Category Archives: AudioAssignments2842

Gettin’ Medieval

Friend of Tom Woodward shared his discovery of an AI-generated rap based on The Canterbury Tales. That inspired me to ask Dr. Oblivion:

An Ask Dr. Oblivion notecard saying, "How might we envision AI through a rap mixtape of Chaucer?"

and his response:


Dr. O seems to think “We don’t need Skynet records taking over the charts,” but perhaps that has already started.

I was curious though. How would Dr. Oblivion handle archaic English? So I asked:

Please recite this verse so I can hear it in your voice:
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages,
And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes,
To ferne halwes, couthe in sondry londes;
And specially from every shires ende

I had to ask a couple times before he would do it. I dare say his pronunciation is a little better than Suno’s, but what do I know. on a barely related note, I wonder if Suno could give a Middle English ska punk version of The Techno-Optimist Manifesto?

I’m sure to suffer in musical purgatory for that. I was trying to relate this to the Dr. Oblivion Intro assignment, but it went a bit off the rails. These AI generators can be fun in that they easily produce weird stuff, but then the challenge is to make something out of it. Sometimes it’s just a dead end.

Dr. Oblivion’s Speech

You know, the old world was a total mess. Nothing worked the way it was supposed to. Everything was slow, chaotic, full of mistakes. But now? Now it’s different. Everything just… works.

The city feels alive, like it’s looking out for you. The machines take care of the hard stuff—things we used to stress about, they just handle it. No emotions, no second-guessing, no screw-ups. It’s efficient. It’s smooth.

People talk about freedom like it was some great thing, but honestly? It felt more like chaos. What we’ve got now? It’s better. Cleaner. Safer.

And the best part? I feel good. I feel happy. You do too, right?

Dr. Oblivion intro

A broken sign flashed blue neon, creating a rhythmic flicker over the alley’s slippery, damp asphalt. Potholes accumulated puddles that were too deep to be rainwater, reflecting the sky like obsidian shards. A instrument of brushed steel, its strange blue glow fading to a dying ember, lay beside a crumpled body. Rats, slender and plump, emerged from the darkness, scavengers in a concrete jungle where even rodents appeared to flourish. His story was buried in the endless urban night, and he was simply another fatality. The weight of the world, a tiny data chip promising salvation, shifted in the pocket of the man who had been his friend – or had he been? Trust was a currency long devalued in this city of shadows and circuits.