I recently tried the new automated speech-to-text function of our university’s video streaming service. This is the one we are supposed to use when making our lecture videos comply with the new EU accessibility requirements. It did not go well. I estimate about 75% of the sub-titles were wrong. I don’t know how much work it would require to actually re-write the sub-titles for an entire lecture series, nor do I want to. Let’s hope it develops quickly into something better.
Well, what to do? I (or rather, me and the algorithm) made a poem. Words by the algorithm, and rhythm, punctuation, certain little stylistic omissions by yours truly. Enjoy!
“A short lived man” (M. Siitonen & an anonymous algorithm)
My name’s Monocacy.
Talk and think about them, and damn!
Due to the fact that this desert session is also reported
(every once in wild horse)
But enough of languishing communication studies.
I am so very short lived man
to-day’s topic on my hand.
Off that and borrow meant in which you are in (hum),
given and garment and that Sam.
Peace is introductory peace.
And death, it has to do with the fact that we martin away
frostily unnoticed and many more.
Was the university of you rascal, or of some of you?
Or perhaps you study to Bob – he didn’t have break.
And death, and of course the first months always.
I’m spent in trying to understand what is going on.
On hearing what is even possible in this new and barman.
Em, and sir, it is told that we too often forget
that thou foreign sissy around us they are somehow.
What is this system around us in the first place?
What fools and systems doesn’t consist
of a lamp not thinking of technology, so you are in technology.
I’m fool.
Orthodox, I’m the written document.
I’m becoming aware of the height of Navajo,
listed picture of the communication, and barman, the yacht.
That’s the new normal, old normal, whatever.
And to and so forth million friends we always part.
But the people we (ah) collaborating with
have their own realities, ate their own background.
Dad, and/or soul, asking sort of stupid questions that
bade the yacht, bear communicate their presence in some way.
So, the final viewpoint I want to shame is simply.
It’s like holmwood task for you, i’m dead and none knew.
Could use another metaphor, but let’s say now no winter is coming in here,
and during the winter time kitchen is wholesome, eyes and soaps.
What happens in the kitchen,
something granite gettin unite,
forget mine old lives that sharpened.
That’s what you need to ask.
I’ve been marmont. My name’s Monocacy.
Digital Wilderness 