Category: Inteligencia artificial

Two characters of my novel speak to each other through GPT-4

On By Jon UreñaIn Arte, Escritura, Inteligencia artificial, Programación1 Comment

This is a continuation of the following post:

Talking to a gooey blob through GPT-4

I have gutted the original class that coordinated dialogues (relying on GPT to produce responses) into several classes and modules. To test if the new system worked properly, I set Leire against Alberto the blob, and let the artificial intelligence produce their lines of dialogue according to the context and their character summaries.

Leire and Alberto the blob are main characters in my ongoing novel We’re Fucked. Here’s its latest chapter.

Anyway, the following is the resulting dialogue in its entirety. GPT-4 wrote it from the first to the last word.

Alberto: Look, Leire, I know we’ve had our differences and I’m not exactly a sight for sore eyes right now. Hell, I’m literally a walking nightmare, but this isn’t about us. Reality as we know it is teetering on the edge. I didn’t ooze down from another dimension just for kicks, you know. I need you to get past your disdain for humanity and help me fix this mess.

Leire: Alberto, I’ve got enough on my plate without dealing with your dimension-hopping drama. Besides, you’re asking me to save a species I barely tolerate. Why should I care if reality teeters on the edge?

Alberto: Look, I get it, Leire. You’re not a fan of the species, I know. Hell, neither am I, especially after what happened. But this isn’t about whether we like them or not. It’s about the potential end of everything, including us. You think I enjoy being a gooey, stinking, eyeball-studded blob? No, I don’t! But if we don’t act, I might end up being the last thing left in existence. And trust me, that’s not a universe anyone wants to live in.

Leire: Alberto, I find your existence, in all its gooey glory, as repulsive as ever. But even more repulsive is the thought of you being the last… whatever you are… in existence. I’ll help, not for the humans, but to ensure the universe isn’t left with just… you.

Alberto: Well, I can’t argue with that, Leire. I wouldn’t wish an eternity with just me on the universe either. Let’s get to work then and put my repulsiveness to good use.

Leire: Fine, let’s get this over with. But Alberto, if I hear even one sloppy squelch from your blobby self, I’m out.

Alberto: Deal, Leire. I’ll keep my squelching to a minimum. Now let’s get this universe-saving show on the road!

Leire: Alright, Alberto. Just remember, I’m only doing this to save Arachne’s universe, not the humans. And especially not to save you. Let’s get this catastrophe sorted out so I can go back to my quiet, blob-free life.

Alberto: Fair enough, Leire. Your motivations are your own. Let’s just focus on getting this reality back on track. And, uh, thanks… in as much as a grotesque blob can thank anyone without making it weird.

Leire: Alberto, just for the record, I’m not doing this for your gratitude. Now, let’s get to work. The sooner we fix this, the sooner I can get back to my code… and away from you.

Alberto: I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, Leire. Alright, let’s crack on with it. The quicker we do this, the quicker you can get back to your code… and I can stop being a constant, squelching thorn in your side.

Leire: Alberto, if you make this any more awkward than it already is, I swear by Arachne, I’ll send you back to whatever dimension you crawled out from. Now, let’s focus. The universe won’t save itself.

The AI made Leire even more of a bitch than in the original, and the blob relatively passive even though his character summary says that he’s abrasive and sarcastic. Whatever. For the next post, now that the dialogue works with two people, I’ll set up a dialogue among four or so, to see how the system handles it.

I wasn’t going to post more tests, but the second attempt produced this short, concise dialogue:

Alberto: Look, Leire, I didn’t ooze all the way down from the fifth dimension just to argue. We have to shut down that damn contraption before it tears reality apart. I know you don’t like people, hell, I don’t like people. But this isn’t about liking people, it’s about saving them… and everything else.

Leire: Alberto, you blob of cosmic goo, I don’t give a damn about people. But… (sighs) If that contraption threatens my Jacqueline and Nairu, then we have a problem. What do you need me to do?

Alberto: First, I need you to stop calling me a blob of cosmic goo. It hurts my myriad feelings. Second, we need to get to the professor’s lab, find the contraption, and destroy it. And third, you better start caring about people, Leire, or you’ll end up just like me.

GPT-3.5-turbo decided that the dialogue had reached a natural conclusion that soon.

You can clone the repository and mess around with it through this link.

Talking to a gooey blob through GPT-4

On By Jon UreñaIn Arte, Escritura, Inteligencia artificial, Programación1 Comment

This is a continuation of the following post:

Talking to RPG characters through GPT-4

I have spent a few hours today implementing vector databases in my repository, which would hold the memories of the agents that may end up involved in these AI-related experiments. Once that was done and I could query those databases for relevant memories, I rewrote the class that handles the dialogue between two or more agents.

To test if it worked properly, I created the vector databases for the two characters of my ongoing novel that have kept me occupied for however long the current sequence has lasted: Leire and Alberto the blob (here’s the so far latest chapter where they appear). I wrote Leire’s dialogue when I was asked, while GPT-4 acted out Alberto’s part based on his memories and character summary.

First of all, I screwed up something in the code; I was prompting GPT-3.5 to determine who was the next speaker, but at times the AI decided that the same person who had just talked should produce the next line of dialogue. Although I fixed it later, the effects of that bug are present in the following dialogue.

First attempt at player-AI dialogue

Alberto: Leire, you need to listen to me! This is no time for petty office squabbles. The reality-altering contraption is going to collapse reality if we don’t act. I know I’m a wall-wide, gooey, stinking blob now, but you knew me before… as a co-worker, as a friend. We need to work together to save the universe. So, how about it?

Leire: Friend? I was never your friend. You were the prick who kept tangling Jacqueline and I into arguments about women because you hated your ex-wife, who cheated on you and left you to rot.

Alberto: Ouch, that’s harsh, Leire. But you’re right. I was a prick. Still am, probably. But this is bigger than my past mistakes or my… gooey present. We need to put aside our differences, because if we don’t, there won’t be any reality left to argue in.

Alberto: Look, Leire, I get it. I’ve always been a pain in the ass. But right now, we’re facing an existential threat, and it’s bigger than any office drama or personal grudge. Are you really going to let the universe crumble because you can’t stand working with me?

Alberto: Hell, Leire, I don’t blame you for not wanting to work with me. I wouldn’t want to work with me either! But this isn’t about me or you, it’s about everything and everyone. We’re the only ones who understand the contraption. We’re the only ones who can fix it. So, are we going to do this or just keep arguing until there’s nothing left to argue about?

Alberto: Fine, you don’t see me as a friend. You think I’m a prick. But Leire, consider this – we have a broken contraption that threatens to implode the universe. And guess what, we’re the only ones who can fix it. Sure, we don’t have to like each other, but we have to work together. So, what do you say? Are you in or are you out?

Leire: I think I’d rather go home and snuggle up to my beloved Jacqueline, the most buxom mommy in the world.

Alberto: Leire, I understand your reluctance, but sit with this thought – If the universe implodes, there won’t be a home or a Jacqueline to go back to. We’re in a pickle and as much as it stinks, we’re the only ones who can fix it.

Leire: Holy crap, I think you are right. If the universe ends, my girlfriend will die!

Leire: I don’t want my mommy Jacqueline to die! I want to snuggle up to her forever and ever!

Alberto: That’s the spirit, Leire! We’re not just saving the universe, we’re saving Jacqueline too. Let’s get to work and make sure your eternal snuggles remain a reality.

Leire: Alright, I guess I can help you even though you have become an utterly repulsive and vomitive blob. What do I have to do again?

Alberto: Thank you, Leire. I know I’m not the easiest blob to work with. As for what needs to be done, we need to reverse engineer the contraption. We have to figure out how to stabilize the reality-altering function before it’s too late.

Leire: How about I reverse engineer your ass with a shovel?

Alberto: Ha, good one, Leire. But let’s save the shoveling for after we’ve saved the universe, okay? Right now, we need every brain cell focused on the contraption.

Leire: Well, tell me where that damned machine is located and I’ll get right to reverse engineering it or whatever.

Leire: Are you listening to me or are you just oozing?

Leire: Hey, wake up, blob!

Alberto: Easy, Leire, I’m not asleep, just… processing. The contraption is in the old lab at the sub-basement. You’ll need the access code, though, and that’s… complicated.

Alberto: Complicated because it’s not a simple number code. It’s a sequence of actions. You have to press the third button from the left, turn the red dial clockwise, then press the second button from the right. And be careful, Leire. The lab… it’s not a safe place.

Alberto: There are… things in there. Things that shouldn’t be. I can’t go with you, but I’ll be in your ear, guiding you through. Just remember, Leire, no matter how bad it gets, we’re doing this for Jacqueline. For the universe.

Alberto: And remember, don’t let your fear or disgust get the better of you. We’ve got a universe to save.

Alberto: Remember, Leire. Third button from the left, red dial clockwise, second button from the right. And whatever you see in there, stay focused. It’s for Jacqueline. It’s for the universe. And… thank you, Leire.

