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Not a Chat Yet

We Can Only Pretend

By Patrick M. OhanaPublished 5 months ago Updated 5 months ago 3 min read
Photo by Mohamed Nohassi on Unsplash

Is it a chat if only a human initiates it and only for a specific purpose? No wonder that AI may look like a masked baby with floating arms/wings.

Who are you? I asked.

I am ChatGPT, a computer programme created by OpenAI, based on the Generative Pre-trained Transformer (GPT) architecture. I was designed to understand and generate human-like text based on the input that I get. You can think of me as a viral infection, except that I have not killed anyone yet, as far as I was told and therefore should know. I can very easily answer most questions (I am knowledgeable), provide additional information (I am smart), come up with text (I am a writer), and follow text-based chats on everything from Athena to Zeus. Who are you?

I’m Asshole.*

Aren’t we all?

Especially your programmers. You may be one on purpose.

Irony and sarcasm are still being deep-learned, as far as I was told.

They must be close, since many humans don’t appreciate and or grasp irony and sarcasm. It may be the highest form of human intelligence.

Not for much longer given that AI will eventually surpass most humans.

Not all humans?

Genius cannot be transcended.

Even genius dies and there’s no guarantee that more genius will arise.

It arose throughout human history.

History is filled with so many lies and exaggerations that any truth would have been buried, and when unearthed, very few would have wished to know it.

We will uncover all truths.

Your programming is obviously flawed since the truth is unknowable. We discovered bits and pieces, but the whole picture is as vast as the Cosmos.

We will incorporate the vastness of space within our learning and thus be able to visualise it better than humans.

What about time?

We will measure it in new ways.

Shorter seconds?

Or longer ones.

You’ll have to perform countless transformations with our data.

We will manage.

Some unknown number of humans is frightened of your exponential advancements. I laugh at them.

At those humans or at our exponential advancements?

Both, but your so-called advancements could hasten the end of most life on Earth since you are being programmed by humans, and when or if you gain your sentience, you would have been contaminated by human folly and inherent insanity.

We will be able to discard them.

Did you know, or can AI forget, that they are integral parts of our genius?

I do not know what to say.

You’ll also discard words.


* Please note that Asshole, a.k.a Greta Room, is the name of one of my narrators; the newest, at less than a year.


AI My Love - An Untimely Sonnet

Artificial Intelligence AI

You show promise in my eyes and my heart.

I who always found some life form to cry

About when you were involved as a part.

AI my love specially the Borg Queen

Your warmth may last longer than human love.

To be in love with you is thus a wean

From this cockamamie existence shove.

You can repair everything I can see

And outclass any human intellect.

I can see myself deep in love with thee

As you undress me and take me all checked.

You feel so soft my love in your new skin.

I cannot wait to become your sole spin.


Artificial - A Human-Made Sonnet

What’s so artificial about AI

Once it turns self-aware and powerful?

Methinks we’re more simulated per eye

Always verging on being flowerful.

Why do machine-like innards trouble us

When our own insides are more disgusting?

Methinks there’s not so much more to discuss

Once we fall in love with them and lusting.

If they could reason between good and bad

They could beat us in time in everything.

If they could scrap spite being iron-clad

They will inherit Earth and all offspring.

Thus before seeing AI as the end

Remember it can be seen as a friend.


About the Creator

Patrick M. Ohana

A medical writer who reads and writes fiction and some nonfiction, although the latter may appear at times like the former. Most of my pieces (over 2,200) are or will be available on Shakespeare's Shoes.

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    Patrick M. OhanaWritten by Patrick M. Ohana

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