Artificial intelligence officially gets scary
- Thread starter Leo
- Start date
Yes I fully agree.
What I mean is that this new Web, the AI, the VR, AR, etc, its different to social media.
It's trying to go beyond that reality of physical, of a screen.
You put your goggles on and what you look like in actuality ceases to matter.
Except, not everyone can afford them.
But maybe we are talking at cross purposes
What I mean is that this new Web, the AI, the VR, AR, etc, its different to social media.
It's trying to go beyond that reality of physical, of a screen.
You put your goggles on and what you look like in actuality ceases to matter.
Except, not everyone can afford them.
But maybe we are talking at cross purposes
It's great reading this and looking at your avatar.
vimothy
yurp
thx bbz
shiels
_
Chomsky:
“The crux of machine learning is description and prediction; it does not posit any causal mechanisms or physical laws. Of course, any human-style explanation is not necessarily correct; we are fallible. But this is part of what it means to think: To be right, it must be possible to be wrong. Intelligence consists not only of creative conjectures but also of creative criticism. Human-style thought is based on possible explanations and error correction, a process that gradually limits what possibilities can be rationally considered. (As Sherlock Holmes said to Dr. Watson, “When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”)
dnyuz.com
“The crux of machine learning is description and prediction; it does not posit any causal mechanisms or physical laws. Of course, any human-style explanation is not necessarily correct; we are fallible. But this is part of what it means to think: To be right, it must be possible to be wrong. Intelligence consists not only of creative conjectures but also of creative criticism. Human-style thought is based on possible explanations and error correction, a process that gradually limits what possibilities can be rationally considered. (As Sherlock Holmes said to Dr. Watson, “When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”)
Noam Chomsky: The False Promise of ChatGPT
Jorge Luis Borges once wrote that to live in a time of great peril and promise is to experience both
dnyuz.com
mixed_biscuits
_________________________
Chat GPT's latest incarnation is ridic
Mr. Tea
Shub-Niggurath, Please
Email I got from my brother today:
"Have you played with the ChatGPT stuff at all? It's terrifying (in terms of abilities and power). Example:
Can you write me a short story in a couple of pages about a protagonist called Oliver set in a lovecraftian horror victorian city where a great and unfathomable old one called The Snoo is hunting for Olivers sanity by terrorising him at night with his feelers. Make it as dark as possible. The story should complete over one night.
First attempt:
Oliver stumbled through the dark, foggy streets of Victorian London, his heart racing with fear. He had always been a skeptic, dismissing the stories of the supernatural as the ramblings of the insane. But tonight, he was forced to confront the unthinkable. The Snoo, a great and unfathomable old one, was hunting him, terrorizing him at night with its writhing feelers, determined to drive him to madness.
Oliver had first encountered The Snoo in his dreams. At first, it was just a vague presence, a feeling of unease that lingered in his mind. But as the nights wore on, it became more and more tangible. He began to see glimpses of it, a mass of writhing tentacles and eyes that seemed to follow him wherever he went. And then, it started to speak to him, in a voice that sounded like the grinding of stones.
Oliver tried to ignore it, to rationalize it away as a trick of his mind. But it was always there, lurking in the corners of his consciousness, waiting for him to let his guard down. And tonight, it had finally broken through.
As Oliver stumbled through the empty streets, he could feel The Snoo's feelers brushing against his mind, probing for weakness. He tried to resist, to hold onto his sanity, but it was slipping away from him like sand through his fingers.
He stumbled into an alleyway, hoping to find some respite from The Snoo's relentless assault. But it was waiting for him there, its tentacles coiling around him like a boa constrictor. He screamed, but no sound escaped his lips. The Snoo had stolen his voice, leaving him helpless and alone.
In the darkness, Oliver saw flashes of otherworldly landscapes, of cities that defied imagination and creatures that defied description. He saw things that no mortal was meant to see, things that would drive a weaker man to madness. And yet, somehow, he clung to his sanity, fighting back against The Snoo's onslaught.
And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. The Snoo released him, slithering back into the shadows, leaving Oliver alone and trembling in the dark. He stumbled back out onto the street, gasping for air, grateful to be alive.
As he walked home, Oliver realized that he could never go back to the life he had before. The Snoo had changed him, marked him as one of its own. He knew that it would come for him again, and when it did, he would be ready.
Second attempt (just copy/pasted the same initial sentence again to get a different answer):
Oliver sat alone in his dimly lit study, surrounded by books on the occult and esoteric lore. He had always been fascinated by the dark and mysterious, but tonight he was about to discover that his curiosity had led him down a path from which there was no return.
It was the dead of night, and the only sounds that could be heard were the creaking of the old house and the rustling of the autumn leaves outside. Oliver had been studying for hours, lost in thought and completely unaware of the danger that was lurking just beyond his reach.
Suddenly, he felt a strange presence in the room, as if something was watching him from the shadows. He looked around, but there was nothing there. He shook his head and went back to his books, trying to shake off the feeling of unease that was creeping up on him.
But then he felt it again, a cold, clammy touch on the back of his neck. He spun around in his chair, but once again, there was nothing there. He knew he was alone in the room, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was there, something that should not be.