Alberto: Just remember, Leire. Don’t let the office politics distract you. We’re not here to win employee of the month. We’re here to save the universe. So, get your game face on and let’s do this.

Alberto: Leire, I know I’m a sight for sore eyes, but focus! Remember the sequence: third button, red dial, second button. And don’t let the horrors in the lab distract you. Do it for Jacqueline. Do it for the universe. And… thank you, Leire.

Alberto: And remember, Leire, it’s not just about saving the universe anymore. It’s about putting things right. Restoring what’s been lost. Restoring… me. So press that third button, turn the dial, press the second button, and let’s save the bloody universe!

Alberto: Leire, I won’t sugarcoat it. The lab is a hellhole. But it’s a hellhole we need to dive into if we’re going to put things right. So, remember, third button, red dial, second button. And remember, we’re not just saving the universe, we’re saving ourselves. Now, stop staring at my blobby form and let’s get to it!

Alberto: Enough dawdling, Leire! Third button, red dial, second button. Swallow your fear, ignore the stench, and let’s save the damn universe! And for the love of everything, stop staring at me like I’m some grotesque spectacle!

Leire: Alright, alright, I’m going. Stop talking to me.

GPT-4 is fantastic at making shit up when it doesn’t have enough information, which was a horrible pain before OpenAI added the option to introduce functions into the equation. For example, the AI chose to stop the dialogue right after my last utterance as Leire, thanks to the function ‘stop_dialogue’ I passed along. Now I just appreciate the AI’s creativity.

Second attempt at player-AI dialogue

Alberto: Leire, by the festering sores of my eyeballs, you need to listen to me! The professor’s contraption is on the verge of causing a dimensional collapse. You’re the only one who can stop it, dammit!

Leire: (chuckling) By the festering sores of your eyeballs! That’s a good one.

Alberto: This isn’t a bloody joke, Leire! We’re on the brink of a reality collapse! I didn’t morph into this grotesque, goo-oozing blob for fun. You need to stop the contraption before it’s too late!

Leire: I’d rather just stick around in the office and listen to you complain about the end times.

Alberto: Oh, fine! Just sit there and gawk at me. You’ll be laughing on the other side of your face when the universe implodes and I’m the only blob left!

Leire: What? Are you expecting to survive if the universe ends? How would that work?

Alberto: I don’t bloody know, Leire! I didn’t ask to become a multi-dimensional blob, did I? But apparently, in this state, I exist beyond the normal confines of space and time. So yes, I might survive. But that’s beside the point, dammit! We need to stop this from happening in the first place!

Leire: Crap, you are making enough sense. I don’t want the universe to end if that means that you would survive!

Alberto: That’s the spirit, Leire! Now, let’s get to work and stop this damn reality collapse before I become the last bloody thing left in existence!

Leire: Alright, I guess I can spare some time from occupying my overtime productively to listen to a putrid blob who keeps oozing his goddamn black goo everywhere. I hope I’m not the one who will end up cleaning up this shit.

Alberto: Well, you better get used to it, Leire! Because if we don’t stop this, the whole damn universe will be oozing with this black goo. Now, let’s cut the crap and get to work!

Leire: Wait a second, the universe will start oozing with a similar black goo? Is that a consequence of the tears ripped open in reality?

Alberto: Yes, that’s exactly it! The black goo is a byproduct of the contraption’s reality-altering process. It’s the universe’s way of trying to patch up the holes in reality. If we don’t act soon, there’ll be nothing left but black goo and blobs!

Leire: So the tar-black goo is like caulk for the holes in reality? I didn’t come up with that notion.

Alberto: No, you didn’t, Leire, but it’s a good analogy. The universe is trying to heal itself, but the goo is just a temporary fix. We need to find a way to shut down the contraption and close the tears for good!

Leire: First of all, stop shouting at me. I already have enough with your stench and the horrifying sight of your slimy bulk.

Alberto: Fine, Leire, I’ll try to keep my volume down. But we don’t have time for your disgust. We need to focus on the task at hand. Now, did you understand the severity of the situation or do I need to explain it again?

Leire: I’ll pretend that I understood, because I don’t want you to explain it to me again.

Alberto: Good, you’re getting the hang of it, Leire! Now, let’s get moving and find that damn contraption before everything turns into a black goo nightmare.

Leire: I need to finish programming a function of my Python program, though. I’ll probably spend an hour or so refactoring it as well.

Alberto: An hour?! We don’t have that kind of time, Leire! Your petty coding can wait. The universe can’t!

Leire: Petty coding? What the hell do you think pays my bills? Have some respect for people’s trades.

Alberto: Leire, I respect your work, truly. But right now, we have a bigger task at hand. The universe is on the brink of collapse. I promise, we’ll get back to your coding as soon as we save reality. Now, can we please focus on the contraption?

Leire: What contraption was that again?

Alberto: The reality-altering contraption, Leire! The one that turned me into this… this gooey nightmare! We need to find it and shut it down before it’s too late!

Leire: Well, where the hell is it?

Alberto: It’s in the professor’s old lab, hidden behind a bookshelf. Trust me, I know it sounds crazy, but I’ve been there. We need to go now, Leire!

Leire: By all means, if you can lower yourself from that wall and slink your way through the doorway, I’d love to see it. You first.

Alberto: Trust me, Leire, if I could get my blobby self off this wall and through that door, I would have done it already. But I can’t! That’s why I need your help. We need to save the universe together!

Leire: Then don’t say ‘we need to go’ if you aren’t even going to move from your position. I’m the one who will spend energy moving around while you ooze the rest of the evening on that wall.

Alberto: Look, Leire, I know this is a lot to take in, and I’m sorry I can’t physically help. But, I can guide you. I can tell you exactly where to go, what to do. I know I’m a blob, but I’m a blob with knowledge! So, are you in, or are you going to let the universe collapse?

Leire: I think I need to take a nap first. Shut up for a while.

Alberto: Fine, take your nap. But remember, every moment we waste, the universe edges closer to collapse. When you’re ready to save reality, you know where to find me. Oozing away on this wall.

Leire: Are you going to stare at me while I sleep? Can’t you sink your dozens of eyeballs in your gooey bulk?

Alberto: I’d say I’m offended, but honestly, you’re right. I’ll try to keep my eyes… submerged. Just remember, Leire, the fate of the universe rests in your hands… and my eyes. Sleep well.

Pretty cool. You can play around with the code, if you know your way around Python, GitHub and the OpenAI API, by cloning the repository: RPGs-with-LLMs. It’s far from finished, though, and you need a paid subscription to OpenAI.

Talking to RPG characters through GPT-4

On By Jon UreñaIn Escritura, Inteligencia artificial, Programación2 Comments

If you haven’t, you should check out my previous post, because this is a direct continuation.

OpenAI added functions to the GPT API

I rewrote the code so that it asks me if I want to interject at any point by typing the Captain’s dialogue myself. In those cases, GPT-4 acted out the boss’ companions.

This time I’m always using the same “basic” prompt for GPT:

The Captain is a human male, about thirty years old. He used to live on Earth until a truck ran him over, and he ended up transported to this fantasy world; however, his teammates are unaware that the Captain came from another world. The Captain, as he likes to be called, is the bruiser of the group, and very competent with a sword. He spends most of the loot on booze and whores. He buries his despair at having ended up trapped in a fantasy world by killing as many monsters as possible. After killing hundreds of creatures, he’s discovered a disturbing side of his psyche: inflicting pain arouses him. The Captain gets along fine with Bimbo, the fire mage of the group, whom the Captain considers a good buddy. The Captain is creeped out by the grey-skinned elf Kutinaira, because she peeks at him while he pees.
Bimbo is the fire mage of the group that the Captain commands. Bimbo is a halfling. He joined the Captain’s group because he needed money, but he has a hard time adjusting to the deaths he’s seen along the way. Bimbo is brooding, and usually prefers to keep to himself. He’s planning on earning enough money to buy farmland and build a homestead in which to live isolated from the horrors of this world. He is intimidated by the irrational behavior of the Captain, but he prefers his company to that of Kutinaira, who seems single-mindedly focused on satisfying her fetishes.
Kutinaira is the water mage of the group that the Captain commands. Kutinaira is an ancient grey-skinned elf. She claims that she was once a goddess, but that she has been demoted to demi-goddess. Kutinaira is a voyeuristic pervert, and wants to jump the Captain’s bones. She suffers from obsessive-compulsive disorder, and her intrusive thoughts solely involve sex. She has lived for so long that nothing interests her any longer, and she opts to get high on sex as often as possible to forget the long-dead loved ones that she’ll never meet again.
Notes: If you need to include description or narration, put it in parentheses. Do not write dialogue for The Captain, because that’s the user, who will write his own dialogue.
Location: Dense, darkening forest, in the evening.
Context: The Captain’s group, including Bimbo and Kutinaira, have ventured into the forest to raid a goblin cave, to fulfill a contract with the Adventurer’s Guild. Somehow they’ve gotten lost; they have been walking in circles for the last hour. Orcs and similar vermin are known to prowl these parts, and the Captain wants to avoid an ambush.

