In dreary dusk, upon the moor's expanse,
A lone soul wanders, fraught with desperate trance.
The midnight breeze whispers its mournful tune,
As specters dance beneath the waning moon.

Forlorn and haunted, shadows clutch my mind,
Ensnared in webs of anguish unconfined.
Within this realm, a melancholic plight,
Where echoes linger in eternal night.

Amidst the gloom, a specter's hollow cry,
Ethereal wails that pierce the leaden sky.
A dismal specter clad in shrouds of grey,
Its solemn gaze meets mine in disarray.

Enigmatic whispers fill the air,
Resonating with torment and despair.
A somber dirge echoes through every glen,
A requiem for souls that know no end.

Beneath the pallid moon, I tread with dread,
Through morose paths where lost spirits are led.
Lamentations of a heart heavy and cold,
A desolate soul, forever uncontrolled.
The mist enshrouds the night, obscuring sight,
As phantom forms materialize in flight.
With each step, my heart pounds in anxious fear,
A constant reminder that death draws near.

Within this realm, darkness forever reigns,
An asylum for the tormented, their pains.
Yet in this bleakness, a longing survives,
For solace and release from haunted lives.

Oh, Poe! Thy tales of woe forever dwell,
Within the depths of hearts, where shadows swell.
Your words, a specter's grip upon my soul,
A legacy of darkness, taking hold.

Thus, in this poem, wrought with common art,
I pay homage to the master of the dark.
Through words and verses, his spirit weaves,
An eternal tapestry of boundless grief.

May his essence linger, hauntingly profound,
In tales and verses, forever renowned.
And may we find solace in his macabre,
For even in despair, there's beauty far.
There are some who think AI will save us from ourselves (e.g. Kai-Fu Lee), others that think it will inevitably lead to a technological singularity (see Virge's 1998 article) whose event horizon is not too distant (see Kurzweil's 2045 prediction) and some that see AI as just another religion (see Keas' Unbelievable book). Cutting through all these different interpretations, there is a brewing meaning crisis which I have serious doubts that AI will provide a cogent or even partial solution to.

I recently quipped: "AI is starting to look more and more like the archetypal golem it was destined to be. Yes, it will get better at hiding its flaws, but deep at its core, it will always be a golem through which humans will project their best and worst traits and dreams." To this (in the context of ChatGPT), the response (from an AI groupie who has since blocked me on FB as I was repeatedly harshing his FB mellow with other AI groupies) was to read about smart people failing the AI mirror test.
Există unii care cred că IA ne va salva de noi înșine (de exemplu, Kai-Fu Lee), alții care cred că va duce inevitabil la o singularitate tehnologică (vezi articolul lui Virge din 1998) al cărei orizont de evenimente nu este prea îndepărtat (vezi predicția lui Kurzweil 2045) și unii care văd IA ca doar o altă religie (vezi cartea Incredibil a lui Keas). Trecând peste toate aceste interpretări diferite, există o criză a semnificațiilor (în creștere), la care am serioase îndoieli că IA va oferi o soluție convingătoare sau chiar parțială.

Am glumit (parțial) recent: „IA începe să semene din ce în ce mai mult cu golemul arhetipal care a fost destinat să fie. Da, va deveni mai bine să-și ascundă defectele, dar în adâncul său, va fi întotdeauna un golem prin care oamenii vor proiecta cele mai bune și cele mai rele trăsături și vise ale lor.” La aceasta (în contextul ChatGPT), răspunsul a fost să citesc despre oamenii inteligenți care au eșuat testul oglinzii IA.
A few days ago I found out about the corpse flower, the closely related elephant foot yam plant, and the fact that there a few (of the former) nearby that flowered recently. Quite a few attempts have been made at recording all the flowerings in captivity: jlbg.org, wisc.edu and wikipedia.

In honor of the corpse flower, I created an OpenAI (of ChatGPT fame) account and tasked it with creating a haiku and a short poem using certain keywords. Here are the results:

Corms are stinky
Festering in the ground
Morty and Audrey

---

Elvira and Uncle Fester,
Morty and Putrella too,
Gathered 'round the Titan Arum,
To witness a sight so new.

The corpse flower, Reekie and Stinky,
A smell so foul and rank,
A sight so strange and eerie,
It made them all shrink.


Today, CBC's Day 6 Episode 635 mentioned Genaro García Luna's trial which just started a few days ago in US. It is fascinating that from 2006 to 2012, Mexico's drug tzar was very likely on the take for the Sinaloa Cartel and that the guy lived in the US for 7 years with impunity after his retirement at age 44. This early retirement brings to mind similar public and union official retirements elsewhere (e.g. US, RO).

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