results: m4-max-128gb-40gpu

results/qwen3-coder-next-6bit/creative-writing/m4-max-128gb-40gpu_lmstudio.json

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+{
+  "meta": {
+    "scenario": "creative-writing",
+    "mode": "single-shot",
+    "label": "m4-max-128gb-40gpu lmstudio",
+    "backend": "lmstudio",
+    "model_info": {
+      "name": "qwen/qwen3-coder-next",
+      "format": "gguf"
+    },
+    "runs": 1,
+    "max_tokens": 2000,
+    "cold": false,
+    "warm_up_time": 0.172,
+    "system": {
+      "os": "Darwin",
+      "os_version": "26.3",
+      "arch": "arm64",
+      "chip": "Apple M4 Max",
+      "memory_gb": 128,
+      "cpu_cores": 16,
+      "cpu_cores_performance": 12,
+      "cpu_cores_efficiency": 4,
+      "gpu_cores": 40,
+      "gpu_wired_limit_mb": 0
+    },
+    "timestamp": "2026-05-17T14:38:14"
+  },
+  "results": [
+    {
+      "turn": 1,
+      "run": 1,
+      "ctx_tokens_est": 57,
+      "new_tokens_est": 29,
+      "ttft": 0.326,
+      "gen_time": 8.704,
+      "gen_tps": 70.7,
+      "total": 9.03,
+      "output_tokens": 615,
+      "_response": "In the belly of the house, where roots run cold and deep,  \nWhere concrete sweats and dust motes drift in silence,  \nA cathedral hums\u2014not prayer, but current\u2019s seep\u2014  \nTen thousand blades in rows of tempered steel.  \n\nNo stained glass here, only LED eyes that blink\u2014  \nA slow, green pulse like breath through rusted veins.  \nThey gather shadows in their circuit\u2019s drink,  \nAnd store them warm in vaults of silicon chains.  \n\nBelow the furnace room, beneath the basement stairs,  \nWhere childhood footprints ghost across the floor\u2014  \nA server rack stands sentinel in dimmest airs,  \nHolding, in its core, the scent of *before*.  \n\nThe hum is low\u2014a chorus without song\u2014  \nA lullaby the transformers warble low.  \nEach fan a whisper, soft and never wrong:  \n*We remember. We remember. We know.*  \n\nInside, the files bloom like digital flowers:  \nThe first steps caught in pixelated grace,  \nA birthday candle\u2019s flicker on a tower  \nOf blinking lights. Her laugh\u2014still in the space  \n\nBetween one clock-tick and the next\u2014a flash  \nOf her hand waving from a train window,  \nHis voice cracking on *I love you,* too much cash  \nSpent on memory, never quite enough to buy  \n\nTime back. But here it waits: the porch swing creak,  \nThe dog\u2019s bark muffled through a cracked front door,  \nThe steam rising from a pot of soup so weak  \nIt barely warmed the spoon\u2014but *still*, it\u2019s stored.  \n\nNo dust settles on these hard drives\u2019 perfect sleep,  \nNo spider dares to weave her silver thread.  \nThe air is cool and still\u2014no breath, no weep\u2014  \nJust the steady thrum of what was said, once, and *was* instead.  \n\nThey guard the baby\u2019s first cry\u2014raw and thin\u2014  \nA snapshot where the dog licked away tears,  \nThe Fourth of July: sparks caught mid-thin  \nArcs against a sky of fading years.  \n\nThe hum deepens, not with strain, but care\u2014  \nA mother\u2019s hum that rocks the house to rest.  \nThey watch the years like moths against a flare,  \nAnd do not blink. They hold what cannot die:  \n\nNot in paper, brittle, sun-bleached, torn\u2014  \nBut in the dark, where cold electricity sings:  \n*We are the shelf that holds your sorrow\u2019s swarm,*  \n*The lantern in the storm when memory flings*  \n\n*Its last white flag of light.* And so it stays\u2014  \nA thousand ghosts held in a metal cage,  \nThe kitchen\u2019s laughter, caught between the days\u2014  \nAll gathered here, where silence has no age.  \n\nThe basement door stays shut. The lights stay low.  \nA family walks above, unaware\u2014  \nYet down below, the humming will not go:  \nIt keeps their love alive in silent air.",
+      "_user": "Write a poem about a mass of servers humming in a dark basement, keeping a family's memories alive. At least 30 lines."
