I am all alone but I have an internet connection
A series of short dialogues
By Kate Vozella in collaboration with OpenAI
Kate works with OpenAI, feeding it carefully chosen prompts from Craigslist’s missed connections. This hybrid community–machine project generates dialogue that is at once abstract and hyper-naturalistic, echoing the call-and-response exercises often used in theatre to deepen story, objective, and relationship. The same call and response exists in nature, too — like birds calling across distance, seeking one another through sound.
The resulting texts resemble the stilted rhythms of awkward human encounter, yet they hold the tonal vulnerability and longing embedded in those original ads. By personifying the machine, the exercise magnifies the missed and lost connections that haunt daily life, illuminating the fragile, transient, and sometimes profound moments of contact between strangers.
To read this dialogue series, please reach out directly.
Note: This series is to be performed by actors in a space for an audience.
A series of short dialogues
By Kate Vozella in collaboration with OpenAI
Kate works with OpenAI, feeding it carefully chosen prompts from Craigslist’s missed connections. This hybrid community–machine project generates dialogue that is at once abstract and hyper-naturalistic, echoing the call-and-response exercises often used in theatre to deepen story, objective, and relationship. The same call and response exists in nature, too — like birds calling across distance, seeking one another through sound.
The resulting texts resemble the stilted rhythms of awkward human encounter, yet they hold the tonal vulnerability and longing embedded in those original ads. By personifying the machine, the exercise magnifies the missed and lost connections that haunt daily life, illuminating the fragile, transient, and sometimes profound moments of contact between strangers.
To read this dialogue series, please reach out directly.
Note: This series is to be performed by actors in a space for an audience.
Excerpt from Dialogue 1
Old(er) People at Starbucks
Man at Starbucks,
We used to see each other getting coffee every morning. You were in your 60s, always dressed in a suit. You told me you like this color dress on me. Please mention the color.
Woman at Starbucks,
It was Dark Blue.
Man at Starbucks,
I’d say it was Light Blue.
Woman at Starbucks,
Oh. Then, it wasn’t me. Good luck.
Man at Starbucks,
I hope you find someone to love.
Dear Woman at Starbucks,
Wait - did the dress have ruffles?
Silence.
Dear Woman at Starbucks,
Okay, I may not know the color of the dress, but I’m sure when you walk, the dress leaves sparkles behind it.
Dear Man at Starbucks,
It doesn’t.
Dear Woman at Starbucks,
I’ll be surprised if I hear from you now.
Dear Man at Starbucks,
It may have been Dark Blue. Do you not remember me at all?
Dear Woman at Starbucks,
I’m getting older, what can I say?
Dear Man at Starbucks,
I’m the same age as you.
Dear Woman at Starbucks,
I am 54 (I just looked older that day) and if I’m honest, I am married with no children.
Dear Man at Starbucks,
Well, if I am honest… I think people talk about me because I am a woman of a certain age, but it’s not my fault I thought you were older… and it’s not my cross to bear. I really would rather not get talked about at all.
No reply.
1.5 years later.
Dear Woman at Starbucks,
This letter has been a long time coming. I read your last letter a year and a half ago, but I didn't have the courage to respond. I have gotten a divorce. It was the hardest thing I have ever done. The worst thing in the world. It took everything. Took it all. And then threw it all away. If I can describe it in one word, that’s it. Gone. We said our vows to God. I was reborn that day. God healed me in many ways. That is the best way I can put it. Over the past two years, things with Him have now changed. I am working on being okay with it.
How are you? Could we meet for coffee?
How’s tomorrow? 2pm at Starbucks?
Old(er) People at Starbucks
Man at Starbucks,
We used to see each other getting coffee every morning. You were in your 60s, always dressed in a suit. You told me you like this color dress on me. Please mention the color.
Woman at Starbucks,
It was Dark Blue.
Man at Starbucks,
I’d say it was Light Blue.
Woman at Starbucks,
Oh. Then, it wasn’t me. Good luck.
Man at Starbucks,
I hope you find someone to love.
Dear Woman at Starbucks,
Wait - did the dress have ruffles?
Silence.
Dear Woman at Starbucks,
Okay, I may not know the color of the dress, but I’m sure when you walk, the dress leaves sparkles behind it.
Dear Man at Starbucks,
It doesn’t.
Dear Woman at Starbucks,
I’ll be surprised if I hear from you now.
Dear Man at Starbucks,
It may have been Dark Blue. Do you not remember me at all?
Dear Woman at Starbucks,
I’m getting older, what can I say?
Dear Man at Starbucks,
I’m the same age as you.
Dear Woman at Starbucks,
I am 54 (I just looked older that day) and if I’m honest, I am married with no children.
Dear Man at Starbucks,
Well, if I am honest… I think people talk about me because I am a woman of a certain age, but it’s not my fault I thought you were older… and it’s not my cross to bear. I really would rather not get talked about at all.
No reply.
1.5 years later.
Dear Woman at Starbucks,
This letter has been a long time coming. I read your last letter a year and a half ago, but I didn't have the courage to respond. I have gotten a divorce. It was the hardest thing I have ever done. The worst thing in the world. It took everything. Took it all. And then threw it all away. If I can describe it in one word, that’s it. Gone. We said our vows to God. I was reborn that day. God healed me in many ways. That is the best way I can put it. Over the past two years, things with Him have now changed. I am working on being okay with it.
How are you? Could we meet for coffee?
How’s tomorrow? 2pm at Starbucks?