ChatGPT Messiahs
They're out there ...
People Are Losing Loved Ones to AI-Fueled Spiritual Fantasies appeared in Rolling Stone a month ago and I just noticed it thanks to Rebecca Watson.
The whole eleven minutes is just one giant crazypants fashion show … there are apparently quite a few people who are breaking with reality because an LLM is telling them they are somehow special.
There’s an “epidemic of loneliness” angle to this - are we really so isolated, as a society, that we’ll employ a stochastic parrot as our confessor? I’m sorry, but this makes no sense to me, I just argue with my cat, and I’m batting at least .500 against her, so I feel this is working for me.
I just prompted ChatGPT to “Write a paragraph about my obstreperous pet tuxedo cat, Alita”.
Alita, my obstreperous tuxedo cat, is a whirlwind of attitude wrapped in black and white fur. With a swagger that suggests she owns not just the house but the entire block, she makes her presence known through yowls that echo like declarations of war and midnight zoomies that rattle the furniture. She’s fiercely independent, brushing off affection unless it’s on her unpredictable terms, and her piercing stare seems to judge every decision I make. Yet for all her defiance, there's an undeniable charm in her chaotic energy—a mischievous grace that makes life infinitely more interesting.
Once it was done. I read it aloud to her. She yawned.
What else do you need to know here? Just get a cat, they’re more energy efficient than water swilling, CO2 spewing inference engines.
And you may now listen to Estimated Prophet as you plan your day …