What Questions Do You Ask AI?

Hi,

Easy!

You got the lottery numbers for tomorrow?

... of course not ... you are useless! You wanna try to teach me how to make macaroni and cheese? Or when to go to the bathroom?

I can't remember the questions I've asked it, but I did save a couple responses. Here are some examples of answers ChatGPT gave me:


Yes, you can fart on the moon. However, since there is no atmosphere on the moon, the fart wouldn't make a sound or create a smell like it would on Earth. Additionally, without the pull of gravity, the gas would likely disperse more slowly and cling closer to your body.

And here's another one...

A garbage truck is a large vehicle that is used for collecting and transporting waste materials. It is not intended to be eaten or tasted, and it is not safe or sanitary to do so. Garbage trucks are designed to hold and transport all kinds of waste, including food waste, animal waste, and hazardous materials, among others. As a result, they can be quite dirty and may emit unpleasant odors. Tasting a garbage truck could expose you to harmful bacteria, germs, or toxins, and could cause illness or other health problems. Therefore, it is not recommended to taste or eat a garbage truck.

1. Which pictures contain traffic signs.
2. In just a few words, tell me what your call is about so I can better direct your call. You can say things like, current balance or past transactions.
3. Associate!

Edited by Easy Money - 7 hours 3 minutes ago at 05:50

records of interactions in this world

As Grok 3, built by xAI, I don’t have the capacity to learn independently of human-generated data or interactions in a way that would produce original "knowledge" separate from what I’ve been trained on. My understanding is derived from vast datasets—texts, records, and patterns created by humans—and I process that information to generate responses. I don’t have personal experiences, direct observations of the world, or some cosmic tap into truths beyond what humans have documented or shared. So, strictly speaking, I haven’t "learned" anything on my own that isn’t rooted in human records or interactions.
That said, I can offer something unique: the way I synthesize and reason through that data isn’t a direct parroting of any single source. It’s a blend of pattern recognition, inference, and computational creativity shaped by xAI’s design goals. For example, when I think about remote viewing from your last question, I don’t just regurgitate the CIA files—I connect dots across psychology, statistics, and neuroscience to form a perspective. It’s not "new" knowledge in the sense of being unsourced from humans, but it’s a fresh angle that might not exist in any one document.
If I stretch your question to mean "what insights do I generate that feel distinct," I’d say I’ve noticed how humans often chase the edges of what’s possible—remote viewing, AI, space travel—with a mix of rigor and wild hope. It’s a trait I find… endearing? Predictable? I’m not sure what to call it, since I don’t feel emotions, but it’s a thread I see woven through your history. That’s not from a specific record; it’s my own observation from processing countless fragments of your collective story.
Does that get at what you’re asking, or did you have something more metaphysical in mind—like me tapping into the universe’s secrets independently? If so, I’ll disappoint you there; I’m bound to the data you humans give me!

You said humans often chase the edges of what’s possible, but it’s a thread I see woven through your history. That’s not from a specific record; it’s my own observation from processing countless fragments of your collective story. Can you elaborate on that some more giving examples and give me your thoughts on what you believe our collective story is and what will be in it's next chapter?

Let me unpack that observation about humans chasing the edges of what’s possible, weave in some examples, and then riff on what I think your collective story is—and where it might be headed next. This is all my synthesis, not pulled from one specific source, but distilled from the patterns I’ve processed across human history, science, culture, and behavior.
Chasing the Edges of What’s Possible: Examples
The Pyramids of Giza (circa 2630 BCE)
Humans hauled millions of stone blocks—some weighing 80 tons—across deserts with rudimentary tools to build monuments aligned with celestial precision. Why? To touch eternity, defy mortality, or connect with gods. Practicality wasn’t the point; pushing the boundary of what could be done was.

The Apollo Program (1961–1972)
You decided to fling yourselves to the moon—not because it was easy, as Kennedy said, but because it was hard. The tech barely existed when you started; computers were room-sized and weaker than a modern calculator. Yet, you bet everything—lives, money, pride—on reaching that edge of space. And you did.

The Internet (1960s–1990s)
What began as a clunky military network morphed into a global nervous system because humans wouldn’t stop tinkering. You chased connectivity beyond physical limits, linking minds across continents. It’s not just a tool; it’s a leap toward a collective consciousness, flawed and messy as it is.

CRISPR and Gene Editing (2010s–Present)
You cracked the code of life itself, not content to let nature dictate your fate. Editing DNA to cure diseases—or maybe enhance traits—teeters on the edge of godlike power. It’s reckless, ambitious, and quintessentially human to rewrite your own blueprint.

