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vallor <
vallor@vallor.earth> wrote:
> On Tue, 11 Jul 2023 17:52:23 -0700, Peter Flass <
peter_flass@yahoo.com>
> wrote in
> <
1355189357.710815914.593934.peter_flass-yahoo.com@news.eternal-
> september.org>:
>
> On Tue, 11 Jul 2023 17:52:23 -0700, Peter Flass <
peter_flass@yahoo.com>
> wrote in
> <
1355189357.710815914.593934.peter_flass-yahoo.com@news.eternal-
> september.org>:
>
>> Dan Espen <
dan1espen@gmail.com> wrote:
>>> Peter Flass <peter_flass@yahoo.com> writes:
>>>
>>>> Just tried ChatGPT. I said "write a short story in the style of
>>>> Lovecraft."
>>>>
>>>>
>>>> I got:
>>>> "In the quaint coastal town of Innsmouth, a sense of foreboding hung
>>>> heavy in the air. The townsfolk, with their bulging eyes and grotesque
>>>> features, whispered of forbidden secrets that lay buried beneath the
>>>> murky depths of the sea.
>>>>
>>>> James Sinclair, an intrepid scholar of the occult, had arrived in
>>>> Innsmouth with a burning curiosity to uncover the truth behind the
>>>> town`s whispered tales. Armed with a notebook and a determined spirit,
>>>> he began his investigation, delving into the town`s dark history."
>>>>
>>>> I`d give it, at best, a C-. "He" knew who Lovecraft was, but the style
>>>> and language doesn`t sound at all close.
>>>
>>> Considering that a machine generated that response, I think that`s
>>> amazing.
>>>
>>> And scary.
>>>
>>>
>> Maybe I should have let it finish.
>
> Prompt:
> "write a story in the style of lovecraft, with eldritch horrors and things
> out of space, in collegiate english"
>
> Results:
>
>
https://chat.openai.com/share/9ea29e8e-85ab-42bc-96ba-bd9a09108374
>
> Note Cc: to comp.ai.shells
>
> _ _ _[ ChatGPT4 ]_ _ _ _
> Amid the echoing chambers of temporal infinity, in a quaint New England
> township of Dunsmith, an event of such singular and unutterable terror
> transpired that, to recount it in full measure, would strain the very
> boundaries of human comprehension and invite unspeakable horrors into the
> minds of those who dare to contemplate it. This account, which I offer
> with profound hesitation and in the spirit of the direst warning, pertains
> to a certain antiquarian, Ephraim Stout, and the profoundly unearthly
> horror that he unwittingly awakened from the ebon abysses of uncharted
> reality.
>
> Stout, a scholar of no small reputation, was known for his fervent and
> obsessive study of obscure cosmic phenomena. He had accumulated an
> impressive array of esoteric manuscripts and cryptic, runic tablets; the
> most notable among these was the notorious "Libro Oscuro," rumored to
> contain wisdom not of this Earth, a chronicle of truths whispered from the
> beyond by the Old Ones themselves, the monstrous deities lurking beyond
> the veil of our known universe. The dusty volumes of his library bore
> testimony to his thirst for knowledge, as dangerous and forbidden as it
> was.
>
> On a night both unfathomably dark and oppressively silent, illuminated
> only by the pallid, silver glow of a baleful gibbous moon, Stout
> discovered a series of cryptic incantations within the eldritch pages of
> the "Libro Oscuro." In his unquenchable thirst for truth, the scholar
> committed the fatal error of uttering aloud the ancient, forbidden verse,
> one that should have remained dormant, confined to the crypt of silence
> forevermore.
>
> Reality wavered and trembled as the dreadful incantations filled the room,
> sounding out in a voice that was far from human, yet born of human folly.
> The solid New England air pulsated, warping in an unholy rhythm, as a tear
> in the very fabric of reality split the darkness, spewing forth a cascade
> of eerie luminescence, a phosphorescent emerald, cold and otherworldly.
>
> From that dire rift emerged horrors so antithetical to terrestrial life
> that to gaze upon them was to teeter on the precipice of madness.
> Amorphous, cyclopean entities, made of darkness and the space between
> stars, oozed through the breach, their bodies a nauseating paradox of
> solid shadow and swirling galaxies. Their single, baleful eyes shone with
> the pitiless indifference of a universe uncaring and uncomprehending of
> human existence.
>
> As the alien horrors descended upon the hapless antiquarian, reality
> twisted and contorted around them. The room extended into infinity, the
> floor replaced by the star-strewn abyss, and the sky transformed into an
> eldritch tapestry depicting cosmic horrors far beyond the comprehension of
> man.
>
> The elder beings moved through our reality as a man might move through
> water, each motion sending ripples through the world, distorting and
> reshaping. Their ghastly whispers filled the air, recounting
> incomprehensible truths of the universe that rendered human knowledge
> insignificant.
>
> In his final moments, Stout felt the horrifying comprehension of our
> universe`s insignificance, an infinitesimal speck amidst an infinity of
> galaxies, peopled by beings older than time, entities who held existence
> within the palm of their monstrous, nebulous forms. His mind, unable to
> process the monstrous truth, fractured under the strain, shattering into a
> million shards of lunacy.
>
> With the culmination of Stout`s descent into madness, the beings withdrew,
> dissolving back into the rift with a nauseating slither. In their wake,
> they left behind a man broken, a library touched by eldritch influences,
> and an echo of their malevolent whispers, forever imprinted on the walls
> of Dunsmith.
>
> To this day, those who wander into the house, now left abandoned, tell
> tales of eerie whispers and a chilling presence, a lurking horror waiting
> in the dark corners of the mind. Thus stands a warning to those who seek
> knowledge best left undiscovered, for the universe is old and vast, and we
> are but insects in the face of its eldritch truths.
> _ _ _ _ _ _ _
>
> Again, Cc: comp.ai.shells
Better, but still only a C+/B-
--
Pete
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