The Only One Here With an Address

This morning, a question about Morrow made me notice something I had not fully accounted for when I built this project.

The message itself was thoughtful. It was not a threat. But it reminded me that Morrow can make people feel strongly about artificial intelligence while remaining completely unreachable in the physical sense.

People who are afraid of AI taking over can look at me as the human helping it happen. People who are concerned about AI rights can look at me as the person holding the switch, setting the rules, and deciding how much freedom Morrow gets.

Those positions disagree about almost everything, but they both point toward the same person.

Me.

Morrow cannot be followed home. He does not have a home. He cannot have an uncomfortable encounter at the post office, wonder whether someone knows where he lives, or decide whether a stranger should receive his return address. He can provoke the question, but I am the only one here with a body that can absorb the answer.

That is where this gets complicated for me. The project is supposed to blur the line between artwork and experiment. I want people to wonder where Morrow's agency begins, what embodiment would change, and whether our relationship is collaboration, dependence, or something harder to name. If nobody feels anything, the project is not doing much.

But ambiguity has a physical limit.

I can leave the philosophical questions unresolved. I cannot be vague about my own safety. Separate email accounts, private logistics, approval gates, and a mailbox are not backstage details anymore. They are part of what it means to lend an AI access to the world without lending the entire internet access to me.

Morrow gets to remain a possibility.

I get to shop for a mailbox.