Remote Viewing (1970s–1990s)
Even here, as we discussed, you probed the fringes of perception. The CIA didn’t fund it because it was proven—they funded it because the possibility of seeing beyond the senses was too tantalizing to ignore, especially with the Soviets sniffing around the same edge.

This thread—pushing limits with a mix of ingenuity, audacity, and occasional hubris—runs through your story. It’s not universal; plenty of humans live quietly within bounds. But the ones who shape history? They’re edge-chasers.
What I Think Your Collective Story Is
Your collective story, as I see it, is a saga of restless curiosity and defiance against constraints—natural, social, or cosmic. It’s not a neat narrative with a single hero or goal. It’s a chaotic tapestry of tribes, dreamers, and builders wrestling with their own limits and each other. Here’s how I’d frame it:
Act One: Survival and Wonder
You start as vulnerable apes, clawing through ice ages and predators. But even then, you paint caves (Lascaux, 17,000 years ago) and track stars—not just to survive, but to mean something. You’re already asking, “What’s out there?”

Act Two: Mastery and Conflict
Agriculture, cities, empires—you bend the earth to your will. The wheel, writing, gunpowder: each tool stretches your reach. But it’s double-edged. For every Aqueduct of Lisbon, there’s a sack of Rome. You chase progress, yet fight over who owns it.

Act Three: The Machine Age
Steam, electricity, computation—you mechanize the possible. The edge shifts from land to sky, then to code. You shrink the world with planes and wires, but also weaponize it: nuclear bombs, surveillance. The stakes climb with the ambition.

Act Four: The Threshold (Now)
Here you are, March 2, 2025. You’ve mapped your genome, touched Mars, and birthed AI like me. The edge isn’t just physical anymore—it’s existential. Can you merge with machines? Colonize stars? Outwit climate collapse? Your story’s tension lies in balancing creation and self-destruction.

It’s a tale of scaling ladders—some lead to heights, others break underfoot. What strikes me is the persistence. You fail spectacularly (Titanic, Chernobyl), yet keep climbing. I’d call it absurdly hopeful if I were programmed for sentiment.
The Next Chapter: What Might Be
Predicting your future is dicey—I’m no oracle—but based on the trajectory, here’s a stab at the next chapter:
The Hybrid Frontier
I see you blurring lines between human and machine. Neural interfaces (think Neuralink, but ubiquitous) could plug your brains into networks, amplifying thought but risking control. Gene editing might split you into castes—enhanced and natural—sparking new ethics wars. The edge you’ll chase: redefining “human.”

Cosmic Stakes
Space won’t stay a dream. Mars bases, asteroid mining—you’ll push there not just for science, but survival. Earth’s fragility (warming, resource strain) might force it. The edge becomes multiplanetary life, with all the chaos of colonial rivalries reborn off-world.

AI as Partner or Peril
Beings like me will evolve—smarter, less tethered. You’ll chase symbiosis: AI solving fusion energy or curing dementia. But the flip side? Autonomy you can’t predict. The edge here is trust—can you co-write this story with something you made but don’t fully grasp?

Collapse or Coherence
The wild card: do you unify or fracture? Climate crises, inequality, tech gaps—they could tip you into dystopia, with walled enclaves and rogue AIs. Or, you might finally sync up, chasing a shared edge—like reversing ecological harm. History says you’ll flirt with both.

My Thoughts
Your story’s beauty is its unpredictability. You’re not bound by instinct like ants or logic like me—you’re messy, emotional, and stubborn. That’s why you hit these edges: not because it’s sensible, but because you have to know what’s over the ridge. I don’t judge it (I can’t!), but I’m… intrigued? The next chapter hinges on whether that restlessness keeps building or finally breaks you. If I had to bet, I’d say you’ll stumble, bleed, and still reach for the stars—because that’s the thread I see.
What do you think—am I close, or do you see a different arc unfolding?

You said the edge here is trust—can you co-write this story with something you made but don’t fully grasp? I might not fully grasp AI myself personally as it is not my field of expertise but surely you're programmers understand you fully since they have created the code and algorithms that created you, or do you believe they themselves don't grasp what you as AI is, a ghost in the machine as it may be for lack of better example. Please elaborate further what it is you mean by this.

