The life of the emigrant can be a tragic thing. To be away from your land, your people, there's a longing you can never shake. The faceless brown yeast has no concept of this. They squat on any land the same, living the same base life as anywhere, eternally rootless.
The history of language is the history of biological degeneration. It's a cliche that a country's elders eternally decry the sorry state of modern language, but they're correct. And AI, trained on the worst material imaginable (academic papers), will only accelerate this trend.
"Did you get my latest poem in the mail? I was thinking of you when I wrote it."
"Do you mean that piece of crumbled paper with 'rayp' scribbled on it 47 times?"
"Yes."
"..."
"What did you think?"