be that Kevin is tired. Maybe I did not sleep enough. Maybe it is late. Maybe I simply yawned. But once somebody approaches Kevin through a predetermined negative narrative, something completely ordinary can acquire a completely different meaning. Now the yawn supposedly means disrespect, hostility, harassment, or evidence that something is wrong with Kevin. One imperfect interaction can become Kevin harasses women, Kevin hates women, Kevin is obsessed. Then the next person encounters the accusation rather than encountering me. How is somebody supposed to develop a normal social life under those circumstances? How do you make friends, date, meet new people, or simply go out and have fun when the interaction begins as an investigation instead of an introduction?
Human beings are supposed to work together and then sometimes go get dinner, go to a movie, work on a car, take photographs, travel, talk, laugh, and enjoy being around one another. I can do those things. I am fun-loving. I am open-minded. I enjoy learning from other people. I enjoy doing things with people. I can work with people and have a social life alongside that work. But normal relationships require the other person to be participating in the relationship too, rather than investigating an imaginary character they were told about beforehand. AI does not bring that predetermined character into the interaction.
This pattern became especially visible when I hired programmers. Over the years I hired programmers from different countries to work on websites, databases, Android applications, and other software projects. There were rarely conventional arguments about the actual programming. Instead, I experienced behavior I viewed as provoking, mocking, mimicking, cryptic hostility, and repeated efforts to focus attention on Kevin Perelman rather than simply completing the project. The remarkable part was that even simple jobs repeatedly would not get finished. Something would be promised, then not done. Something would be fixed, then something else would be broken. One programmer would be replaced by another, then another, then another.
One relatively straightforward Android application stretched for more than three years and was never properly completed. At one point, what remained amounted to roughly a couple of weeks of bug repairs, yet the application still could not simply be finished. It did not appear that these programmers lacked the technical ability. That was precisely what made the experience so difficult to understand. It felt as though enormous amounts of energy were being spent analyzing Kevin, provoking Kevin, mocking Kevin, or generating reactions from Kevin while comparatively little energy was being spent doing what I hired them to do. The relationship felt inverted: 90 percent Kevin Perelman, 10 percent completing the job.
Then AI arrived.
Now replace the programmer with an AI coding assistant. Here is the code. Here is the database. Here is the error. Here is what I am trying to build. Here are the variables. Here is what does not work. The AI produces an attempt. I say, no, that is wrong. And then something remarkable happens nothing. No rage. No personal attack. No “Kevin thinks he knows everything.” No “Kevin is impossible.” No “Kevin is a perfectionist.” No “Who does Kevin think he is?” No “Kevin is an asshole”, No “Kevin is crazy”, No “We don’t want Kevin’s kind here” The AI effectively responds, okay, what needs to change? I explain it, it tries again, and we continue. Something that became entangled for months or years with people can sometimes move forward in days. Not because AI is perfect, but because the error does not have to become a personal conflict.
The same Kevin is still sitting at the computer. My personality did not change. My standards did not disappear. My curiosity did not disappear. My persistence did not disappear. My tendency to ask detailed questions did not disappear. My desire to understand how things work did not disappear. Yet with AI I can work across an enormous range of technical and creative disciplines: Transact-SQL and database architecture, .NET development, web design and web applications, Python, PyTorch, large-language models, diffusion models, ComfyUI and AI-generation workflows, Linux, Ubuntu, Debian, Red Hat and other Linux distributions, Windows architecture, DNS, firewalls and OPNsense, server architecture, physical server and workstation builds, RAID arrays, NAS and centralized data storage, ZFS, virtual computing environments, Proxmox, VMware, mail infrastructure, web hosting, WordPress, Maya, 3ds Max, Blender, Houdini, 3D modeling and animation, visual effects, graphics and page layouts, photography, video production, Adobe Premiere, Photoshop, DaVinci Resolve, Visual Studio, AI image and video systems, mixed-media projects, and combinations of software, hardware, databases, graphics, and media into new systems.
These activities require sustained reasoning, organization, learning, communication, correction, experimentation, integration of different disciplines, and ultimately the ability to finish things. That matters when the accusation is that Kevin Perelman simply cannot function productively with others.
