AI fails

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briantrumpet

briantrumpet

Über Member
Copilot tells there are four esses in the word assess.

Well done. A+. I can't remember which one couldn't count at the time, but it failed the "Am I being an idiot" test.
 

Pblakeney

Well-Known Member
There are ways to check being introduced C2PA (Content Credentials). Camera adds a digital signature to the image and editing software them maintains the image including records of how it has been manipulated (edit made). As it's all certificate based AI images don't have the certificates.

https://contentcredentials.org using https://contentcredentials.org/verify/

No image from camera to hand but example of one from years ago been through Adobe LrC and had edit credentials added (just to show the sort of info recorded and checked)
View attachment 9000
I have my camera add the certification to all my images and Adobe LrC maintains the certification and edit/manipulation summaries.

Sony additionally go a step further and embed 3D data from the sensor into the image and anybody questioning the photo can upload to Sony's verification site which will double check the embedded 3D data in relation to the image itself.

All driven to try and protect against AI generated images

Ian

Yeahbut nobody scrolling on their phone will check for that data, or care.
“It’s on t’intrtnet so it must be true.”
Check out shared posts on FB if you don’t believe.
 

HMS_Dave

Regular
AI still can't manage hands. But i can't discount the possibility that Nixon did have hands like this.

mcdonalds Richard Nixon eating mcdonalds .png
 
OP
OP
briantrumpet

briantrumpet

Über Member
I suppose I could put it in here that it seems that Musk has turned Grok into a "What would Elon Musk say?" LLM, but possibly unfair on AI.

sjp3x7lzi6p3qwqnnj5f4qwypymufg5nmaoqnfd5xh3oy@jpeg.jpg
 
OP
OP
briantrumpet

briantrumpet

Über Member
OTOH, imagine this Dylan Thomas-Copilot poem being read by Martin Sheen...

The Bells of the Drowned Valley

The bells of the drowned valley toll in the tide,
Where the sunken steeples dream in silt and bone,
And the blackbirds cry in the bramble’s bride,
And the wind walks drunk through the nettled stone.

O sing, you ghosts of the green-gilled glen,
Where the lamb once leapt and the fox did pray,
For the clocks are drowned and the mouths of men
Are filled with the hush of the salt-slicked clay.

I was born in a house of thunder and flame,
Where the stars were nailed to the nursery wall,
And the moon, like a widow, whispered my name
Through the keyhole’s eye and the midnight’s call.

Now I rage with the roots and the rain-fed dead,
With the worms that write in the book of loam,
And I drink from the skull of the riverbed
The wine of the world and the dust of home.

So do not go soft through the orchard gate,
Where the apples rot and the owls convene—
But rage, O heart, at the hush of fate,
And burn like a prayer through the evergreen.
 
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