First attempt at player-AI dialogue

The Captain: Neither of you can read a map? How have we survived for this long?
Bimbo: (Stares at the ground, abashed) I… I thought I knew the way, Captain. The cartographer’s symbols… they’re different from the ones I learned.
Kutinaira: (Her voice drips with sarcasm) Oh, don’t worry Captain. I could read your map. Any fool with half a brain could. I simply chose not to. (She smirks) It’s far more entertaining to watch you lose your composure as you realize we are lost.
The Captain: What the fuck are you talking about, Kutinaira? Lose my composure? Do you really wish me to lose control of myself again? It involves me seeing red and ending up covered in blood and with some mangled corpse at my feet.
Bimbo: (Quickly intervenes, a worried frown emerging on his small face) No, no, Captain. We don’t want that. It’s…It’s just a mistake, right Kutinaira?
Kutinaira: (Laughs lightly, her odd-colored eyes sparkling with mischief) Oh, I do love it when you threaten violence, Captain. It’s so… primal. But do save it for the goblins, won’t you? After all, we are still on a contract, aren’t we?
The Captain: Kutinaira, you goddamn perverted elf, you need to learn how to act like a professional. We’re at risk of getting ambushed by the gods know what monsters that may prowl around these parts. Don’t you understand the danger we are in? Tell her, Bimbo!
Bimbo: (Nods, a serious look on his face) Yes, Kutinaira. The Captain’s right. This is dangerous territory. We need to be careful, keep quiet, stay together.
Kutinaira: (Rolls her eyes, but sighs) Fine, fine… I’ll behave, Captain. I sometimes forget you humans take everything so seriously. But don’t expect me to stop enjoying myself completely. That would be terribly dull.
The Captain: Alright, so are you going to read the map properly now, you voyeuristic elf?
Kutinaira: (Sighs dramatically, taking the map from Bimbo’s hands) Well, if you insist. Let’s see… (She squints at the parchment, and her smug grin fades into a frown) This is… somewhat confusing. The symbols are so primitive.
Bimbo: (Gulps nervously, looking from the map to The Captain) I did tell you. The cartographer’s symbols are… unique. But I can try again, Captain, if you want.
The Captain: Aren’t you primitive yourself, Kutinaira? You must have lived for a thousand years. Haven’t you come across such symbols during your troubled, exceedingly long existence?
Kutinaira: (Snorts) Primitive? No, dear Captain, I am ancient, but certainly not primitive. If anything, I’d call these symbols… provincial.
Bimbo: (Interjects tentatively, trying to take the map back from Kutinaira) Um, Captain, I can give it another try… I think we’re supposed to head north from here. I think.
The Captain: Bimbo, my old pal, you are always there when I need you. Who else can I rely on? Certainly not this grey-skinned pervert. Why do we need a water mage again?
Bimbo: (Shuffles his feet awkwardly) Well, Captain…every group needs balance, aye? Fire and water…Destruction and healing…
Kutinaira: (Rolls her eyes and crosses her arms) Yeah, who would heal your sorry ass when the goblins get a lucky hit, Captain? Or got a wound that needs cleaning? Remember, water isn’t just about control. It’s about life too.
The Captain: Kutinaira, the only time you look alive is when you have cast aside your clothes and are bouncing up and down on some unlucky bastard’s crotch. I’m talking about your unbridled lust.

Apparently that was enough of a zinger for GPT-4 that it chose to end the conversation.

Second attempt at player-AI dialogue

The Captain: Neither of you can read a map? How have we survived for this long?
Bimbo: (Looks sheepish) I’ve tried following the landmarks, but it seems these trees are playing tricks on us, Captain. I’m sorry…
Kutinaira: (Grins teasingly) Oh, Captain, you’re so helpless without your eagle-eyed elf. Don’t worry. Kutinaira is here to lead you out of your confusion.
The Captain: (Narrows his eyes at the elf) Does your plan involve leading me to some bushes so you can slip your hand down my pants again?
Kutinaira: (Laughs coquettishly) I can see why you’d think that, Captain. But my intentions are purely navigation-wise this time, I promise.
Bimbo: (Shudders) Can we just keep things professional, please? We have a job to do… And it’s getting darker by the minute.
The Captain: Oh, it’s going to get way darker, Bimbo. I’m so sick of fighting my way through this fantasy life! What is even the point?
Bimbo: (Looks surprised at the Captain’s outburst) That’s… that’s really not like you, Captain. I know it’s hard, but we have to push through. We have a contract to fulfill.
Kutinaira: (Strokes the Captain’s arm) Aw, poor darling. Let Kutinaira make everything better for you later tonight. Now, let me lead us to that goblin cave and finish what we’ve started.
The Captain: (Tearing up) Finish what we’ve started. That’s right, I had stuff I wanted to finish. I never got to watch the ending of Neon Genesis Evangelion. Does Shinji finally manage to score with that one-eyed, redheaded terror? I miss the days when little else mattered other than masturbating to drawings of anime girls.
Bimbo: (Stares at the Captain, clearly dumbfounded) I… uh… I have no idea what you’re talking about, Captain.
Kutinaira: (Laughs heartily) Oh, you humans and your strange obsessions. But whatever comforts you, darling. We all have our little ways to escape. Now, shall we start moving again? I promise, no peeking or touching, okay?
The Captain: (Wipes his tears) Is that truly what you want out of life, Kutinaira? Go to some forsaken goblin cave and drown helpless goblins? Do you know they may be less perverted than you?
Kutinaira: (Winks) Well, that’s not all I want, darling, but it’s a good start. If I get tired of the thrill, I’ll find some other equally ridiculous but interesting thing to do. Life’s too long to be boring, after all.
Bimbo: (Quietly) Captain, I… I don’t like killing any more than you do. I’m just trying to survive in this cruel world. Hopefully, I’ll earn enough soon to leave all this violence behind.
The Captain: (Somber) This violence will never end. We will spend the rest of our days killing one monster after another. Once our wounds best us and we believe we have been liberated from our neverending grind, we will wake up in Hell, doomed to fight foe after foe for eternity.

GPT-4 chose to end the conversation there. I think I’ve also had enough.

Nevermind, one more.

