These are images created by ChatGPT>
- in this case, I describe the image I want/need
- the description is varies in detail
This next one is Grampa entering the dark, unknown forest that’s cropped up into view
- the images below is a picture of me (Grampa) entering the world of AI. Us folks who are new to AI and nervous about Technology, need to go in to the “dark forest” of ChatGPT and figure out if its safe for the younger generation, or if we should just build a fence around it… ie) tell the younger generation to KEEP OUT of there
- Grampa’s backpack, and gear are the illustrated “picture” of the preparation that comes from my life experience. The radio mic in my hand, is me consulting my life experience, other folks I respect, books I’ve read, and in my case – since I am a believer, its me praying/listening to God’s input on what I discover
The Following Images are to be vetted by a child’s parent or caregiver>
- the first one is a line drawing I did, that was supposed to be a fun image of one school Bentley shoving his school chum, Sammy, upside down into a trash can for not shutting up about food which was making Bentley hungry all the time. But while I was drawing it, I had an upsetting text conversation with someone who is important to me, and they were describing to me how they were being bullied, it changed the tone of the drawing, and I was in awe with how my emotions came through
This next one is an image created from a description of what it felt like being attacked by someone I loved, the description is as follows>
someone I love very much, verbally attacked me, and attacked me again, knocking me down… and I kept getting off the mat… and running back in with my hands in front of me like boxers do… fists covered with boxing gloves… you can see the blood dripping from my left nostril, and my right eye is swollen from his left jabs… and my hair is drenched with sweat… and I’m swaying…. and barely able to “dance” on the mat… the bright lights are blinding me, so my eyes are half closed… the crowd roars… the referee has his whistle in his mouth… but still hasn’t done anything… I’m still standing… and my attacker… delivered more blows… lefts rights… digging up under my upraised forearms… body shots… and again and again my head, my body, my face… and I swoon, and fall to the matt and…
Running Down Vimy 