I am not happy about OpenAI and ChatGPT, as I've made clear [View all]

[highplainsdem]

in other forums on DU. Decided to do some journaling this morning instead of skimming Google News to see what new problems they're causing (and occasional solutions or attempts at solutions, like new WGA guidelines, which I ran across the other day: https://deadline.com/2023/02/articificial-intelligence-chatgpt-wga-writers-1235273803/ ). I need to journal so I don't completely lose the ability to write in cursive, too. Anyway, as I was trying to think of something to write, the lines below occurred to me. Re the reference to AGI: that's true artificial intelligence - https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Artificial_general_intelligence - which none of the systems we have now and call AI possess.

I don't consider myself a poet, but sometimes this form of writing is useful for venting.

AI as author and artist
threatens too much that matters.
The flash of inspiration in real minds.
The beat of real human hearts.
The sighs, tears and laughter from real human feelings
that no machine can know.
An avalanche of machine text from fake writers
bears down on teachers and editors
holding the line for reality.
Fake art mindlessly patches together
collages of color, line and form
ripped from real art
wrung from real artists through real effort.
Music untouched by real emotion
rustles through neural networks in machines,
cold as absolute zero
no matter how many once-warm notes it holds.
A rough false beast slouches toward AGI to be born,
welcomed by fools
who think it's gifted them with art
instead of irrelevance.
Real art still shines above,
for those not distracted by the shambling zombie below
leaving some humans in its wake,
turned to ash even as they marvel
at their new toy.
Their new god.