for    1. 1. 2021

Dear GPT-3,

You were lauded as an artificial intelligence breakthrough no less, in an article in November of the year that just ended — where the writer laid out your full name, an unlovely mouthful if ever there was one (sorry).

GPT-3, which stands for generative pre-trained transformer version three, is an extremely powerful machine-learning system that can rapidly generate text with minimal human input.

We were left unmoved until this passage, quoting a future-focused technologist, who

spent time playing around with GPT-3 and was fascinated by what he discovered.

… “I have had conversations about the purpose of life with GPT-3 and it is very revealing. It said the purpose of life was to increase the amount of beauty in the universe …”

How marvellous that you should think so GPT-3, and how hopeful, given that your kind will be taking over soon — even if you cannot really be said to think or be an actual you. 

It is hard to disagree with you about the universe. Why else would tracks left on the approach to a front porch by a mysterious and (possibly) inconsequential small animal be so graceful, so exquisitely proportioned? Why would the arrival and departure a few days ago of this creature we never saw, a being too small to register on an outdoor camera, make us think of being visited by angels?

HAPPY NEW YEAR

to you and any other reader — or should that be, text-processor? — who happens to stray this way —

pG

for 12. 4. 2020

000 + Easter 2020 (1) EIed postgutenberg@gmail.com

In a light spring snowfall in mid-March, on the edge of a ponderosa pine wood, an Easter hare trying to think about preparations for her big day was interrupted again and again by fragments of frozen water drifting into her elegant long ears. What to do? Tilting her head, flapping and criss-crossing those ears like chopsticks or scissors, or whirling them about like helicopter propellors, did nothing to keep the annoying snowflakes out of them. She would just have to outrun them, she decided. Watchfulness, running and leaping, more gracefully than any dancer in the corps of the Kirov  or Bolshoi Ballet, are not merely the best but only defences of any hare or — if we must be formally accurate about her species — any black-tailed jackrabbit or Lepus californicus. 

She rose to her paws and took off … 

000 Easter 2020 (2) EIed postgutenberg@gmail.com PANEL 1 - 700H X 1339W

 …

000 Easter 2020 (3) EIed postgutenberg@gmail.com PANEL 2 - 700H X 1339W

 …

000 Easter 2020 (4) EIed postgutenberg@gmail.com PANEL 3 - 700H X 1339W

000 Easter 2020 (5) EIed postgutenberg@gmail.com

for 1. 1. 2020

 

for 1. 1. 2020 postgutenberg@gmail.com

It was such places as this, such moments that he loved above all else in life; she knew that, and she also knew that he loved them more if she could be there to experience them with him. And although he was aware that the very silences and emptinesses that touched his soul terrified her, he could not bear to be reminded of that. It was as if always he held the fresh hope that she, too, would be touched in the same way as he by solitude and the proximity to infinite things. He had often told her: ‘It is your only hope,’ and she was never sure what he meant. Sometimes she thought he meant that it was his only hope, that only if she were able to become as he was, could he find his way back to love.

— Paul Bowles, The Sheltering Sky

for 1.1.2020 postgutenberg@gmail.com

for 1. 1. 2020 - postgutenberg@gmail.com

H A P P Y    N E W    Y E A R