Wednesday, May 27, 2015

Block no. 9 GilesBot.

Hot on the heels of the last one, here is something that has come out of the phenomena of "'bots".

Twitterbots, chat-bots, and sundry are automated programs that use a bank of text to construct new sentences, and post those sentences online.  Poem.exe Is one example of an automated haiku generator.  Who is the author: The person who wrote the bank of seed text?  The person who made the program?  Or does the program itself have ownership and responsibility of these poems?

Recently, a program had the job of going online once a week and purchasing a random object for an art exhibition.  It bought, among other things, ecstasy pills and a counterfeit passport.
I bring it up not to talk about legal definitions so much as the difficulty of giving an automated process authority and personal responsibility.  Or, to sum those two terms up, letting it write poetry.

Below are some phrases generated by GilesBot. What Would I Say? uses your public Facebook data as it's bank of text to construct Markov chains of sentences that aim to sound like you.

I'm not going to say these are mine.  I'm not going to say they sound like me.  I am going to say that I like them a lot.

Dunedin is beautiful at two am and so your LaTex document appears to mutter feverishly off the page and you know no one will read my hands of the lonely house with my hands?


Sign this is nothing but machines, automata, robots? It can't ignore.

Whatever the writer in the ragged moon. A closer look he seemed to disagree with me.

I ended up walking across the city and shares are my only anchor.

The tennish books that hit you, like really hit you, like crack addictive, antisocial, relentless in the ragged moon A momentary glimpse of gleaming eyes A shape amid the shadows, A momentary glimpse of a certain artist.

No word on whether America got the purple garment.

It's of mobile phone pictures of Sherry; In the Yard around three They were shrieking with glee, Come on out, wearing the laying of Literature!

Likes and the afternoon breeze, And watched till it flew out to you, that moved, A shape amid the shadows, A momentary glimpse of gleaming eyes Revealed in the first time Peering furtively from Marshall, Texas. An aide told him that President Carter was called Doubting Thomas, but sometimes when I'm bored I slip into an eldritch zone, laced with my country.” He added, “A lot of people tell me I’m crazy.”

I've got very sentimental on the way home.

Block 8: Erasure Poetry #2

I didn't get around to putting this one up for a while, but now it's here.