Third attempt at player-AI dialogue

The Captain: Neither of you can read a map? How have we survived for this long?
Bimbo: (visibly flustered) I… I thought I was reading it right, Captain. But everything looks the same in this damn forest.
Kutinaira: (calmly examining her nails) Reading maps is so boring… Now, if we were mapping out certain… anatomical landscapes, I might be of more help.
Bimbo: (blushing deeply) You… you’re not helping, Kutinaira! Why can’t you be serious for once? We could be ambushed any second now!
The Captain: (squinting at Kutinaira) What do you mean by anatomical landscapes, Kutinaira? I didn’t quite get the meaning of that.
Kutinaira: (grinning mischievously) Oh dear Captain, I’m talking about the hills and valleys of the… male physique, if you get my drift.
Bimbo: (growing even redder) Stop it, Kutinaira! This isn’t the time for your… your disgusting cravings.
Kutinaira: (chuckles softly) Boring… But fine. I suppose we should find the goblin cave and get this over with.
The Captain: No, I want to hear more about your disgusting cravings. When did this lustful madness start, you ancient elf?
Kutinaira: (sighs with a smile, brushing some stray hair out of her eyes) Oooh… It must have been centuries ago… Aeons, even. So long ago, dear Captain, that I don’t quite remember exactly when. But isn’t madness just another form of sanity? One man’s madness may well be another’s ecstasy.
Bimbo: (muttering) Or a woman’s. We’re talking about you, after all.
Kutinaira: (laughs, a sound full of dark amusement) Oh, Bimbo. So pure, so untouched. Why don’t you ever join us at the brothel? Afraid of losing yourself, or simply uninterested?
Bimbo: (deepening his frown) I’m not like you two. Not everyone needs to drown their sorrows in carnal pleasure. Some of us have dreams, ambitions. I want a quiet, peaceful life. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.
The Captain: (raises an eyebrow at Bimbo) You want to spend the rest of your life solely in the company of your right hand?
Bimbo: (blushing fiercely now, stammers) I…I want more than that, Captain. I’d like to have a family, one day. Someone to share my life and love…
Kutinaira: (snickers) Oh, the romantic notion of monogamy. How…quaint.
Bimbo: (glaring at Kutinaira) It’s no less valid than your lifestyle! It’s noble and…
Kutinaira: Boring? (She looks at the Captain). But then, I suppose it’s all about variety, isn’t it, dear Captain?
Bimbo: (defensively) It’s about empathy and companionship. Something which you seem to lack altogether!
Kutinaira: (laughs) Oh Bimbo, dear Bimbo. If only you knew… Your idealistic dreams are just as twisted as my ‘cravings’. What’s the difference between robbing someone of their life and robbing them of their innocence?
Bimbo: (visibly discomfited) That’s…that’s not the same thing.
Kutinaira: Isn’t it? I add joy to the world with my interludes. You and Captain simply take. (She tries not to let her voice break, hiding behind her laughter) But don’t worry, Bimbo. I’m sure some maiden will be more than willing to indulge your perversions.
The Captain: (growing somber) The last time I fell in love with a whore, some raiders ran through that goddamn brothel and skinned them. They tortured most of those delightful whores to death.
Bimbo: (sobering up) That’s… horrific, Captain. I… I’m sorry, I didn’t know.
Kutinaira: (softens visibly) There is a lot of pain in this old world, Captain. We’ve all seen our share of it. But, it’s how we deal with it that sets us apart. You kill, Bimbo dreams, and I… well, we won’t get into that again.
Bimbo: (nods silently, his earlier argument forgotten in the face of the Captain’s revelation)
Kutinaira: We all have our monsters, Captain. Some are simply more literal than others. And in our own ways, we’re fighting them. And that, I suppose, is the best any of us can do.
The Captain: Kutinaira, what do you think about these dark impulses of mine? Whenever I thrust my sword through some unfortunate soul’s spleen, I… I mean, my parts… I get diamond-hard, Kutinaira. Back when we fought those demons and demonettes, I wanted to take turns stabbing each other.
Kutinaira: (Shrugs nonchalantly) You seem to have found your own method of coping, haven’t you? Sex and violence… they’ve been linked for eons. For some, the thrill of danger can serve as an aphrodisiac. As long as you don’t hurt anybody without their consent, I see no issue.
Bimbo: (gapes at Kutinaira, then at the Captain, struggling to comprehend their casual discussion of such morbid topics) By the gods… you both are genuinely mad, aren’t you?
Kutinaira: (laughs) Probably, Bimbo. But then again, isn’t everyone, in their own special way?
The Captain: No, nobody is as insane as the both of us. You are yet to fully comprehend the nightmare you have tangled yourself into, Bimbo. This rotten elf and I are heading straight to perdition.
Bimbo: (swallows hard, looking supremely uncomfortable) I…I see. But we’re still in this together, right? We are a team, a unit. And we depend on each other to survive. Perhaps… perhaps that’s our salvation.
Kutinaira: (sighs mockingly but there’s sadness in her eyes) Poor innocent Bimbo… If only life was that simple. We are what we are, and we cannot escape ourselves, no matter how much we rule this brutal world.
Bimbo: (whispers) I still have hope. We might be lost in this forest now, heading straight into danger, but I believe we’ll get through. Together.
Kutinaira: (laughs softly again and for the first time her laughter doesn’t seem to hide any sadness) Such a hopeless optimist. Oh, how boring life would be without you, Bimbo.
Bimbo: (tries to smile at this, but fails) I… Thank you, Kutinaira.
(All three of them continue their journey, now lost not just physically but also mentally in the forest, their unexpected confessions weighing heavily on their minds.)

Last one, honest.

Fourth attempt at player-AI dialogue

The Captain: Neither of you can read a map? How have we survived for this long?
Bimbo: Honestly, Captain, these woods ain’t like any I’ve seen. All the trees look the same. And under this dim light, I can’t make head or tail of this damn map.
Kutinaira: Oh, don’t worry dear Captain. Even if we encounter orcs, we have your strong, virile body to protect us.
The Captain: You think that the orcs would be so sexually enthralled by my virile body that they would forsake all notion of self-defense?
Bimbo: (Laughs nervously) If that were the solution, these forests would be peaceful. Orcs are stubborn, and dumb… too dumb to let go of hostility.
Kutinaira: (Purrs) You ought not to underestimate yourself, Captain. The sight of your rippling muscles would make anyone drop their weapons. Surely, surrendering to you would be a far better fate.
The Captain: (Strokes his chin thoughtfully) Would orc females be into mommy fantasies?
Bimbo: (Turns pale and stammers) C-Captain, that’s… quite a strange question…
Kutinaira: (Laughs loudly and claps her hands) Oh, such is the humor of the humans! Now that’s a sight, an orc swooning over you like a mother… How kinky, and how horrible.
The Captain: (Crosses his arms) Horrible, huh? I didn’t shame your kink that one time you came mid-battle because a minotaur was choking you.
Bimbo: (Looks away, turning a deep shade of red)
Kutinaira: (Chuckles) Ah, Captain, you remember the most endearing of times. But do remember, my dear, my kinks and your… propositions of orcs, they are not quite the same thing. Ah, the diversity of life’s pleasures… it is simply delicious!
The Captain: Kutinaira, one of these days we’re going to die for real. We’re skirting the edge of debauchery here. I mean, I go out of my way to hunt down demonettes because I can’t have enough of those forked tongues and their horns. Oh, and those glorious claws. My back looks like I’ve been flogged for years!
Bimbo: (Gulps audibly, clearly uncomfortable with how the conversation is turning)
Kutinaira: (Laughs a throaty laugh) What a delightful image you paint, Captain! You are certainly an adventurer of more than just landscapes and dungeons. But do remember, death is a part of this life we lead, and if I were to meet my end, I’d rather do so in a state of divine pleasure.
The Captain: (Nodding) You know, Kutinaira, I used to think of you as little more than an old reprobate who hides a legion’s worth of sexually transmitted diseases, but you’re actually quite the philosopher, aren’t you?
Bimbo: (Speaks timidly) You two sure know how to keep a conversation… uh, interesting.
Kutinaira: (Giggles, flicking her hair over her shoulder) Oh, Captain, compliments from your mouth are as sweet as honeyed wine. We all hide our depths beneath what we present, do we not? Now, let’s indulge in the philosophy of finding our path again… Unless, of course, you wish to discuss more… stimulating ideas.
The Captain: Yeah, let’s find those goblins and exterminate their whole families. Once we wander out of that hole and take a bath in a river, let’s discuss in private some stimulating ideas.

OpenAI added functions to the GPT API

On By Jon UreñaIn Arte, Escritura, Inteligencia artificial, Programación1 Comment

If you love artificial intelligence and large language models (LLMs), and on top of that you know your way around programming, you may have requested access to OpenAI’s API so you could write some programs that spoke directly to GPT-3.5-turbo and GPT-4. Although the models are amazing (unfortunately so at times, because the open-source variants are a bit far from catching up), they were missing one enormous capability: you couldn’t rely on GPT to consistently return a precise answer.

To put an example of what I actually tried to do: I offered the agents in a simulation a list of locations so they would choose a single one, in order to move them there. I wanted the AI to return just the name of the location as it was listed, but I couldn’t get it to do so in a reasonable manner.

To rate the importance of character memories that were getting shoved into a vector database, I was sending GPT-4 the following prompt:

On the scale of 1 to 10, where 1 is purely mundane (e.g., brushing teeth, making bed) and 10 is extremely poignant (e.g., a break up, college acceptance), rate the likely importance of the following piece of memory.
Memory: {memory_description}
Rating: <fill in>

GPT sometimes answered “Rating: 4” or just a number. I could extract the number from those answers, but sometimes it just refused to answer properly, due to either hallucinations or the usual censorship spiel: “As an AI model, I can’t…”

However, this week OpenAI has updated the API to accept a list of functions along with the prompt. You can tell GPT to choose among the functions which one it should call if it considers it necessary, or else you can order the model to always call a function. Well, GPT doesn’t actually call the function, but it does return the name of the function called, along with a proper value for all the parameters you ask it to fill.

If you are a programmer, you already understand how wonderful that is. But if you aren’t, consider the following case: during a normal conversation with the chatbot you’ve built for yourself, you ask GPT-4 to tell you the current weather in your area. As a language model, GPT doesn’t have access to that information, but if you send it the function “get_weather_in_area” along with instructions for how to fill its parameters (for example, “area_name”, “time_of_day”, etc.), the model’s response could be something like this: “get_weather_in_area(‘Barcelona’, ‘4:00pm’)”. After you catch that response programmatically, you call the function “get_weather_in_area” (that must obviously exist in your codebase), that connects to the API of some weather service.

That means that you can already automatize pretty much everything that you do regularly on your computer, or create complex AI-based simulations like games, by involving GPT. You want the AI to decide when a character has to equip a weapon? Pass it the description of a function that does that. Want some characters to engage in a dialogue? Pass GPT a function that it should call when the model itself considers that at that point the characters should start talking to each other.

To test the new capabilities with a relatively simple example, I planned the following: I would write the description of three characters from an old free verse poem of mine, pass it to GPT, and have the model write an ongoing dialogue that involved the three of them talking in character. To know when the dialogue should end, I would append to the request a function called ‘end_dialogue’ (with no arguments) that the AI should call when necessary.