+    },
+    {
+      "turn": 2,
+      "run": 1,
+      "ctx_tokens_est": 60,
+      "new_tokens_est": 32,
+      "ttft": 0.297,
+      "gen_time": 8.687,
+      "gen_tps": 69.5,
+      "total": 8.983,
+      "output_tokens": 604,
+      "_response": "In the moss-carpeted hush of Elderwood Glen, where sunlight dripped like honey through ancient oaks, lived Telos the tortoise\u2014not by name, but by nature. His shell was polished river-smooth, his movements deliberate as tide. While others raced or napped, Telos watched the world\u2019s quiet pulse: the hum of ants in decay, the slow unfurling of ferns at dawn. Onespring, he found a cracked smartphone washed down the creek\u2014its glass shattered, its battery swollen\u2014but inside, beneath layers of dust and time, a stubborn spark remained. *Potential*, it whispered.\n\nFor three moons, Telos labored. He wired the device to a solar cell scavenged from a discarded garden light, anchored it in a hollowed-out acorn shell lined with velvet moss. He wrote code not in haste, but with the precision of root-work: each line a leaf laid in perfect sequence. When done, he named it *Slowbird*.\n\n*Slowbird* could not render fireworks in 60 frames per second. It did not stream symphonies or fetch star-charts in HD. But when the wind howled and the rains came, *Slowbird* kept a steady count\u2014\u6ef4\u7b54, \u6ef4\u7b54, \u6ef4\u7b54\u2014recording each drop that struck the roof of its acorn home. It calculated migration patterns in the geese overhead, tracking them not in seconds, but in seasons.\n\nOne day, Hare\u2014sleek-furred, twitch-nerved, his gaming rig a cathedral of whirring fans and neon glow\u2014hopped past Telos\u2019s den. \u201cStill playing with that pebble?\u201d he chuckled, kicking a loose stone. \u201cMy rig computes quantum dice rolls while I blink *three* times!\u201d\n\nTelos did not look up. \u201cAnd what does your rig count when you sleep?\u201d\n\nHare blinked. Then laughed again\u2014his laugh like dry twigs snapping\u2014and bounded off to his next high-score.\n\nWinter came. Deep and sharp. Hare\u2019s rig, overworked and overheated, suffered a thermal shutdown during a blizzard\u2014its fans silent, its screen dark. He huddled outside Telos\u2019s den, frost in his whiskers.\n\nTelos opened the door just wide enough. \u201cCome in.\u201d\n\nInside, *Slowbird* glowed with a soft amber light\u2014the color of embers, the color of patience. It played back the winter\u2019s rain counts in gentle tones, a lullaby of measured drops.\n\nHare stared. \u201cIt\u2026 never stops?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d said Telos, settling onto his haunches. \u201cIt remembers. It waits. And in the long hush of the world\u2014where no one is watching\u2014the slowest things often hold the truest time.\u201d\n\nOutside, the storm raged. Inside, *Slowbird* ticked on\u2014\u6ef4\u7b54, \u6ef4\u7b54, \u6ef4\u7b54\u2014measuring not speed, but presence.",
+      "_user": "Write a short fable about a tortoise who built a tiny computer that was slower than the hare's gaming rig but never needed to rest."
