Letters to Jyl: August 24, 2026

This week, a reader files a formal complaint, and Jyl finally pays up by answering why she thinks every AI logo looks like a butthole.

Every week, readers send me questions about relationships, career problems, family disputes, supernatural incidents, neighborhood feuds, and the occasional eldritch inconvenience. This week, a longtime reader wrote in to collect on a debt I genuinely owe them.

Dear Jyl,

I’ve followed you for years, but not in a creepy way. Promise. Your books, the horrorscopes and misadventures, the article about postpartum depression that made me ugly cry on an airplane. I feel like I’ve earned the right to say this: you let me down.

You posted that every AI company logo looks like a butthole, with the promise of an essay. And then you just left. I’ve gone back and checked your socials ever since. Nothing! You teased the funniest true thing anyone’s said all year and wandered off like you didn’t owe the internet this essay. So consider this a formal complaint, and a debt collection notice. Now pay up. Please?

Impatiently yours,

Owed an Essay

Dear Owed,

Totally fair. I teased at an essay, hoping the joke would land, without realizing people would actually want to read it. You’re not the only one who’s asked for follow up. So, here are my thoughts, scaled back to blog size.

Why do they all look like buttholes? Let’s start by talking about circles. Symbolically, circles represent wholeness, unity, inclusion, balance, and even eternity. Psychologically, circles create a sense of comfort. Curved lines are perceived as soft and friendly. These companies wanted to be perceived as intelligent with infinite knowledge and possibilities, so they reached for a circle in a thinly veiled attempt to reduce fear.

Every one of these companies is selling a machine that has stolen real art from real artists. There is also the possibility that it could take your job, your ability to communicate, and your capacity for critical thought. And they know it. So the logo has one job, to look harmless. Round. Nothing with a point on it, because a point is a knife, and a knife is a threat. Smooth and polish every edge off until nobody could be scared of it, and you know what’s left? A soft little ring. A hole. The most natural shape there is, biologically speaking.

But what they failed to realize is a sphincter is also a circle. Somehow, no one noticed that “everything, forever” and “the end of your digestive tract” turned out to be the same image. It’s hard to flag a problem when nobody in the room has had an original thought since orientation. Turns out a company selling a machine that can’t come up with anything new isn’t staffed by people who can either. And they all copied each other anyway, because if they can steal art, music, and literature from real people, it would stand to reason that stealing a logo design wouldn’t raise any red flags for them.

A logo is supposed to reflect what the company stands for and give an idea that speaks to what their product provides. So, credit where it’s due, they nailed the assignment. Because what comes out of these is absolute shit. They fed it the entire history of human creativity, only to turn it into nonsensical, unoriginal, repetitive sludge with too many fingers and no idea it’s wrong. And they have the audacity to charge for it. The logo isn’t an accident. It’s the most honest thing the company owns. It looks like a butthole because that is, functionally, what it is.

And with that, I’ve hit my word count, which is the only thing that ever gets me off a soapbox. I hope this puts me back in your good graces. Thank you for supporting human artists.

—Jyl

Have a question, problem, curse, feud, haunting, career crisis, cryptid-related concern, or suspicious situation of your own? Send it to letterstojyl@gmail.com. Anonymous submissions are always welcome.

Jyl Glenn is a writer, editor, formatter, anthologist, poet, and a medical-legal writer and consultant. Her lifelong love affair with horror began at a very early age when she was left unattended on the weekend Poltergeist debuted on HBO. And then she figured out she could read any horror book she liked as long as she hung out at the public library, even if the librarian deemed it not to be age appropriate. Jyl was born and raised in New York and now lives in Tulsa with her dog and kitten. She loves creepy art, dark poetry, and pink dinosaurs. When she isn’t dabbling in the macabre—she’s most likely asleep.

PLEASE NOTE: The views and opinions of the staff of Memento Mori Ink do not necessarily represent those of Memento Mori Ink or Crystal Lake Publishing, nor do the views or opinions of Crystal Lake necessarily represent those of Memento Mori Ink or its staff. Thank you for understanding.