I am having a lovely time giving ChatGPT 'literary challenges.' I had read an article in the Smithsonian Magazine that described an experiment in which the subjects of the that experiment were asked a variety questions, including some which required them to distinguish the real work of famous authors and the AI generated fakes. Most could not.

So off I went to Chat GPT to give it a few tasks that might test it's mettle. First up was the poet Philip Larkin. I had Larkin's 'Home is so Sad' in front of me and asked the bot to create a poem in the style of Larkin entitled Home is so Sad. Epic fail. The slightly sardonic tone and sense of regret was there, but the style was way off the mark.

Consider the bot's opening verse,

'Home is so sad,
It sways like a tree in the wind,
The rooms, once warm, now sag
Under the weight of what’s been.'

Its not bad as verse goes, but Larkin would never have written this. Not even when he was in primary school.

But other challenges have been far more successful and might well fool the unsuspecting. I asked ChatGPT to write scenes in the style of Shakespeare, Pinter and Beckett. Also a monologue in the style of Woody Allen. All were competently executed.

There are many potential downsides to this capacity, especially concerning plagiarism. But there are also wonderful opportunities to generate new bot-driven literature which could be a lot of fun. Back when I was teaching English and Drama, this could have been a very creative blessing for students, so long as they also did original student-driven work themselves. I mean the AI variety as a supplement and stimulus principally.

Of course, AI might yet destroy us all. But for now I have more tasks for ChatGPT. I hope that it gets to write better poetry though.

Storm clouds can arise for anyone and anywhere and, if we are wise, they catch our attention in deeper ways. These are metaphorical storms, of course, the ones that loom suddenly and sweep us into difficult and sometimes debilitating situations.

There is no one on the planet, no matter what their wealth or status, good looks, rude health and otherwise fortunate circumstances who will not experience the storms that bring suffering and pain to their door. It is almost always unwelcome and invariably wished away. 

You can face them square on, or give them side-wards glances, or try to turn your back, but the storm must be gone through, no matter what. Drugs, alcohol, tranquillizers and hedonistic living merely stay the moment when matters must be dealt with in some manner.

Because I have faith, I can yield my circumstances to God. I can only know the tiny portion of what is, like a pin hole in a sheet of cardboard held up to the eye. I do not know the end from the beginning, or how seemingly chaotic events can work towards a better end. That is a matter of trust for me.

Storms are still painful, but there is solace in knowing that I am not the captain of this ship.

There is much to marvel at in the Australian story but there are times when I am sorely disappointed. Just recently I have been immersed in the hospital system on behalf of my wife and my son and found it to be first class, compassionate, professional and skilful.

But today was cause for one of those great disappointments, made greater and more impactful by the fact that it effects my family directly. We had applied a Tourist Visa for Ann's son Aran to visit us for three weeks early next year. The application was meticulously completed and all the required documentation (and much more besides) supplied. I leave nothing to chance and we had a very solid case for its approval.

Today the application was denied. The reason. Aran has no job to go back to. Never mind his healthy bank balance or the fact that we had provided details of how we would put him up and show him around. Apparently not having a job makes him a flight risk in Australia. Yet if he did have his old job back, the most leave he could take each year was 5 days. So he could not have come even if he had a job. So job or not, you can't come!

I can't tell you how upset I am at this ridiculous bureaucratic nonsense, worthy of a Kafka short story. There is no appeal, no refund, no proper explanation. Just the stroke of an unthinking pen. It is very unjust but what can you do about it?

 There are multiple narratives emerging about why Trump won yesterday, all of which may have some truth. The post-covid economy of high inflation, the focus on too progressive policies in the White House, a loss of focus by the Democrats on the working class and so forth. The result is pretty close to what many canny observers of the polls were saying, that Trump would win comfortably. So I wasn't at all surprised, even if I was very disappointed.

Its hard to say how badly things will pan out in the next four years given how chaotic Trump's first term was. There is something cultish about his support - he is - after all, a celebrity and plays the political with much underestimated skill. Will 16 million illegals be deported? It's doubtful. Might tariffs go to 100% What do you think? Will he exact revenge? Probably. Will Putin get the Ukraine with a red ribbon attached? Hmm.

Let's wait and see.

With the US Presidential election upon us now, there is much trepidation in that country and around the world. Aside from the usual suspects - Russia, North Korea, Hungary etc - the leaders of most nations do not want a Trump victory. In addition to his odious behaviour on the stump, the sheer chaos of another such administration strikes genuine fear in sensible and thoughtful people around the globe.

But there you are, the contest is statistically deadlocked with a better than average chance that Trump will win a second term. The polls themselves are difficult to discern - a point up here and a point down there for either candidate - with much hand-wringing about 'shy' Trump voters (are they counted in the polls?) and tiny last minute swings in key districts.

I confess that after weeks and weeks of election watching and listening to the pundits, I have no idea who is likely to win, though I have a suspicion who will win. I hope that I am wrong.

The last day of October. Birds are diligently and somewhat urgently gathering food for their young, whose plaintive cries can clearly be heard from the stand of trees at the end of garden. Like human parents, the birds respond instinctively to the sound of their hungry offspring.

Now and then I put some food scraps in the garden, especially when we have had little rain and our avian friends are scratching for a meal. Usually they will take whatever is offered, but lately have been getting very choosy. I expect they know what is best for the nestling diet. But today a satin bower bird swooped on a half a slice of toast, skilfully taking it out of reach of some adult magpies.

You can spend a lot of time gazing into the garden at this time of year and its never gets boring.

Tom found himself in ER at Katoomba two days ago with a collapsed lung. I don't know how lungs 'collapse', but he seems terribly young to be in this predicament. Further tests are pending at Nepean tomorrow. He has moved back home too, at least for the time-being and I am very happy to see him.

I don't blame young people for getting lost in social media and drugs - lamentable as it is - given the world they find themselves in. It may not be all that different from the world I found myself in, but the volume of noise generated is much, much greater. The foundations of truth are constantly undermined and voices clamour for attention from all directions.

Who is the one to teach discernment, how to distinguish between right and wrong, worthwhile or junk? Where are those clarions and can they be heard amidst the din?