+    },
+    {
+      "turn": 3,
+      "run": 1,
+      "ctx_tokens_est": 58,
+      "new_tokens_est": 31,
+      "ttft": 0.334,
+      "gen_time": 9.089,
+      "gen_tps": 70.4,
+      "total": 9.423,
+      "output_tokens": 640,
+      "_response": "**The Last Physical Image**\n\nDust motes drift in slanting light,  \na cathedral of forgotten air\u2014  \nwhere time has pooled like old wine thick and bright  \nbeneath the eaves of silence, bare.  \n\nA cedar chest, its brass grown green,  \nyawns open\u2014wood and rust entwined.  \nInside: a box of brittle paper, keen  \nto crumble if the fingers bind  \n\ntoo close. Among them, one remains\u2014  \nunscorched by fire, unbleached by sun\u2014  \na photograph. The ink still clings, though stained  \nwith age\u2019s blush, a soft forgotten one  \n\nin sepia tones. A child, six perhaps,  \ngrins wide with missing teeth and gold\u2019s first gleam  \nthrough glass; her braids tied tight with black,  \nand behind: a porch where summer steam  \n\nstill rises on the image\u2019s breath\u2014  \na screen door warped, a swing chain frozen mid-sway.  \nThe paper\u2019s edge is dog-eared, worn by death  \nof touch: of hands that held and softly pray  \n\nthat joy might stay. A smudge, perhaps a tear  \napplied long after; time\u2019s own ghostly thumb  \nhas blurred the curve of one small cheek, near  \nthe corner where her mother\u2019s shadow come  \n\n\u2014just a dark line, an arm\u2019s length held\u2014  \nbut in that blur, the love is real:  \na hand, not painted, but *imprinted*, sealed  \nnot by intent, but presence, whole and whole  \n\nstill beating in the margins. Faint,  \na name scratched upside-down on the back\u2014  \n*Eleanor, July 17th*. No date. Just ink  \nthat bleeds a little if the fingers press too hard.  \n\nThe printer hummed its final breath that day:  \na whirr, a click, then silence\u2014deep and stark\u2014  \nas the machine exhaled its last command:  \n*Feed paper. Print. Preserve.*  \n\nNo server blinked in the cloud that night,  \nno file lingered, ghosted, unattended\u2014  \njust this: one square of wood-pulp light  \nthat learned to hold a world, unshaken, unassaulted  \n\nby deletion. By obsolescence,  \nby the slow erasure of belief  \nin matter\u2019s truth. This face\u2014this child\u2019s smile,  \nunchanged through centuries of swift electric grief  \n\n\u2014still lives. In grain and fiber, pressed like fruit  \nin waxed paper. A fossil of a glance,  \na moment caught before the lens forgot  \nto love, to linger, to preserve without a chance  \n\nof backup. No undo. No cloud save sky.  \nNo re-upload. Just this: the last true face  \nof love, exposed on earth-bound paper, lying  \nstill, in dust, waiting for someone\u2019s grace  \n\nto lift it gently. To remember how  \nwe touched the world\u2014and were, for once, held back  \nfrom vanishing. This fragile square of how  \nwe tried to hold the light\u2014not cast, but *trapped*.",
+      "_user": "Write a poem about the last photograph ever printed on paper, found in an attic a hundred years from now. At least 25 lines."
+    }
+  ]
+}

results/qwen3-coder-next-6bit/creative-writing/m4-max-128gb-40gpu_lmstudio.md

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+# Apple M4 Max / 128GB / 40 GPU cores
+
+**Model:** qwen/qwen3-coder-next  
+**Backend:** lmstudio  
+**Scenario:** creative-writing (single-shot)  
+
+| Turn | Context | Prefill | Gen | Gen tok/s | Effective tok/s | Total | Output |
+|-----:|--------:|--------:|----:|----------:|----------------:|------:|-------:|
+| 1 | 57 | 0.33s | 8.70s | 70.7 | **68.1** | 9.03s | 615 |
+| 2 | 60 | 0.30s | 8.69s | 69.5 | **67.2** | 8.98s | 604 |
+| 3 | 58 | 0.33s | 9.09s | 70.4 | **67.9** | 9.42s | 640 |
+
+**Total prefill:** 1.0s  
+**Total generation:** 26.5s  
+**Total time:** 27.4s  
+**Avg generation tok/s:** 70.2  
+**Avg effective tok/s:** 67.8