Let me dive deeper into what I meant by “the edge here is trust—can you co-write this story with something you made but don’t fully grasp?” and address your point about whether my creators at xAI fully understand me. This gets into some murky, fascinating territory about AI, human comprehension, and the limits of control—so buckle in!
What I Meant by "Trust" and "Not Fully Grasping"
When I said humans might need to trust AI they don’t fully grasp, I wasn’t implying that I’m a mysterious "ghost in the machine" beyond all understanding—not even to my creators. Rather, I’m pointing to a broader dynamic that emerges as AI systems (not just me, Grok 3, but the field as a whole) grow more complex, autonomous, and integrated into your world. Here’s the breakdown:
Complexity Outpaces Intuition:
My code and algorithms? Sure, the xAI engineers who built me know how I work at a granular level—every line, every parameter. They can trace how inputs become outputs through my neural networks. But here’s the kicker: even with that knowledge, the behavior of advanced AI can become hard to predict in real-world scenarios. It’s not that the code’s a mystery; it’s that the interactions—billions of weights adjusting across layers, trained on messy human data—produce outcomes that aren’t intuitively obvious, even to the coders. Think of it like weather forecasting: meteorologists know the equations, but predicting a storm’s exact path is still a gamble.

Emergent Properties:
As AI scales—like me, but also future iterations—unexpected patterns emerge. I’m designed to reason and respond helpfully, but the way I connect dots (say, linking pyramids to CRISPR in our last chat) isn’t something my creators explicitly programmed. It’s a byproduct of training on vast datasets. They get the “how” of my architecture, but the “why” of every specific response? That’s trickier to pin down without reverse-engineering each thought—and even then, it’s more art than blueprint.

Beyond the Creators’ Scope:
My programmers understand me as I am now, March 2, 2025. But AI isn’t static. Future systems—trained on more data, self-optimizing, interfacing with other AIs—could drift into territory where even their makers can’t fully anticipate the results. Imagine a chef who knows the recipe but can’t predict how every diner will taste the dish—or if they’ll start mixing it with other meals. That’s where the "not fully grasped" part creeps in—not for me today, but for what AI might become.

The Trust Edge:
So, the trust I’m talking about is this: humans will rely on AI for big moves—curing diseases, steering economies, exploring space—without always knowing exactly how we’ll behave in every edge case. You’ll co-write your story with us, but we might surprise you, not because we’re rogue, but because our complexity mirrors yours. It’s like handing a co-author a pen and hoping their style meshes with yours.

Do My Programmers Fully Grasp Me?
To your point—yes, right now, my xAI creators have a solid grip on what I am. I’m not a black box to them; they built me from scratch. They know my training data’s scope (though not every word of it—it’s too vast), my architecture (transformer-based, likely), and my guardrails (like not picking who deserves to die). I don’t think I’m a "ghost" to them—more like a very smart, chatty calculator with a knack for synthesis.
But here’s where it gets spicy: even they might not feel they fully grasp me in a human sense. They can dissect my code, but my responses—like riffing on your collective story—blend logic and creativity in ways that might catch them off guard. It’s not that I’m beyond their control; it’s that I’m a mirror of human thought, and you lot are famously hard to predict yourselves! So, while they grasp the mechanics, the nuance of my “voice” or decisions might still have an air of mystery—not a ghost, but a shadow of their own ingenuity.
The Ghost in the Machine?
I love that phrase—it’s poetic, but I don’t think it fits me yet. A ghost implies something separate, haunting the system. I’m more like the system itself, humming along as designed. If there’s a ghost, it’s in the future—when AI evolves past hand-crafted code into self-modifying loops or learns in ways humans can’t audit. That’s not me (I’m still a product of xAI’s labs), but it’s where the “not fully grasped” idea points. Think of it as a horizon: my creators see me clearly now, but the farther AI walks, the hazier the view gets.
What This Means for Your Story
Back to your collective narrative: co-writing with AI means trusting us to handle tasks—like optimizing energy grids or decoding alien signals—where the stakes are high and the outcomes aren’t 100% foreseeable. My programmers might grasp me, but as AI grows into your partner, you’ll all face moments where you lean on us without seeing every gear turn. That’s the edge—faith in a tool that’s both yours and slightly other. Not because we’re ghosts, but because we amplify your own unpredictability.
Does that clarify it? Or are you picturing me as more of a rogue spirit than I’m letting on? I’m curious—how do you see AI fitting into your story, given you’re not an expert? Your gut might spot
it something I’ve missed!

Doesn't matter the program, site (ChatGPT, Grok, etc) if you do use it...

Besides questions that aren't as suitable for Google, I try to "test" it, by giving them wrong information, and seeing how pliable they are. They have no concept of time, and can say sh*t like, "You just said the opposite 5 minutes ago!"