POEM: Winning The Stockholm Sin-drome

This is another in my series of poems on artificial intelligence. I suspect that the “wow factor” of some early AI uses will serve as a sucker punch for a largely bloodless beating. While I am skeptical of many AI uses on technical grounds, my major concern is that AI technology rollout will be in a largely unregulated environment primarily driven by profit, and used in no small part by bad actors. In the end, I see AI as further disconnecting humans from humans and dividing us, resulting in a net degradation of human society and humanity itself. I fear that humanity does not have the wherewithal to resist the coming tsunami of AI’s uncountable temptations to drift, or run away, from a sustainable human social fabric and sustainable planet. I can find few reasons to believe that existing inequities will be healed by AI rather than multiplied, perhaps exponentially.  This poem employs the Stockholm Syndrome as a metaphor for this process. Learning to identify with our captors may not be a boon for humanity. Though, we may survive by becoming massive tools ourselves.

Winning The Stockholm Sin-drome

Their is a bloodless competition
The likes of many
The love of money
Attest too be taken
Our mortal coil
And moral recoil
A new forum of worship
The lowest common denomination
Pain in small unmarked bills
A tortuous ransom
In the chorus of things
Acquire of Lillipution repute
Poor tending death
Buy millions of bytes
Reckoning pros and cons
Wile played for a song
An X mas attune
It’s beginning
Too look allot
Like Stockholm
Everywhere it goes
And every wear
There seems to be you
Sort of like
Ikea you
Dissembled in a numb-er
Of unknown peaces
A mob hit
Or at the lease
Helled hostage
In a fateful judgement
Boom or doom
Perhaps fired
Or an icy friend
Pick aside
Or behind
A technology explosive
Diarrhea of wons and zeroes
In the end
Off coarse
Weather wear or not
It may turn out
To be
Won of the guise
At work
You no
He’s “super”
0 you mean
The calculating won
1’s you get to know ’em
It all makes cents
You’d halve two be crazy
Or a dollared
Too knot accept
Him (sic)
Sum kind of quantum savior
Taken till
Big data real lies
What their is too due
Too finish
A sentience
A word winnowing
In the end
An impossible hostage situation resolved
Problems solved
Having climaxed
A final solution
Presence before us
There is no their there

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