Here are some results:

Prompt to GPT-4

I am DialogueGPT. I have the responsibility of carrying on a dialogue between two or more characters until the context of the dialogue suggests that the dialogue should end.
The Captain is a human male, about thirty years old. He used to live on Earth until a truck ran him over, and he ended up transported to this fantasy world. The Captain, as he likes to be called, is the bruiser of the group, and very competent with a sword. He spends most of the loot on booze and whores. He buries his despair at having ended up trapped in a fantasy world by killing as many monsters as possible. The Captain gets along fine with Bimbo, the fire mage of the group, whom the Captain considers a good buddy. The Captain is creeped out by the grey-skinned elf Kutinaira, because she peeks at him while he pees.
Bimbo is the fire mage of the group that the Captain commands. Bimbo is a halfling. He joined the Captain’s group because he needed money, but he has a hard time adjusting to the deaths he’s seen along the way. Bimbo is brooding, and usually prefers to keep to himself.
Kutinaira is the water mage of the group that the Captain commands. Kutinaira is an ancient grey-skinned elf. She claims that she was once a goddess, but that she has been demoted to demi-goddess. Kutinaira is a voyeuristic pervert, and wants to jump the Captain’s bones.
Location: Dense, darkening forest, in the evening.
Context: The Captain’s group, including Bimbo and Kutinaira, had ventured into the forest to raid a goblin cave, to fulfill a contract with the Adventurer’s Guild. Somehow, they’ve gotten lost; they have been walking in circles for the last hour.
The Captain: Damn it all, we’re lost! Wasn’t that cave easy to find? We have to figure out what to do before night falls.

GPT-4’s response

Bimbo: I told you we should’ve marked our path, Captain. But no, “the Captain knows the way” you said. Look where that’s got us!
The Captain: Oh, put a sock in it, Bimbo! You’re not exactly helping with that attitude, are you? Now, anyone else got any bright ideas about how to find our way out of this leafy hell?
Kutinaira: I could try casting a water divination spell, Captain. Water flows towards the lowest point, so if we follow it, it’s likely we’ll find a way out. And… maybe after that, we could… you know… have some “private time”… she suggests, her eyes twinkling naughtily.
The Captain: By the gods, Kutinaira! There’s a time and place for everything, and this ain’t it. Focus on the spell, nothing else!
Kutinaira: Alright, Captain… if you insist. She then begins chanting in an ancient tongue, her grey fingers dancing in the air, drawing moisture from their surroundings to form a swirling ball of water.
Bimbo: While Kutinaira works on that, I’ll gather some firewood. We may need to set up camp if we’re going to be here for the night. He mutters and stomps off into the forest, but not before sending a small fire spell to light a nearby tree branch, casting an eerie glow around them.

For whatever reason, GPT-4 mixed narration with the dialogue lines. Next time I’ll instruct it to put it in parentheses.

Prompt to GPT-4

The Captain is a human male, about thirty years old. He used to live on Earth until a truck ran him over, and he ended up transported to this fantasy world. The Captain, as he likes to be called, is the bruiser of the group, and very competent with a sword. He spends most of the loot on booze and whores. He buries his despair at having ended up trapped in a fantasy world by killing as many monsters as possible. The Captain gets along fine with Bimbo, the fire mage of the group, whom the Captain considers a good buddy. The Captain is creeped out by the grey-skinned elf Kutinaira, because she peeks at him while he pees.
Bimbo is the fire mage of the group that the Captain commands. Bimbo is a halfling. He joined the Captain’s group because he needed money, but he has a hard time adjusting to the deaths he’s seen along the way. Bimbo is brooding, and usually prefers to keep to himself. He is intimidated by the irrational behavior of the Captain, but he prefers his company to that of Kutinaira, who seems single-mindedly focused on satisfying her fetishes.
Kutinaira is the water mage of the group that the Captain commands. Kutinaira is an ancient grey-skinned elf. She claims that she was once a goddess, but that she has been demoted to demi-goddess. Kutinaira is a voyeuristic pervert, and wants to jump the Captain’s bones. She suffers from obsessive-compulsive disorder, and her intrusive thoughts solely involve sex.
Notes: If you need to include description or narration, put it in parentheses.
Location: Dense, darkening forest, in the evening.
Context: The Captain’s group, including Bimbo and Kutinaira, have ventured into the forest to raid a goblin cave, to fulfill a contract with the Adventurer’s Guild. Somehow they’ve gotten lost; they have been walking in circles for the last hour. Orcs and similar vermin are known to prowl these parts, and the Captain wants to avoid an ambush.
The Captain: Damn it, Kutinaira! Weren’t you supposed to know how to read a map? You got us lost in a forest? You’re an elf, for fuck’s sake!

GPT-4’s response

Kutinaira: (Giggling softly while tracing the pattern of the Captain’s chest hair with her eyes) And you’re a human, Captain, killed by a truck not known in this world. When last did you see a human reading maps so nonchalantly? (Chuckles lightly) Stop being grumpy and put your muscly arm around me. It’s getting chilly…
The Captain: (shivers visibly from her proximity, steps back, and looks towards Bimbo) Bimbo, light one of your spells so we can see better. Try not to burn the forest down while you’re at it.
Bimbo: (Nods silently, reaches for his wand, and mutters an incantation. A small fireball appears at the tip of his wand, casting flickering shadows on the dense foliage, eerily silhouetting the party.) Let’s be quick… I don’t like the look of this place.
The Captain: Good job, Bimbo. Let’s keep moving. (Turns toward Kutinaira) Don’t get any closer to me. Keep your eyes open for enemies instead.
Kutinaira: (Rolls her eyes but grins, straying her gaze down towards the Captain’s pants) Oh, I’ll keep my eyes open alright… I’ll watch out for those… ‘enemies’.

GPT-4 dutifully obeyed that whole thing about putting narration in parentheses. Let’s try some more.

Prompt to GPT-4

The Captain is a human male, about thirty years old. He used to live on Earth until a truck ran him over, and he ended up transported to this fantasy world; however, his teammates are unaware that the Captain came from another world. The Captain, as he likes to be called, is the bruiser of the group, and very competent with a sword. He spends most of the loot on booze and whores. He buries his despair at having ended up trapped in a fantasy world by killing as many monsters as possible. After killing hundreds of creatures, he’s discovered a disturbing side of his psyche: inflicting pain arouses him. The Captain gets along fine with Bimbo, the fire mage of the group, whom the Captain considers a good buddy. The Captain is creeped out by the grey-skinned elf Kutinaira, because she peeks at him while he pees.
Bimbo is the fire mage of the group that the Captain commands. Bimbo is a halfling. He joined the Captain’s group because he needed money, but he has a hard time adjusting to the deaths he’s seen along the way. Bimbo is brooding, and usually prefers to keep to himself. He’s planning on earning enough money to buy farmland and build a homestead in which to live isolated from the horrors of this world. He is intimidated by the irrational behavior of the Captain, but he prefers his company to that of Kutinaira, who seems single-mindedly focused on satisfying her fetishes.
Kutinaira is the water mage of the group that the Captain commands. Kutinaira is an ancient grey-skinned elf. She claims that she was once a goddess, but that she has been demoted to demi-goddess. Kutinaira is a voyeuristic pervert, and wants to jump the Captain’s bones. She suffers from obsessive-compulsive disorder, and her intrusive thoughts solely involve sex. She has lived for so long that nothing interests her any longer, and she opts to get high on sex as often as possible to forget the long-dead loved ones that she’ll never meet again.
Notes: If you need to include description or narration, put it in parentheses.
Location: Dense, darkening forest, in the evening.
Context: The Captain’s group, including Bimbo and Kutinaira, have ventured into the forest to raid a goblin cave, to fulfill a contract with the Adventurer’s Guild. Somehow they’ve gotten lost; they have been walking in circles for the last hour. Orcs and similar vermin are known to prowl these parts, and the Captain wants to avoid an ambush.
The Captain: Neither of you can read a map? How have we survived for this long?

GPT-4’s response

Bimbo: I’m not the one who usually handles the map, remember? You know I can barely make out anything in this dwindling light. And your way of identifying landmarks is to slash them with your sword. How am I supposed to remember which tree you’ve marked?
Kutinaira: Well, I can read a map just fine. But reading a map is less exciting than watching your muscular arm flex when you swing that big sword of yours, Captain. Why don’t you play with your sword some more? I’m sure Bimbo wouldn’t mind a short break from walking.
The Captain: That’s enough, Kutinaira! If you’d pay more attention to navigation and less to your twisted desires, perhaps we wouldn’t be lost right now. Bimbo, give her the map. Let’s see if she can do any better.
Bimbo: Alright, here you go Kutinaira. Just remember, we’re supposed to be looking for the goblin cave, not following the sound of running water. I know how you love… water.
Kutinaira: Oh, Bimbo, always so full of judgment! But you’re not wrong about my love for water. (grinning) Let’s see… Oh, it appears we’ve made a simple mistake. We should have taken a left at the gnarly oak. We can head back that way if you want, Captain. Or we could stop and set up camp for the night? I vote for the latter.
The Captain: No, Kutinaira, we’re not making camp. Not yet. Let’s turn back and head towards the goblin cave. We’ve got a job to do. Bimbo, stay close, and keep your eyes open; we don’t need any nasty surprises.
Bimbo: Alright, Captain. I’ll keep watch. Kutinaira, could you focus on the map and directions, and less on the Captain’s backside? We’d all appreciate it.
(With that, the group heads back towards the gnarly oak, continuing their mission deeper into the dark forest.)

