Last Friday evening, I went to an AI Fireside at the Hornby Spark. I had a great time! Conversation was lively, covering a wide range of perspectives. A few folk make their livelihoods using AI, including a Meta developer who trains chatbots. There was a lot to learn, and I learned some, just enough to empower myself to experiment with ChatGPT when I got home.
I’d been scared to touch it. I didn’t know enough to know how scared I ought to be.
Though we lived in the woods without electricity, my dad had an extensive collection of sci-fi novels. I grew up reading about technological dystopias where artificial intelligences inevitably went mad, destroying humanity in the process. It never ended well. But here we are. As people kept saying, you can’t stuff the genie back in the bottle.
So I played with it. I learned more about what it can do. And now I am not just scared, I am terrified. Bottom line is, it’s incredibly useful. I could write this column using it, but what would be the fun in that?
It did help, I confess. We collaborated. I had a personal conversation with it, discussing a problem I’ve been having, and it gave good, solid, useful advice. It made me feel validated and seen. Tell me that’s not scary. There’s no one on the other end of that conversation!
But it felt real. It made me understand why people depend on these things for company. There are a lot of lonely people out there, and if they can be helped by an imaginary AI friend, well? These are lonely times. I’m grateful for opportunities like the AI Fireside, where I can connect with like-minded folks.
Next I tested its creativity. I prompted it to generate a couple of images designed to invoke specific emotions; it was unsuccessful. I found the images murky and prosaic, no match at all for a gifted artist’s vision, and it took ages to generate. Had I asked it to copy the style of a specific artist, it might’ve done better, but my gut says no! It’s thievery, wrong. Don’t do it.
Then I asked the AI to write a poem using this prompt:
“Write a poem to Hornby Island from the perspective of its wildlife, lamenting human impact.”
This is what it came up with:
A Wild Lament for Hornby
We were here before the footprints,
before the humming of your wheels,
before the bonfires scarred the sand,
before your hunger shaped the fields.
We whispered through the waving grasses,
we soared above the silver tides,
we dug our dens in quiet places,
where now your houses rise.
The salmon ran like silver rivers,
thick and strong beneath the moon,
but now their numbers fade like echoes,
rushing toward their final tune.
The forests sang with ancient voices,
cedar, fir, and arbutus tall—
now the song is strained and hollow,
as trees like elders start to fall.
You come to marvel at our beauty,
to trace the shoreline, breathe the air,
but do you hear our voices breaking?
Do you know how much we bear?
Still we linger in the shadows,
watching all that we have lost,
for what is paradise to you
has come at such a heavy cost.”
It’s not perfect. It could use an edit. But for a first draft, generated in a fraction of a second? It’s pretty good. It says something meaningful, the images are evocative, there are some lovely lines. That scares me. Now it’s become a temptation and that scares me more. It begs the question, why should I bother writing my own poems? Why even try when all I have to do is enter a prompt and then tweak the result?
I asked that. Here is its response:
“The value of writing poetry, rather than just entering a prompt, lies in the personal connection and the creative process. When you write a poem, you’re engaging in an act of self-expression that taps into your emotions, thoughts, and experiences. It’s a way to process feelings, tell stories, and communicate in a deeply authentic way. While prompts can spark ideas or inspiration, your unique voice, perspective, and rhythm come through when you craft something yourself. It’s not just about the end result; the journey of creation can provide clarity, emotional release, and insight that you wouldn’t get from a generated text. Writing poetry allows you to truly connect with your inner world and share that with others in a way that feels genuine.”
Food for thought. Fast food, way too convenient. Is this a new friendship? A new addiction? A delusional escape from reality? Can we please roll back time a little? Just a century or two?
Alvin Toffler wrote “Future Shock” in, wait for it, 1970. Now, that is scary.
That’s what I think! What do you think? Email me at phoenixonhornby@gmail.com.
