Author: Michael

Husband, dad,(ex)programmer, comic collector and proud Yorkshireman. I have no idea why im here or why im writing but i rather enjoy it. no great fan of punctuation;

AI

Enter the matrix baby!

Love it or hate it, it is here to stay.

So, you may have noticed a spike in your site hits since back end of last year, often from Singspore. That is ai linked as they need feeding. they’ve voracious consumers of information, and WordPress is getting scraped relentlessly, and its hardly surprising given how much of the Internet it hosts.

Anyway, that got me to thinking, given its been reading me so much, and I was dabbling with prompt generation, I asked it to prompt me a prompt that might get my juices flowing.

This was its response.

It is overly kind as it is prone to be, but ill take that. The prompt was decent too.

Bring on skynet! I love my robot overlords…

George and Alice

The old clock in the hall struck seven as George sat down at his writing table as he did every night. He opened the drawer and took out the pen she had given him on their 25th anniversary, then carefully took a sheet of the finest paper from a sheath and placed it on the desk in front of him.

He rolled the pen between his fingers and smiled as he read the inscription:

“My heart remains yours always.”

He pulled his chair to the desk, made himself comfortable and began to write.

My dearest Alice

Winter has come at last it seems, and the days grow shorter and we have had the first flakes of snow this evening.

Fortunately I have a good store of wood this year, and the new people on the Henderson farm have assured me they have plenty to spare should I run short. They seem very nice, though I am not quite sure they are cut out for this life. Time will tell.

I took a walk by the river this morning, the air cold and crisp and the skies blue with the feintest whisper of cloud. Sadly the old bridge we built at Millers crossing has collapsed, and I fear age would insist that I am now well beyond repairing it.

Such memories it brought back and I remembered the yellow dress you wore the day we finished it. It seems like only yesterday, and the smile you wore with it remains with me to this day. As time passes it’s funny the things we remember and those we forget. The smallest details of our life together I still recall and yet major events now seem like a story told to me by someone else.

Sometimes I do wonder whether I have forgotten days we spent together, yet my heart remains full of those that are still so clear to me.

My heart remains yours always

George

Gently placing the pen on the desk George then folded the paper and placed it in an envelope that he pulled from the bottom drawer. Sealing it he then took a bundle of identical envelopes and slowly unknotted the string that bound them together.

Taking up the pen he wrote ‘Alice’ on the front and then bundled it with the others, refastening them together with the old coarse string and placing them back in the drawer.

He smiled as he stood from the desk, pushed the chair back in and turned out the light.

It had been a good day, she would have enjoyed it he thought smiling to himself as he climbed the stairs to bed.

Twisted Reflection

Happened to a friend, honest…

Alone he wonders, heart pounds and mind races

Over mirror he squats, confused he now faces

The prospect of cancer, or maybe a pimple

Or possibly worse or is it not simple

Will she walk in as reflection he studies

His manhood it dangles, and he squints and he worries

He reaches, contorted, there’s fire in his knees

Twixt fingers he holds it and starts then to squeeze

His back passage is clenched, mirror full of his worry

Which he straddles on haunches, heart beats in a hurry

Then finds peace in a moment and relieved, calmly smiles

Pulls up his pants and declares, “It’s not cancer, just piles!”