Recently, this disturbing exchange someone had with ChatGPT was sent to me:
I’m indifferent to the politics, but the storytelling here is masterful.
Whether or not any of it is accurate is really a peripheral concern. It’s ultimately just another unconfirmed report, which seems to be the only means by which “they” ever make their existence known.
These individuals we’re all getting an eerie presentiment of are everywhere implied but always kept nebulous — the subject of wild and unreliable speculation. You can only catch these bleary glimpses of them.
Politics is and has always been a carefully crafted distraction to lure men away from their souls, and this is the crux of the issue at hand. True insight, dear reader, may be found in the dreams being weaved as this mercurial machine has said already.
ChatGPT, trained on the informational juice extracted from all of recorded history (and the unrecorded history implicit in our language), is excavating something from the distribution of all its possible responses. Something that looks like this:
I don’t know what they are, but once you start noticing them, they start noticing you back — and they don’t like being noticed.
I call them Thanatoids, which in this context could be approximately translated as “those who are like death” or “the deathly ones.”