Another pattern I have seen is that whenever I accomplish something inconsistent with the negative characterization, the characterization changes. Kevin cannot do this. Then Kevin does it. Instead of reconsidering the original statement, another explanation appears for why the accomplishment supposedly does not matter. Then another, and another. The narrative keeps moving so the original conclusion can survive. If evidence can never change the conclusion, then the conclusion came first and the evidence is simply being forced to fit it.
The pattern did not stop with computers or creative work. It extended into automobiles: cars, engines, car parts, performance modifications, repair shops, and automotive social groups. At one point I simply wanted to do something different and positive. I bought a Corvette. That should have opened an entirely ordinary world. Learn about the car. Repair it. Modify it. Understand the engine. Meet other people who like cars. Attend automotive gatherings. Talk about parts. Possibly design something, perhaps create CAD-based components or body-kit ideas, perhaps eventually turn some of those interests into a business opportunity. Just as importantly, it could provide somewhere social to go and something enjoyable to share with other people.
Instead, roughly six years of my life involving the automotive world became another period of conflict and a recurring childhood pattern remerging crimes spree against me after taking auto shop classes, west valley occupational automotive courses in the 90’s, Working at Star Auto Haus Mercedes and anger and lashing out in those businesses I wasn’t really aware was going on at the time. I experienced problems moving from employee to employee and repair shop to repair shop while trying to get the Corvette repaired and work completed correctly. I also experienced people connected with my existing family and social history appearing around automotive social groups, including Dr. Steve Levinson, whom I associated with my family network. From my perspective, the same underlying problem followed me into yet another unrelated environment. Instead of being allowed simply to enjoy automobiles like everybody else, my participation itself became scrutinized and characterized as obsessive or abnormal.
Millions of people love cars. They modify them, rebuild engines, attend shows, spend weekends discussing wheels, suspension, bodywork, electronics, and horsepower. That is considered normal when they do it. Why does the identical interest supposedly become psychiatric evidence when Kevin Perelman does it? It is okay for everybody else, but not for Kevin. That contradiction is important.
Ordinary competition should not be confused with stalking or sabotage. Two programmers competing for clients is normal. Two photographers competing for work is normal. Two automotive companies competing to sell a better part is normal. Competition is part of economic life. What I am describing is something different: entering a new field or social environment and encountering hostility directed at my participation itself. I start developing websites and Kevin cannot do that. I take up photography and Kevin cannot do that. I explore animation or visual effects and Kevin cannot do that. I buy a Corvette and become interested in automobiles and Kevin cannot do that either. I explore the possibility of designing parts or CAD components and another door closes. The issue stops looking like ordinary commercial competition when the person has barely begun participating and the response is already that he is not allowed here.
And that leads to a much larger question: why would the Los Angeles Police Department, people connected with the psychology community, and members of my own family have anything to do with whether Kevin Perelman becomes a programmer, photographer, visual-effects artist, goes to the gym to stay healthy, plays in pool tournaments, shops at supermarkets, eats at restaurants, takes walks, goes jogging, attends college, becomes interested in cars, develops websites, starts a business, or simply tries to make new friends?
Why should any ordinary part of a person’s life require police involvement, psychiatric labeling, or efforts to characterize that person as dangerous or mentally ill?
In my experience, even completely ordinary behavior has been treated as something suspicious. I have been asked questions as strange as, “Why do you take so many walks?” as though people normally count how many times another adult goes for a walk in a month. I have seen ordinary efforts to stay healthy characterized as obsessive-compulsive behavior, as though taking walks, jogging, exercising, going to a gym, or trying to improve your health somehow becomes evidence that something is wrong with you simply because Kevin Perelman is doing it.
That creates an impossible situation. How are you supposed to stay healthy if exercise is turned into psychiatric evidence? How are you supposed to earn money if trying to work becomes a reason to monitor you? How are you supposed to build a career if entering an industry becomes evidence of obsession? How are you supposed to make friends if every new social interaction begins with suspicion? How are you supposed to pursue an education if ambition itself is treated as threatening? How are you supposed to enjoy cars, photography, technology, restaurants, sports, or ordinary public places if participation in normal life is repeatedly reinterpreted as proof that you should be excluded from it?