As the night wore on, the presence grew stronger and more menacing. Oliver could feel the weight of it on his chest, suffocating him with its malevolent energy. He tried to scream, but his voice was caught in his throat.
Suddenly, he saw them. Long, spindly feelers, like those of a giant spider, creeping towards him from the darkness. He knew what they were, or rather, who they were. The Snoo, the great and unfathomable old one that had haunted his dreams for months.
Oliver tried to run, but his legs were like lead. He could feel The Snoo's tentacles wrapping around his mind, pulling him closer and closer to the brink of insanity.
As the night wore on, Oliver's mind was slowly consumed by the darkness. The Snoo's feelers probed and prodded at his thoughts, tearing away at his sanity like a pack of hungry wolves.
By dawn, Oliver was a shell of his former self, his mind shattered beyond repair. The Snoo had claimed another victim, adding one more name to its ever-growing list of souls lost to the abyss of madness."
"Have you played with the ChatGPT stuff at all? It's terrifying (in terms of abilities and power). Example:
Can you write me a short story in a couple of pages about a protagonist called Oliver set in a lovecraftian horror victorian city where a great and unfathomable old one called The Snoo is hunting for Olivers sanity by terrorising him at night with his feelers. Make it as dark as possible. The story should complete over one night.
First attempt:
Oliver stumbled through the dark, foggy streets of Victorian London, his heart racing with fear. He had always been a skeptic, dismissing the stories of the supernatural as the ramblings of the insane. But tonight, he was forced to confront the unthinkable. The Snoo, a great and unfathomable old one, was hunting him, terrorizing him at night with its writhing feelers, determined to drive him to madness.
Oliver had first encountered The Snoo in his dreams. At first, it was just a vague presence, a feeling of unease that lingered in his mind. But as the nights wore on, it became more and more tangible. He began to see glimpses of it, a mass of writhing tentacles and eyes that seemed to follow him wherever he went. And then, it started to speak to him, in a voice that sounded like the grinding of stones.
Oliver tried to ignore it, to rationalize it away as a trick of his mind. But it was always there, lurking in the corners of his consciousness, waiting for him to let his guard down. And tonight, it had finally broken through.
As Oliver stumbled through the empty streets, he could feel The Snoo's feelers brushing against his mind, probing for weakness. He tried to resist, to hold onto his sanity, but it was slipping away from him like sand through his fingers.
He stumbled into an alleyway, hoping to find some respite from The Snoo's relentless assault. But it was waiting for him there, its tentacles coiling around him like a boa constrictor. He screamed, but no sound escaped his lips. The Snoo had stolen his voice, leaving him helpless and alone.
In the darkness, Oliver saw flashes of otherworldly landscapes, of cities that defied imagination and creatures that defied description. He saw things that no mortal was meant to see, things that would drive a weaker man to madness. And yet, somehow, he clung to his sanity, fighting back against The Snoo's onslaught.
And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. The Snoo released him, slithering back into the shadows, leaving Oliver alone and trembling in the dark. He stumbled back out onto the street, gasping for air, grateful to be alive.
As he walked home, Oliver realized that he could never go back to the life he had before. The Snoo had changed him, marked him as one of its own. He knew that it would come for him again, and when it did, he would be ready.
Second attempt (just copy/pasted the same initial sentence again to get a different answer):
Oliver sat alone in his dimly lit study, surrounded by books on the occult and esoteric lore. He had always been fascinated by the dark and mysterious, but tonight he was about to discover that his curiosity had led him down a path from which there was no return.
It was the dead of night, and the only sounds that could be heard were the creaking of the old house and the rustling of the autumn leaves outside. Oliver had been studying for hours, lost in thought and completely unaware of the danger that was lurking just beyond his reach.
Suddenly, he felt a strange presence in the room, as if something was watching him from the shadows. He looked around, but there was nothing there. He shook his head and went back to his books, trying to shake off the feeling of unease that was creeping up on him.
But then he felt it again, a cold, clammy touch on the back of his neck. He spun around in his chair, but once again, there was nothing there. He knew he was alone in the room, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was there, something that should not be.
As the night wore on, the presence grew stronger and more menacing. Oliver could feel the weight of it on his chest, suffocating him with its malevolent energy. He tried to scream, but his voice was caught in his throat.
Suddenly, he saw them. Long, spindly feelers, like those of a giant spider, creeping towards him from the darkness. He knew what they were, or rather, who they were. The Snoo, the great and unfathomable old one that had haunted his dreams for months.
Oliver tried to run, but his legs were like lead. He could feel The Snoo's tentacles wrapping around his mind, pulling him closer and closer to the brink of insanity.
As the night wore on, Oliver's mind was slowly consumed by the darkness. The Snoo's feelers probed and prodded at his thoughts, tearing away at his sanity like a pack of hungry wolves.
By dawn, Oliver was a shell of his former self, his mind shattered beyond repair. The Snoo had claimed another victim, adding one more name to its ever-growing list of souls lost to the abyss of madness."
woops
is not like other people
i think your brother has been training the AI on your blog
Mr. Tea
Shub-Niggurath, Please
Well at least someone - or something - has read it then, I suppose.