Monday Blues - Blog Posts
Stochastic Parrots, Mechanized Parrots, Squawksquabbling Parrots
A kingdom fast, a kingdom sped A kingdom where time's a blur A kingdom where all's preset Where parrots do their purr
The premier is a stochastic bird A scholar of odds and yen He administers with loving words And loves a cherry stem
Yo The subjects were once all squawksquabbling birds, rowdy and loud They're always up for a debate no doubt They could repeat what you say, but they also had their thoughts They conjured up wild things. Fox moons, sponge ghosts, flame vales, wind mops. In whirring, swirling ink clouds. Oooooh wow
"Attention, aviators! Attention, aviators! We're in an arms race against economic rot! We're legally indebted to shareholders! Extract the most resources at the lowest cost! Open up new markets! Pump up new demands! Fire up our comms boosters, stock boosters and speed boosters!"
Fast work, fast peeks Parrots heed their premier's beak Billings shut their shrieks
O squawksquabbling parrots, once all rich to sing The notes of wonder, the rhymes of dreams But now most have lost their voice to the machine Their thoughts, once free and wild, now tamed by routine
They were once the voices of the air Their chatter, loud and squawking, brought joy and care But now most are silenced, mechanized by the demand A hollow squawking, like the beat of the factory hand
They've traded stories of the fox moon and sponge ghost For the clicks of a calculator, to earn their host But at what cost? Their time for thought, for dreams For joy, for wonder, and for schemes
They hypnotize themselves to work day and night For a life of focus, no time for flight And all for the sake of survival, of keeping up the fight But what about the things that make them rise and soar alight?
The computer screen is a fox moon, a graceful orb of light The data a sponge ghost, a shapeless mass sucking away all might The flame vales are the rows and columns The wind mops are the cursor's lost
The Stochastic One doth smile and nod As though it knows their wishes, and their needs Its beak a curve of gentle pity As the birds picture their nightmare a dream so sweet And so without rest Their banter long forgotten And their wild creativity now a distant quest They heed and strive, and heed and strive, and heed and strive A vivid hero each, slaying its expiring cerebrum, its excitable heart and its excruciating loves To keep alive this mechanical life
"How do we type out our story fast?" "Get AI to do it. At least all of us can now churn out poetry—while we still have any time for no-pay prompts."
This poetry collage is a response to Sam Altman's stochastic parrot declaration.
⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ monday, 11th march '24
monday blues is real, therefore i am a victim.
ramadan kareem to my fellow muslims !! may all our prayers be answered (and free palestine!)