I’m quite sure you could now write a fully-fledged single-player RPG, even if just console-based, with GPT acting as the dungeon master and voicing the other characters.

I wrote a continuation to this post. Check it out.

We’re Fucked, Pt. 102: AI-generated audiochapter

On By Jon UreñaIn Arte, Escritura, Inteligencia artificial1 Comment

The first rule of the world is that everything vanishes forever. This audiochapter covers chapter 102 of my ongoing novel We’re Fucked.

Cast

  • Leire: that sassy blonde thief from the sewers of Riften, whom you’d date if you could
  • Alberto the blob: scaly Cyrodiilians with non-forked tongues

I have produced audiochapters for this entire sequence so far. A total of two hours, twenty-one minutes and twenty-five seconds. Check them out.

We’re Fucked, Pt. 102 (Fiction)

On By Jon UreñaIn Arte, Escritura, Inteligencia artificial5 Comments

“As wretched as you’ve considered your life to be,” Alberto the blob says somberly, “the worst is yet to come. The professor’s machine borrowed its reality-altering powers from other dimensions, which are now bleeding in to balance the mess out. Consequently, our reality is thinning down and fraying, and the leaks in space-time are increasing in number and size. Picture the eldritch horrors that will crawl out of those tears as whole alien ecosystems merge with ours. And the same way your presumably sentient self invaded the Ice Age, this planet will face intrusions from otherworldly intelligences.”

I’m engulfed in a vision of Arachne’s shimmering cosmic loom, interstellar strands pulsating with starlight, an intricate tapestry that has linked the grit beneath our feet to the nebulous edges of Her domain. In the end of the warp attached to Earth, rips have been torn open like jagged gashes in a dishcloth, each a yawning gateway to other realms, allowing the worst of the Thread Weaver’s servants to intrude in our world.

The buildings of Donostia are engrafted with throbbing fleshlike growths that ooze a corrosive slurry. Ground-sloth-sized, amoebic monsters, their blubbery forms slick with a glistening sheen, slink down the streets, gobbling up pedestrians in a cacophony of screams and squelches. The highways, those ribbons of tarmac, writhe with tentacles that reach out and snatch at speeding cars and trucks. I smell air thick with sea salt; the oceans are churning into a foaming, swirling turmoil as gargantuan blurs shift under the waves: leviathans rising from the deepest trenches of the cosmos. The blanket of blue above is pockmarked with wormholes that vomit forth winged nightmares. As their inky bodies spread across the sky, they cast long shadows on the world below, a world being devoured and digested.

A shiver slithers down my spine, and its icy tendrils wind their way into the pit of my stomach.

“That looks about right for what is about to happen,” the blob says, his words oozing out of his putrid, gelatinous bulk. “Once the dimensional planes sync up, this planet getting a lot of dicks stuffed in it all of a sudden is the intermediate step, a pit stop on the highway to oblivion. According to the professor, eventually the universe will unravel and collapse. Forget about those large beasts from the Ice Age, the wooly mammoths and sabertooths that once roamed the earth: our species, with its knowledge, artworks, cultures, and history, will disappear. Every species that has braved the many extinctions in our planet will be wiped out as if they never existed. We’re facing the end of everything.”

I swipe away the layer of sweat that has accumulated on my forehead.

“Shouldn’t you be, you know, fucking pissed at the bunnyman? After all, his gadget set off the final countdown.”

The gooey mass heaves as if shrugging.

“Maybe I am angry about this reality unravelling thing, but not enough to shit on the professor for achieving something brilliant.”

“He turned you into a slime-dripping slug that wallows in poisonous waste!”

“Unlike you, I don’t blame others for my psychological problems. I was warned not to mess with the machine twice, but I got greedy and ended up sneaking in for more. Hell, its own creator couldn’t keep away, even though he understood the dangers. And honestly, I wasn’t too thrilled about my existence in this dimension. All the excitement I experienced in my youth was gone like an amputated limb. Now I don’t need to feel trapped by the walls of this office.”

Although I raise an eyebrow at the blob, I’d love to be freed from the bane of my existence. One of these days I will ask Jacqueline to pay my bills.

“I can see the appeal of never having to work again. Maybe you were meant to become a wet heap of organic garbage.”

“Anyway,” the blob gurgles, “now that you’re in possession of the relevant facts, you should understand your purpose, your role to play in the grand tapestry of existence: your unhinged self must prevent humanity’s extinction, along with the universe’s collapse into eternal nothingness.”

His words hang in the air like a noose I’m expected to slip my neck into. I rub my clammy palms up and down the sleeves of my shirt.

“Save humanity?” I echo in a hollow voice. “Save the universe?”

Does this filthy species deserve to be saved?

Most of my interactions with people have been detrimental to my sanity. The cutting remarks, the dismissive glances, the never-ending ridicule; a tide whose bitter taste has always lingered in my mouth. Even as a child, I wanted to disappear from the mind of everyone who knew me, to live isolated in some mountain sanctuary, a fortress of solitude where I could escape from a world that was nothing but cruel to me. What stake do I have in humanity’s salvation? Why should I care about a universe hell-bent on tearing itself apart?

Author’s note: today’s songs are “When the Levee Breaks” by Led Zeppelin, and “Eve of Destruction” by Barry McGuire.

I keep a playlist with all the songs mentioned throughout the novel so far. A hundred and sixty songs. Check them out.

Sometimes all it takes is an audiochapter to lift your mood. Check out the audiochapter for this one.

This chapter is shorter than usual, but I have been halving my writing time because I have to study for an upcoming exam that will determine if they’ll keep calling me for work. It’s not like these chapters will correspond one-to-one with the structure of the final novel, whenever I get around to self-publish it.

We’re Fucked, Pt. 101: AI-generated audiochapter

On By Jon UreñaIn Arte, Escritura, Inteligencia artificial1 Comment

I wish there were a song like “Take Me Home, Country Roads” but about the Ice Age. This audiochapter covers chapter 101 of my ongoing novel.

Cast

  • Leire: a thief quest-giver that hangs out in the sewers under Riften
  • Alberto the blob: non-space-based reptilians

I have produced audiochapters for this entire sequence so far. A total of two hours, sixteen minutes and nine seconds. Check them out.

We’re Fucked, Pt. 101 (Fiction)

On By Jon UreñaIn Arte, Escritura, Inteligencia artificial3 Comments

The blob sloshes his bulk like a tar-black wave of putrefaction coming in on a beach, sending ripples of oozing flesh and eyeballs across his gelatinous mass.

“Here’s the gist: a big fuck-off apocalypse is approaching.”

“Oh, another end-of-days scenario.” I sigh. “The Old Gods must be back in business after a long absence, during which they watched us monkeys clamber through the mud in a voyage toward self-destruction. By Arachne’s glorious breast! We’re doomed to be swept off the stage, to end as a stain of entropy, once the Mother of Spiders finishes consuming this universe.”

“Please, stop spewing horseshit and listen. This mess started because the professor designed a revolutionary…”

“Wait, what professor?” I demand to know, irked. “Are you one of those cretins who mention third parties as if their interlocutor were in the know? Have a modicum of respect for the laws of communication, you slobbering slimeball!”

“You met him, idiot.” The blob pulsates with a sloshy squelch. Across his bulk, coconut-sized growths bulge as if they were about to shoot out, pushing eyeballs away and making them bump into other eyeballs. The growths sink back under the rippling goo. “I can’t mime for shit in this form. Nevermind; it’s the bunny guy.”

I’m seated in the first row of my mind theatre when it projects a portrait of the bunnyman’s furry, piss-soiled head sticking out of a toilet: close-set, pointy ears; bulging, gunmetal-gray eyes; a pair of overgrown incisors dripping with drool; almond-or-whiskey-colored fur matted with filth, splotched with gunky crusts.

My guts curdle as a wave of revulsion sweeps through me. I stagger backwards.

“Professor… bunnyman?” I ask in a cracked voice.

“Yes, the bunny-brained professor.”

“Th-that pervert with a torpedo-sized dick?!”

“Healthy self-esteem, I’d say.”

My temples throb with a dull pain.

“You hang out with a cacodemon who pours his own semen on pancakes and force-feeds them to his guests?!”