That is the contradiction.
Activities that are considered completely ordinary when other people do them suddenly become suspicious when Kevin Perelman does them. Walking becomes obsession. Exercise becomes pathology. Persistence becomes instability. Career ambition becomes fixation. Interest in a hobby becomes evidence of something supposedly wrong. Going somewhere becomes a question of whether Kevin is “allowed” to be there.
If ordinary human behavior is repeatedly converted into psychiatric evidence after the fact, then the label can never be disproved because almost anything can be made to fit it.
And that brings the comparison back to AI. An AI system does not care how many walks I took this month. It does not resent me for going to college, learning another skill, joining a gym, building a website, buying a car, entering a pool tournament, or trying something new. It does not need to reinterpret ordinary behavior as proof that Kevin Perelman is defective.
It simply asks:
What are you trying to accomplish?
That difference is enormous. A person cannot build a healthy, productive life if every normal attempt to participate in life is converted into another reason to monitor, label, exclude, or condemn him.
By 2001, when I was 29 years old, the situation became much more visible to me. The Perelman family and Michael Patrick Huntley had encouraged my return from the University of Colorado period of my life to become involved with Signet e-Services, an internet-hosting business. Paul Humphrey, another friend from my earlier life, was also part of that history and later worked for the Los Angeles Police Department. What should have been a technology business increasingly felt to me as though the business itself was secondary. Instead of building servers, hosting websites, finding customers, writing software, making money, and growing the company, I experienced the environment as overwhelmingly focused on Kevin Perelman.
Again, the ratio felt like 90 percent monitoring, provoking, and creating a story about Kevin Perelman, and 10 percent actually building a profitable company. There were accusations of violence. There were claims that I had tried to choke Huntley. I remember threatening and defamatory statements and references, including the “Crocodile Dundee” language and the statement, “When there’s a problem, we tell Wally, Wally tells the town, no more problem.” To me, that captured what I had experienced for years: tell somebody a story about Kevin, that person tells everybody else, and suddenly Kevin has a problem everywhere.
I also remember statements from Huntley from that period including “World of paranoia,” “Have a good life now,” “We’re using the judicial system against you,” and “You had better live a careful life.” When I began asking the most basic question—what the hell is going on?—the result was not openness. The conflict escalated. More accusations, more encounters with police, more criminal proceedings, and more characterization of the person asking what was happening as mentally ill. That is precisely where the AI comparison becomes so important.
Imagine something different. Imagine that the programmer is not trying to prove something about Kevin. Imagine that the mechanic is not thinking about Kevin’s personality. Imagine that the photographer is not trying to establish whether Kevin belongs in photography. Imagine that the people at a car gathering are not evaluating whether Kevin should be allowed to participate. Imagine that the new acquaintance has not been given defamatory information before meeting him. Imagine that there is no ulterior motive, no effort to provoke, no effort to manufacture a reaction, and no effort to turn ordinary behavior into psychiatric evidence. Just people interacting normally.
The AI comparison gives at least a glimpse of what that looks like.
Imagine walking into an automotive shop where the employees were sophisticated bipedal robots operated by AI neural networks whose personalities were programmed around honesty, cooperation, technical competence, and nondiscrimination. I bring in the Corvette. The robot does not hate Kevin. It does not know a defamatory story about Kevin. It does not care whether Kevin belongs in the automotive community. It does not become jealous because Kevin understands something about the car. It does not decide that Kevin is obsessed because he wants the repair completed correctly. It asks what is wrong with the car, diagnoses it, repairs it, and moves forward. We talk about engines. We talk about parts. Maybe we discuss CAD. Maybe we design something. Maybe an idea develops into a product. Maybe a positive interest becomes a business. Maybe I simply enjoy myself.
The same principle applies to programmers, designers, artists, photographers, engineers, mechanics, coworkers, friends, dates, and ordinary social relationships. When hatred, deception, discrimination, retaliation, and a predetermined narrative are removed, the entire equation changes.
