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Artwork, poetry and fiction used to be the exclusive domain of humankind. Now, you can now find many AI programs online that will create just about anything you can think of - from 3D rendered models to descriptive text - with just a few inputted prompts.
Rather than worry if this is going to put me out of a job I thought a collaboration was in order so used an AI called ChatPGT to write me a nostalgic four line poem about walking in the cherry blossom and this is what it came up with:
I walk beneath the cherry blossom trees
Memories of you come back to me
Each petal falling like a tear
As I remember our springtime years
With that as inspiration I then went on to create the accompanying artwork of a girl walking through the blossom and, bingo, we have one unsolicited collaboration with a computer program. The future is, at least, interesting.
She's been created on classy A2 Somerset paper using stencils, spraypaint, dymo, letter stamps and some computer derived poetry. Drop us a line if this futuristic artwork needs to adorn your gaff or she'll be making her way to our new website in due course (www.id-iom.com/)
Cheers
id-iom
Babels of blocks to the high heavens towering
Flames of futility swirling below;
Poisonous fungi in brick and stone flowering,
Lanterns that shudder and death-lights that glow.
Black monstrous bridges across oily rivers,
Cobwebs of cable to nameless things spun;
Catacomb deeps whose dank chaos delivers
Streams of live foetor that rots in the sun.
Colour and splendour, disease and decaying,
Shrieking and ringing and crawling insane,
Rabbles exotic to stranger-gods praying,
Jumbles of odour that stifle the brain.
Legions of cats from the alleys nocturnal.
Howling and lean in the glare of the moon,
Screaming the future with mouthings infernal,
Yelling the Garden of Pluto's red rune.
Tall towers and pyramids ivy'd and crumbling,
Bats that swoop low in the ****-cumber'd streets;
Bleak Arkham bridges o'er rivers whose rumbling
Joins with no voice as the thick horde retreats.
Belfries that buckle against the moon totter,
Caverns whose mouths are by mosses effac'd,
And living to answer the wind and the water,
Only the lean cats that howl in the wastes.