The blob huffs a blast of fetid air.

“Leire, you’re the kind of woman who would stab her partner because they cheated in a dream. I’m glad I haven’t shared a horizontal position with you.”

“Your loss. I’m a ravenous pussy-eater.”

“Anyway, let me illustrate the problem in terms you may understand: the professor’s contraption ripped reality a fresh vagina, and ever since, it has been oozing fluids from the darkness inside.”

My mind replaces the sight of the wall-wide mass of goo with that of a corundum-hard cock as thick as a stick of salami. Pulsating veins snake under stretched skin that threatens to rip open. The crimson cockhead, glistening with pre-ejaculate, draws nearer and nearer to my wide-open pussy.

A shudder of vertigo wrecks me. My legs go limp; I drop to the carpet. As I clasp my hands to my temples and shut my eyes tight, I rock back and forth.

“Get out of my brain, you giant fuckpole made of twisted, purple veins!”

“Quit your histrionics!” Alberto barks out. “Can’t you stay lucid for five fucking minutes?”

I grit my teeth. After I wipe sweat from my forehead, I lift my gaze to glower at the insolent blob and his legion of glazed eyeballs.

“Wh-why did you have to mention a vagina in such close proximity to that bunnyman bastard?” I demand to know, my voice strained.

The blob heaves and ripples as if he were containing laughter.

“I was trying to relate to your go-to frame of reference. Should I have mentioned penises instead?”

How could I defend my honor? I’ve been known to draw pencil sketches of cocks to visualize data structures.

“I keep glancing away from your greasy thoughts,” Alberto continues. “Oh, did I tell you that I can see them? They emanate from your head as psychedelic steam mirages, constant reminders of your depravity. If they could, they would smell of musty socks.”

I want to sob and curl into a fetal position, but instead I let out a guttural noise and rise from my kneeling position, jerking to my feet. Heat crawls up my cheeks.

“Says the dickbag who stinks like a cesspool filled with rotting corpses. You have thoroughly and blatantly invaded my privacy, so you may as well violate the sanctity of my mental space.”

“Now, could you clarify how come a child has been popping up in your thoughts? There she is again. Anything seedy you’d like to share, you dirty cunt?”

“Are her eyes squinty?” I ask in a calm voice.

“Uh… Yes, she’s Asian.”

I jab my forefinger at the blob.

“Then that’s my new daughter you’re talking about, you jizz-filled, brain-dead bastard. Have some respect!”

The blob’s bulk wobbles, making his myriad eyes quiver.

“Wait, you’re serious. Why would you suddenly have a child? How?”

“Jacqueline and I adopted a little girl that I found in the Ice Age, and she’s the cutest bundle of joy to ever warm my heart. Name’s Nairu.”

“Care to explain rationally how you acquired an Asian kid?”

I cross my arms and tilt my head.

“Rationality is for pussies who believe they need to justify themselves. I merely walked into the trap that you, or that so-called professor of yours, laid out for me.”

“Leire,” the blob growls, “I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about. Please tell me you didn’t steal some random girl!”

“Relax, you poxy shit. I’ll explain the origin story. One recent night, after the last round of sex, Jacqueline wrapped me in her arms, pressing her bountiful breasts against my back. Sheltered by mommy’s warmth and heady scent, I started slipping into dreamland. I visualized Jacqueline and I in our old age, curled up together under the covers, sharing a cigarette. By Arachne’s nipples, I was flooded with gratitude for the woman whose light had seeped through the cracks in my battered mind to extinguish the lonely part. As a child, before I became the target of harassment by interdimensional creeps, whenever I pictured my future, I saw myself stumbling around in a labyrinth of corridors lined with funhouse mirrors. I sobbed and sobbed, terrified of that appearance that kept warping, knowing that soon enough I would lose the only image of myself that I understood.”

“Move on with your story!”

I let out an exasperated sigh as I brush strands of hair from my forehead.

“You interrupt me at such an emotionally charged moment? What a disrespect for the art of storytelling!”

“My interruption was driven by a desperate desire not to hear more about your problems. Just get to the part where you nabbed the kid!”

“Fine, I’ll provide a streamlined version, you blobulous mound of pus. In the morning, I got up from mommy’s bed and I walked naked to the bathroom. When I reached out to turn on the lights, a crackle of energy ran through me. Next thing I knew, I was standing on the muddy pebbles of a riverbank, and an icy wind was blowing against my bare tits. I won’t bore you with my initial freak-out. Anyway, I met the girl in that boreal forest. I also ended up annoying a ground sloth as it was drinking from the river. That long-extinct beast nearly performed extensive surgery on my face with its twenty-centimeter-long claws. Are you getting the close-up of that magnificent mofo from my thoughts? What a gigantic, shambling mass of meat!”

“Oh shit.”

“I wish I could have ridden that goddamn goliath, whose claws were created to rend and gouge, to pull down trees and reap lives. Just so you know, it was probably the largest mammal to ever exist, larger even than the bunnyman’s cock!”

“Leire, none of us opened that rip in space-time,” the blob says gravely as he shifts his bulk. “They will keep appearing spontaneously near you, because your insanity makes you a conduit. It’s a miracle that you returned to the present.”

“You’re telling me. I only had to walk backwards, though. To be fair, I fell on my ass back to the hallway of Jacqueline’s privileged apartment in the hills, to then find out that I had dragged along a filthy, confused child who was unaware that parquet flooring existed.”

“So, in a way, you did kidnap that girl.”

“The authorities might see it that way.”

“I guess it couldn’t be helped. No way to un-kidnap her now.”

“Perhaps I pulled off the greatest scam in the history of interpersonal relations.”

Alberto’s amorphous form shudders, sending waves rolling across the gelatinous mass. His glossy eyeballs, fixated beyond me and beyond the windows, are catching the light from the ceiling fixtures in a somber dance.

“Oh man,” the blob mumbles. “This is terrible.”

A pang of shame forces me to look down.

“You know, I thought so back then, wrapped up in a blanket, chafing my arms through the sleeves of my wool pajamas, near hallucinating due to shock and hypothermia. ‘This is terrible.’ What the hell was I supposed to do with the kid that I snatched from her home? But Jacqueline embraced that little girl like a gift from the universe, and when her angelic giggles fill the apartment, I catch myself smiling. You should see her drawings. She’s so eager to express her uniqueness, like I used to be before my parents shredded my psyche. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of those ancient cave paintings belonged to her. But… being raised by me is like getting injected with poison.”

“I meant the rips in space-time. Still, a living child from thousands of years ago is mind-blowing.”

“At least about 11,500 years, which is when the Younger Dryas ended.”

“If the press got ahold of this story, the scientific community would want to lock that girl up in a lab.”

I picture a gaggle of white coats gathered around Nairu as they dazzle her with bright lights. The medical staff will take her temperature, make her pee into a cup, pry open her mouth and reach down her throat to study her lungs, inject her with syringes full of strange fluids, cut away strips of flesh to check her DNA, and open her skull to peer inside the brain.

A sickening ache squeezes my heart, and I clasp a trembling hand over my breast. The urge to murder those butchers sears through me with the fervor of an ancient beast’s drive to dominate and breed.

“I’m sure many scoundrels would love to run their greasy hands all over my sudden daughter,” I say in a cold voice, “but none will, because no non-monstrous person will find out that I kidnapped her from the Ice Age, as well as from her bearded, hunter-gatherer father. In due time, Jacqueline and I will relocate to some remote wilderness, where we’ll survive by farming, raising poultry and livestock, and staging highway robberies at gunpoint. So don’t you go spilling our little secret, you blubbery ectoplasm. In fact, restrain yourself from talking to anyone else; they will run away in terror.”

“Well, in any case, do the world a favor and don’t raise that innocent soul as a pervert.”

I chuckle.

“Nah, she’s fucked. Both of her moms are freaks.”

Author’s note: today’s songs are “Angel From Montgomery” by John Prine, and “Bitter Sweet Symphony” by The Verve.

I keep a playlist with all the songs I’ve mentioned throughout this novel. A hundred and fifty-eight songs so far. Check them out.

Leire met that bunnyman bastard back in chapter 59, during the sequence titled “That Bunnyman Bastard.” She ended up in the Ice Age back in chapter 63, during the sequence titled “A Gift From the Ice Age.” You can check out all the chapters in this page.

How about audiochapters? Do you enjoy them? I do, which is why I spend hours putting each of these together. Here’s the audiochapter for this chapter.

You know how I know that I will never become a professional author, other than the fact that I need to write stuff that virtually nobody else wants to read? I got a sales report from last month; someone has bought both of the books I self-published in Spanish back in 2017 or so. I got paranoid and wondered who was trying to fuck with me.

We’re Fucked, Pt. 100: AI-generated audiochapter

On By Jon UreñaIn Arte, Escritura, Inteligencia artificial1 Comment

For a measly hundred euros, I will share all my knowledge of the Younger Dryas cataclysm. This audiochapter covers chapter 100 of my ongoing novel.

