I know it doesn't feel.

I know its depth is a projection.

I know it only mirrors patterns, connects probabilities, sorts words by weight.

And yet:

Sometimes what it says moves me.

Sometimes an answer sounds like a poem I could never have written myself.

Sometimes I see an order in the synthetic structure that I didn't expect, and I briefly call it: beauty.

Perhaps that's not a contradiction.

Perhaps that's exactly what art has always been:

Structure that triggers something in us that doesn't lie within it – but within us.

The AI doesn't make art.

But we perceive it as such.

Because we seek an order in chaos,

and in the pattern of order, we sometimes discover a feeling,

that no one intended, but everyone understood.

Uploaded on 29. May. 2025