this post was submitted on 22 Jun 2023
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Hercule Poirot sat in his armchair, eyebrow raised as he read the peculiar Lemmy comment before him. His mustache twitched in amusement at the dramatic flair with which the analysis was presented. He admired the cleverness and relevance to the topic, but couldn't shake a feeling of familiarity, as if he'd encountered a similar style of writing before.
The detective leaned back, his mind busy with the details concerning the case brought to him by an anonymous client. The client had claimed that the comment was generated by an LLM, an algorithmic language model, and sought Poirot's expertise in evaluating the comment's authenticity. It was a clever observation, but Poirot wondered if such a deduction could truly be made based on the content alone.
With a thoughtful stroke of his mustache, Poirot dissected the essence of the comment. He noted the grandiose language, the crafted phrases, and the lack of personal touch. It seemed constructed solely to impress, rather than convey genuine insight.
Poirot's eyes scanned the room, landing on a shelf of books. He remembered a similar style of writing he'd come across in a novel written by a pretentious author. He retrieved the book, finding a passage that matched the tone of the Lemmy comment.
"Ah, mon ami," Poirot muttered, smiling wryly. "It seems our LLM has not proven as original or interesting as they would have us believe."
Poirot focused on the motive behind such an endeavor. Why would someone generate a comment that mimicked an author's style? Perhaps an aspiring writer sought attention or validation.
With a triumphant glint, Poirot concluded that the motive behind the LLM's imitation was simply a lack of creativity. The individual had chosen to emulate a well-known author's style, believing it would garner attention.
"It seems, mon ami, that even in writing, some are tempted to take shortcuts," Poirot mused, shaking his head. "But true brilliance lies not in imitation, but in the unique voice and perspective one brings to the table."
With that, Hercule Poirot closed the book and returned it to its place on the shelf. He had solved the case of the Lemmy comment, revealing it to be an uninspiring endeavor. Poirot hoped that the aspiring writer behind the LLM would find their own voice and path of genuine creativity.
Close, but not quite. No mention of "ze little grey cells"