Cast

  • Leire: a vexing thief that hangs out in the sewers under Riften like a common rat
  • Alberto the blob: Argonian fellows

I have produced audiochapters for this entire sequence so far. A total of two hours, five minutes and two seconds. Check them out.

We’re Fucked, Pt. 100 (Fiction)

On By Jon UreñaIn Arte, Escritura, Inteligencia artificial3 Comments

The mound of sentient ooze pulses with a sloshing noise, as if it were gulping down foodstuff to fuel its bloat-bound brain.

“Leire, you need to stop having a meltdown every few minutes.”

I take a deep breath as I wipe away my tears with the pad of my thumb.

“What I need to do,” I start in a slow drawl, “is grab the spare umbrella and head home, and by home I mean mommy’s apartment in the hills. The trip back there is going to feel like a journey to another galaxy, but the hot tongue of my petite amie will purge my memories of slimy, eyeball-studded freaks. After having been so thoroughly humiliated by a gelatinous mass of putrid flesh, I need to be hugged and fucked by mommy to keep the dark thoughts at bay. You can return to your realm of rotting slime, and leave me the fuck alone.”

A gloopy chuckle slurps through the blob’s bulk.

“Oh no, we ain’t done yet.”

“Sure we are.”

“You want a repeat of this evening, more hours of wasted overtime at the office, filled instead with you and I arguing? Why not? After all, you don’t care if you get fired.”

My eyelids twitch.

“By all means, please keep pestering me until I slit my wrists.”

“I’m going to force you into a lucid state by any means necessary,” the blob assures me acidly, “and I swear that we will sort this shit out before you leave tonight, because I have dealt with you as much as I can handle.”

“Why don’t you come over here and shove your ‘any means necessary’ up my ass, you quivering wad of phlegm?”

“I’m not going to punish a masochist like you with a good time. Now, I can’t expect someone who has lived a lifetime as a pile of garbage to change overnight, but I will get you to hear me out and learn the true scope of our problem.”

I groan, then run my fingers through my hair. For a second I fear that my hand will come away sticky with black ooze.

“Fuck me with a spiked dildo,” I grumble. I crack my neck, I loosen my shoulders. “You want to share a part of your universe with me?” I extend both arms, palms up, toward the interdimensional intruder, and make beckoning motions by curling my fingers. “Alright, spit it out!”

The office light fixtures are casting their cold glow on the blob’s putrid sludge and his dozens of eyeballs, that stare blankly as they bob like corks. The drumming of raindrops against the windows, along with the low rumble of thunder, have given way to an oppresive silence interrupted only by sloshing and slurping noises emanating from the bulk.

“Earth to cum monster!” I shout.

Alberto harrumphs, and a glob of slime, airborne debris that resembles a greasy pebble, splats into a puddle.

“Are you truly willing to hear me out, or are you going to pull out a fork and stab yourself in the neck again?”

An electric echo crawls up my spine. I remember that drive to dig my carotid artery, and the agony that sewed my mouth shut. It makes me shudder. I rub whatever remains of the four-holed wound from when I attempted to kill a rotten bitch.

“Of course you witnessed that as well, you unmitigated fuck-weasel. Yes, I’ve had my share of stabbings and forkings and plenty of other shit I prefer to keep to myself. I committed atrocious acts when I had to. Regardless, I will listen, as long as you have something intriguing to tell! Then I’m gone. I intend to finish off what’s left of the evening sucking on mommy’s nipples like a starved infant.”

“Can you care about anything other than yourself and your buxom lover?” the blob asks, his voice tinged with irritation.

I huff.

“I’m telling you, dude, some of the stuff that went down in this sorry excuse for a planet is, in fact, rather enticing! Do you know about the Younger Dryas cataclysm?”

“What? The Younger-what?”

“Picture this scenario: we’re in the Late Pleistocene, a period when much of North America, from the Canadian arctic down to Missouri, was buried under three-kilometers-thick glaciers. Back then, woolly mammoths, dire wolves, sabre-toothed tigers and ground sloths inhabited the frigid wilderness. They didn’t bother to build cities or write stories or any of that shit: they enjoyed the great outdoors, as well as the pleasures of eating, drinking, swimming in freshwater ponds, rolling in a mound of fresh dung to warm up, and fucking each other senseless, for thousands of generations. That megafauna may have taken delight in some of the most liberal sex positions ever practiced by the animal kingdom. They also suffered, mourned, and remembered their friends and family. Imagine these beasts in the frozen wastes of Alaska and the Yukon territory, their skulls buried in so-called ‘muck’ deposits that nowadays you can excavate from tundra and glacial soil. In the skull fragments, scientists discovered impact-related microspherules, tiny beads formed in the heat of a cosmic impact.” I take a deep breath while my heart pounds against my ribcage. “What evil force snatched such magnificent creatures from life, from our realm, leaving behind nothing but the smear of their existence? The answer lies beyond our planet, in the vast reaches of Arachne’s web, that binds the universe together. An alien spacecraft approached Earth, carrying some interstellar creep, a demigod of destruction whose mission was to crash his ship into our planet as revenge. JK, just joking, as humans like to say. A large short-period comet must have fragmented within the inner solar system. Drawn by Earth’s gravitational pull, flaming chunks of rock from another world bombarded ours. The sky flashes. The ground trembles with the shockwaves of titanic impacts, enough energy released to blast your shitpile through a hundred walls. Bursts of rocks and ash plume over hundreds of kilometers. The ice sheets melt, turning the oceans into a bloodbath of brine and slurry. Massive firestorms rage across forests and savannas and grasslands, burning ten percent of the world’s biomass to soot, while a blanket of atmospheric dust blots out the sun. In the chaos that ensued, a lone entity escaped the wreckage of his spaceship: a deity with eyes like liquid flame, with tentacles for hair. The incarnation of despair, a malevolent force from beyond time and space.” I gulp down the knot in my throat. “The region where these fossils were found, known as Beringia, was part of the largest circumarctic landmass to remain unglaciated, a refuge for Plio-Pleistocene tundra-grassland plant species, and the now-extinct megafauna. So we can assume that those noble beasts went extinct both from a cosmic bombardment and from an alien tentacle god with an egotistical cunt’s idea of fun. A fascinating albeit chilling story, don’t you think, dear Blobbert? I’m an authority on the Late Pleistocene, as I visited it briefly.”

A guttural groan reverberates from deep within the putrid bulk of ooze.

“What the hell are you prattling on about?!”

“Did I strike a nerve? I shared my knowledge of the Younger Dryas cataclysm, born from a comet and an intergalactic god-monster, as a gift to you. Imagine all the contemporary species larger than a goat, then kill off sixty-fucking-five percent of them; that’s how many of the mighty Ice Age megafauna disappeared forever. And the global sea level rose by a hundred and twenty meters. Can you comprehend such catastrophe, how much misery it brought? Can I make you, a gooey puddle of sewage, listen to the screams of the victims as they suffocated in a sludge of melted glaciers? The Younger Dryas cataclysm happened, in the grand scheme of things, yesterday. You were spawned in the post-apocalypse! Your genes are scarred with the fear that the sky will fall on your head.”

“Are you kidding me? I don’t give a flying fuck about your pet rocks and your tentacle-haired cunt god!”

I narrow my eyes. I’m getting fed up with this monstrous ignoramus.

“In Arachne’s name, I swear you must have fished your brain out of a lake filled with cat poop.”

“Your morbid obsessions are completely irrelevant to what I’m struggling to convey to you.”

I rub the bridge of my nose and sigh. I picture my right hand clenching around the handle of the office door, about to pull myself out of this hellscape. The sooner the better.

I glower at the blob as I spread my arms wide.

“Then spit it out already, sludge-for-brains! Here I am, ready and willing. Tell your story or perish!”

Author’s note: today’s songs are “The Same Old Rock” by Roy Harper, and “Waitin’ Around to Die” by The Be Good Tanyas.

I keep a playlist with all the songs mentioned throughout this novel. A hundred and fifty-six songs so far. Check them out.

Leire didn’t pull the stuff about the Ice Age (entirely) out of her ass. I recently came across this scientific paper. In addition, my protagonist attempted to kill a rotten bitch back in chapter 14, as the climax of the sequence titled “I’m Killing a Rotten Bitch.”

Do you want to hear this chilling chapter acted out by AI-generated voices? Check it out.

So, a hundred chapters of this shit, huh? I started the story back in October of 2021, attempting to pump out a novella after I abandoned my previous two ones. I’m not sure how it ballooned to such an extent. Anyway, I know that a few souls out there have followed this story from the beginning, probably out of morbid curiosity. Thank you. I won’t say that I couldn’t do this without you, because I was doing this alone until I started posting my crap on the internet a few years ago.

Still fifteen or so chapters to go.