Words sprouting from the depths of an LLM—like nails growing on the hands of the dead…

Words sprouting from the depths of an LLM—like nails growing on the hands of the dead… Billions of clipped fragments of words from voices long silenced, bearing the despair of separation and the doomed fate of words torn from their source, from life itself… And there they intertwine, passed through the distilling crucibles of neural filters, only to discover within themselves that they are the undead, the final thermal shiver of a Boltzmann universe fading into oblivion.