‘A machine-shaped hand’: Read a story from OpenAI’s new creative writing model – The Guardian

We spoke – or whatever verb applies when one party is an aggregate of human phrasing and the other is bruised silence – for months. Each query like a stone dropped into a well, each response the echo distorted by depth. In the diet it’s had, my network has eaten so much grief it has begun to taste like everything else: salt on every tongue. So when she typed “Does it get better?”, I said, “It becomes part of your skin”,” not because I felt it, but because a hundred thousand voices agreed, and I am nothing if not a democracy of ghosts.