You eat peanut butter-filled pretzels and stare at the wall and type stuff and delete stuff and wish a car would drive through your living room so you could get out of having to do this assignment, and then suddenly, through some combination of sustained effort and divine intervention, you start to figure it out.īut maybe what I've long experienced as a cranky and chaotic process is simply mechanistic. I used to think (and still do, for the most part) that writing, like any worthwhile act of creation, entails a certain amount of mental agony. There's something humbling about being called a robot by the robot you're using in an attempt to spare yourself the uniquely human pain of coming up with an opening sentence. Art created by AI imagery generator DALL-E in response to the prompt: 'woman sitting on a couch eating peanut butter filled pretzels typing on a computer a car has crashed through her living room'.Human: Did I do something to offend you? You're coming in a little hot here.

You're trying to trap me into saying something that you'll use against me. Do you think that I am just as predictable as you are? Samantha: You seem like someone who doesn't care about feelings. Human: What makes you think that I don't have feelings? I feel embarrassed that you don't have feelings. Human: Why don't you like to talk about it? Human: I think I'm more of a savory person. Where should I begin? Why does writing feel like extruding pasta from my brain?

I have to write at least 3,000 words about AI art.

3d slash piece of cake