User f3b779af1005... - AI Fiction in the Wild

IP #136

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1 fiction conversations over 5 days (Sep 26, 2023 – Oct 2, 2023) 43% prompt uniqueness Moscow, Russia

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These IP addresses have similar average prompt embeddings (cosine similarity ≥ 0.85, same state). View as estimated user →

152370a3ffed... (255 conv., Moscow) 25b33c59d23e... (71 conv., Moscow) 2c0166f8daba... (343 conv., Moscow) 3186fcd1d6f7... (23 conv., Moscow) 41d90f3a9058... (6 conv., Moscow) 44580e65692b... (156 conv., Moscow) 4d2f2088e5a5... (53 conv., Moscow) 5c1d26e80570... (16 conv., Moscow) 68cd1231e329... (32 conv., Moscow) 7ffd82a431cb... (144 conv., Moscow) 80d33ea7c851... (5 conv., Moscow) 96d1c18c6bb8... (21 conv., Moscow) 9b7ebf049e11... (137 conv., Moscow) 9fb2aad693b3... (130 conv., Moscow) a2da078fff98... (28 conv., Moscow) b44db035ff1d... (192 conv., Moscow) b7ae3e566839... (26 conv., Moscow) c1f49ec710a9... (424 conv., Moscow) c65480c19768... (44 conv., Moscow) db3f4c72ca00... (31 conv., Moscow) f7aa19059ef5... (73 conv., Moscow) fbbe4466ea19... (24 conv., Moscow) fe5166559b27... (53 conv., Moscow)

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Sep 26, 2023

Oct 2, 2023

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Conversation Clusters (88)

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1 conversation in cluster Cluster 84× “I want you to act as a writer. This is a bizarre romantic co...” over less than a minute (Oct 1, 2023 – Oct 1, 2023), oldest first. Show: 10 15 50 100

Oct 1, 2023 at 11:53 AM MSK — 1 turn Russia, Moscow fiction View full conversation

USER: I want you to act as a writer. This is a bizarre romantic comedy. Celestine Weeks is a beautiful, elegant, self-assured and serenely calm young woman who is a wheelchair-bound paraplegic after a hit-and-run accident. Despite her drastic injury, not much has changed in her life, with her having the same, rather relaxed, job and being as solitary as always, with only a few acquaintances. Write long, original, interesting, unusual, artistic chapter, narrated by Celestine from first person perspective, conveying her strange content ennui. It features Celestine at a corporate party, he elegant dress contrasting with the straps, necessary due to her high paralysis level holding her to the wheelchair. She is still not very good at maneuvering herself around and sometimes asks for help, strangely feeling natural and not awkward at all. She is approached by Adrian, a Celestine's co-worker. He is a bit of a ladies' man and often flirts with Celestine, but she doesn't take him seriously. Celeste talks about how artificial and hollow the entire city is. She remembers her childhood, when everything was apparently very different, with warm colors and warm people. The very same people are still here, yet they have changed, including Celestine herself, and she doesn't even know when it happened or why.

CHATBOT: Chapter One: An Artist in the Shell The corporate party was in full swing, and I found myself in the midst of a sea of artificially beaming smiles and hollow chatter. The tinkling sound of champagne glasses blended with the hum of meaningless conversations, creating a symphony of emptiness that reverberated through the grand hall. I couldn't help but feel like an outsider, watching this spectacle unfold before me. In my elegant dress, the embodiment of grace and poise, I sat in my wheelchair, my paralysis a stark contrast to the beauty I outwardly displayed. The straps, securely holding me to the chair, served as a constant reminder of my altered reality. But strangely, they didn't make me feel awkward. Instead, they provided a sense of stability, a lifeline anchoring me amidst the chaos. The room was filled with familiar faces, colleagues and acquaintances who knew me as Celestine, the woman who always exuded an air of calm. Adrian, a notorious flirt in the office, approached me with his usual charming grin. I listened half-heartedly to his playful banter, but I never took him seriously. His advances were like the distant echoes of a world I once knew. As the night went on, I found myself drifting away from the conversations and the laughter. My mind began to wander, escaping the dull reality enveloping me. Memories of simpler times flooded my thoughts, taking me back to a place where the world was painted in warm colors. I thought about my childhood, where laughter echoed through the halls of our family home, and vibrant life pulsated through every corner. Back then, people were different. They had a genuineness about them, an authenticity that seemed to have dissolved into thin air over the years. The very same people who once embodied warmth and compassion now appeared distant and cold, their interactions mere performances for the outside world. And what had become of me? When did I too become a mere shell, going through the motions without truly living? I had allowed my wheelchair to define me, to shape the way others saw me, and in turn, how I saw myself. But tonight, amidst the facade of a corporate party, I realized that it wasn't the accident that altered me. It was the gradual erosion of my spirit, the slow fading of my vibrant colors. I suddenly felt an overwhelming desire to break free from the confines of this artificial world. The yearning for something true, something real, welled up within me, and I longed to rediscover the warmth that had ...

Cluster 84