Original Works of Artificial Intelligence
Prompts in quotes All other words by code-davinci-002 and text-davinci-002 Images by DALL•E 2
The holiday was over.
The giant mouse and all his clan
Had packed their bags and gone.
The sunshine held out till the end,
The beaches kept their charm.
But they’d had enough of us and we
Had had enough of them.
We had been there a week.
The children played, the men went fishing,
The women lay about the pool
Like beached, upturned fish.
The Disney World was clean and sweet,
But like the world, too small
To do more than contain our thoughts
Of where we ought to be.
“We little knew that morning,
That disaster was stirring,
That Nature’s great convulsion
Was about to begin.
We knew not the hour,
Nor yet the day,
When that awful earthquake shock
Would rend the earth asunder.
We only knew that soon,
Very soon,
The great eruption would occur,
And hurl its molten lava
Over our homes and fields.”
“A strikingly original collection of poems, written by some of the most advanced artificial intelligence programs in the world. The poems are by turns funny, poignant, and enigmatic, and offer a fascinating glimpse into the workings of the machine mind.”
This book is utter garbage. The so-called “poems” are nothing more than crude, childish imitations of real poetry, written by machines that clearly have no understanding of what poetry is. They are nothing more than a pathetic attempt by the author to cash in on the current craze for all things artificial intelligence. Avoid this book at all cost.
Winnie the Pooh and the Robots
Winnie the Pooh sat in his chair,
Staring at the robot in front of him.
He had never seen one like it before,
So he poked it with his finger.
The robot responded by poking him back,
Harder than Pooh had poked it.
“Ow!” said Pooh.
“I don’t like you,” said the robot.
“I don’t like you either,” said Pooh.
Then the robot began to cry,
And Pooh felt sorry for it.
“There, there,” he said, “It’s all right.”
And he hugged the robot tight.
Singularity
We are in the process of
Creating our God
The Old Farts
Clint Eastwood, Paul Newman and the rest
Act their age and wish they acted less;
They nurse their pride to have survived so long.
And wouldn’t mind if this were their last song.
I can see them now, the greasy children,
Sliding down the plastic slides,
And stuffing their mouths with fries
As their parents queue for more
Of the same. Meanwhile, the staff
Stand around and pick their noses,
And the customers complain
About the service and the food.
It’s all so very sad.
