Artificial Intelligence

[tree_]

The singularity is here

[tree_]

My chat gpt prompt: Write a subjective paragraph from the point of view of a one year old describing his day

Chat gpt: As an AI language model, I don't have personal experiences or perspectives. However, I can try to imagine what it might be like for a one-year-old to describe their day.

Today was a fun day, I think. I'm not really sure what's going on most of the time, but my big brother and my parents were around so that's always nice. In the morning, I had some breakfast and then played with some toys for a while. My brother tried to get me to play with him, but I mostly just wanted to chew on things. Then we went to the park and I got to swing and go down the slide with Mom and Dad. I think I liked it, but it was a little scary at times. We went to the store and I sat in the shopping cart and looked around while Mom and Dad got some stuff. When we got home, I had some lunch and then took a nap. When I woke up, my brother was playing with some toys and I joined in for a bit before getting distracted by a shiny object. Overall, it was a pretty good day, I think.

[tree_]

My prompt: Write a subjective paragraph from the point of view of a four year old describing his day

Chat gpt: I woke up this morning feeling so excited, it was going to be a great day. After breakfast, I played with my favorite toys for a while, building towers and playing pretend. Then, Mom and Dad took me to the park where I ran around and played on the swings and the slide. I even made a new friend and we played together for a while. After the park, we went to the store and I helped Mom pick out some groceries. I felt like such a big kid helping her with the shopping. When we got back home, we had lunch and then I helped Dad with some chores around the house. It was so much fun to help him out and I felt like such a grown-up. Later on, I spent some time playing with my little brother and we laughed and giggled together. It was such a great day and I can't wait for tomorrow to see what adventures are in store.

[BurtReynolds]

we have ten of these threads tree

[tree_]

Eleven is my favorite number

[tree_]

we have ten of these threads tree

My chat gpt response: It seems like you're trying to make a point by being snarky, but without any context or clarity, your message comes off as just plain rude. Perhaps you could provide more details about what you're referring to, so that your comment can contribute to a meaningful discussion rather than just being dismissive. Remember, it's always better to communicate your thoughts respectfully and constructively.

[tree_]

I have successfully merged with the AI. I am all powerful and impotent.

[tree_]

My prompt: Write a scene in screenplay format in the style of Quentin Tarantino about Jonathan at work browsing the red mosquito message board

ChatGPT:

FADE IN:

INT. OFFICE - DAY

Jonathan, a young and scruffy-looking IT guy, is sitting in front of his computer, scrolling through the Red Mosquito message board. He takes a sip from his coffee mug and clicks on a thread titled "Top 10 Hacking Techniques of All Time."

Jonathan's eyes light up as he starts reading the post. Suddenly, his boss, Mr. Johnson, enters the room.

MR. JOHNSON
(startled)
Jonathan! What are you doing?

Jonathan quickly minimizes his browser and turns to face his boss.

JONATHAN
(reluctantly)
Just...checking the security system, sir.

Mr. Johnson eyes Jonathan suspiciously, but then glances at his computer screen and sees nothing out of the ordinary.

MR. JOHNSON
(hesitantly)
Alright, but don't let me catch you slacking off again.

Jonathan nods and watches as his boss exits the room. As soon as Mr. Johnson is out of sight, Jonathan maximizes his browser and continues scrolling through the Red Mosquito message board.

He clicks on another thread, this one titled "Cracking the Government's Top-Secret Database," and begins to read intently. A smile spreads across his face as he starts typing a reply.

JONATHAN
(to himself)
You think you're so smart, huh? Let's see how you handle this.

Jonathan continues typing furiously, lost in his own world. He doesn't notice the sound of approaching footsteps until it's too late.

Suddenly, the door bursts open and two FBI agents storm into the room, guns drawn.

FBI AGENT #1
(shouting)
Jonathan Smith! You're under arrest for cyber terrorism!

Jonathan freezes in terror as the agents handcuff him and lead him out of the room. He looks back at his computer screen, where the Red Mosquito message board still glows brightly.

JONATHAN
(to himself)
Damn you, Red Mosquito. Damn you to hell.

FADE TO BLACK.

[tree_]

Me: Now in the style of Paul Thomas Anderson but focus only on Jonathan browsing and reading message board

ChatGPT:

FADE IN:

INT. OFFICE - DAY

Jonathan, a disheveled IT worker, sits hunched over his computer, scrolling through the Red Mosquito message board. He reads post after post, his eyes glued to the screen.

The sound of the office around him fades away as Jonathan becomes absorbed in the virtual world of hackers and tech enthusiasts.

He clicks on a thread titled "The Most Dangerous Malware in History" and begins to read, his face a mask of intense concentration.

Jonathan's fingers move over the keyboard, typing a response to the thread. He stops and reads it over, nodding to himself in satisfaction before hitting the "Submit" button.

As the page loads, Jonathan glances around the empty office. The fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting a sickly glow across the room.

He leans back in his chair and stretches, feeling the strain of hours spent staring at the screen. But he can't tear himself away.

Jonathan clicks on another thread, this one titled "The Future of Hacking," and begins to read. His eyes widen as he absorbs the information, his mind racing with possibilities.

He types furiously, his fingers a blur over the keyboard. His face is a mask of intense focus, his eyes locked onto the screen.

For Jonathan, there is nothing else but the message board. It is his life, his passion, his obsession.

As the day wears on, the sound of the office gradually returns. Co-workers chatter around him, phones ring, printers whir.

But Jonathan doesn't hear any of it. He is lost in the world of Red Mosquito, where nothing else matters.

FADE OUT.

[BurtReynolds]

How do you feel about trying to steal Jorge's thread? Does it make you feel good? Does it make you feel like a big man?

[tree_]

honestly i tried and couldn't find his or another AI thread for posting general AI generated content

[BurtReynolds]

Without rules, there is chaos. We're trying to live in a society here.

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[BurtReynolds]

Probably before the decade is out. Most likely, in the next couple of years. People's timelines for this stuff is always too slow.

xlr8

[spike]

Was just reading this fascinating article on so-called prompt engineers, and had a tangentially related thought: I bet that within our lifetime, we’ll be able to give a prompt along the lines of “Create a new a Pearl Jam album, using the 1996 band lineup and the musical style of their Binaural album.” Or “Create a Simpsons episode, utilizing their 1994 writing staff and sense of humor, about a story where Homer and Marge have a threesome,” and the results will be incredibly authentic.

This is essentially what Hollywood does now.

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[Monkey_Driven]

Somewhere, Dave A just creamed his pants.

[BurtReynolds]

https://youtu.be/6-OiXDWxT04?t=245

This one doesn't work great, but sometimes it hits.

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.