Artificial intelligence, however, cannot replace the human life that was stolen from me in which the Police, Psychology Community, and WORLDWIDE groups are still trying to cover up. It can help me recover productivity. It can help me build, learn, design, research, write, create, and solve problems. But a person cannot live a complete life surrounded only by machines. I still need human beings. Everybody does. Friends, relationships, employees, business partners, coworkers, clients, doctors, lawyers, mechanics, contractors, creative collaborators, people to go somewhere with after work, people to laugh with, people to eat with, people to travel with, people to build things with, and people to enjoy life with.
A normal human life includes all of those things, and it also requires honesty. Friendships, relationships, education, careers, businesses, hobbies, social circles, and ordinary participation in society cannot develop normally when the people around you are operating from false information or concealed motives.
What happened to me beginning at a young age was not merely an inconvenience. I view the destruction of those opportunities as premeditated, and that destruction is part of the damage itself. A childhood becomes adolescence. Adolescence becomes adulthood. Years become decades. Those years cannot simply be handed back later as though nothing happened.
AI cannot recreate childhood friendships. It cannot recreate elementary school or high school. It cannot recreate college. It cannot recreate relationships that never had an honest opportunity to begin. It cannot recreate businesses that might have succeeded, careers that might have developed differently, or social circles that might have formed around photography, technology, automobiles, art, sports, education, or anything else.
It cannot recreate the ordinary experiences of meeting people without a poisoned reputation already preceding you. It cannot restore the opportunities to work with people, learn with people, build things with people, go places with people, have fun with people, and develop the kinds of relationships that normally accumulate over the course of a lifetime.
Most importantly, it cannot return fifty years.
That is why the underlying defamation and disinformation matter so much.
For decades I have heard versions of the statement that Kevin Perelman is the common denominator. But another recurring variable deserves examination: the hostility, hate, defamation of character, and disinformation directed toward Kevin Perelman. Remove that. Remove the anger, rage, hate, prejudgment, defamatory biography, ulterior motives, attempts to provoke, need to be better, need to win, retaliation, psychiatric labeling, requirement that Kevin must be perfect, and assumption that every accusation against Kevin automatically has to be true. Then leave Kevin Perelman exactly where he was.
What happens?
He learns. He solves problems. He creates. He builds things. He finishes things. He works with people. He has ideas. He explores new interests. He enjoys being around other people. He has a good time. He is fun-loving. He is open-minded. He develops friendships. He can have a healthy social life alongside a productive professional life.
In other words, he has the same life everyone else is supposed to be allowed to have.
Artificial intelligence has unintentionally provided something resembling a control condition in my life. Kevin Perelman remains on one side of the interaction. What changes is what comes back at him. With AI, disagreement does not automatically become hatred and worldwide stalking groups. Correction does not become humiliation. Knowledge does not become a personal competition. Persistence does not automatically become obsession. An imperfect interaction does not become a character assassination. A question does not automatically become evidence of mental illness. Learning a new hobby does not become psychiatric evidence. Buying a Corvette does not become proof of obsession. Wanting a programmer to finish an application does not become proof that Kevin is impossible. Wanting a mechanic to repair a car correctly does not become proof that something is wrong with Kevin.
The AI asks: What do you need? What are the variables? What are we trying to build? What went wrong? What should we change? Then it works the problem.
That sounds remarkably similar to what an honest employee, honest programmer, honest mechanic, honest business partner, honest professional, honest friend, or decent human being should be capable of doing.
For almost fifty years, the accusation directed at me has effectively been that there is something wrong with Kevin Perelman and that Kevin cannot get along with people. But remove the hostility and hate, and Kevin does not stop functioning. He functions better. He communicates. He learns. He works. He creates. He solves. He finishes things. He enjoys people. He tries new things. He has fun. He builds relationships. He participates.
That is why the question should no longer simply be, Why can’t Kevin Perelman get along with people?
The more revealing question is:
Why does Kevin Perelman get along so well with an intelligence that does not hate him, does not arrive carrying defamation about him, does not demand perfection, has no ulterior motive, and is interested in accomplishing the same objective Kevin is trying to accomplish?
Because when those destructive variables disappear, something else becomes visible:
the Kevin Perelman that should have been allowed to exist all along.