Long Escalate Poems
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Robert Sherriff 08/07/1954 - Australian - Poet -Author - Singer - Actor - American Historian – Photographer
The Rising Tide of Cyber Warfare and Military Robotics
Robotics - Ex-Machina In the evolving landscape of modern warfare, cyber warfare and military robotics have emerged as pivotal elements reshaping global conflict dynamics. From covert cyber operations to autonomous drones patrolling warzones, these technologies redefine military strategies and geopolitical alignments. They said it all started at Westworld.
The Role of Cyber
Warfare in Modern Conflicts Cyber Warfare as a Strategic Asset - Inception Cyber warfare has transcended its initial role as a supplementary tactic to become a core component of military strategy. It enables state and non-state actors to achieve strategic objectives without deploying traditional military forces.
Through cyber espionage, denial-of-service attacks, and misinformation campaigns, nations can disrupt adversaries' operations, weaken their economies, and influence political outcomes, often without firing a single shot.
Case Study: Stuxnet or Sky-Net
One of the most notable examples of cyber warfare is the Stuxnet worm, a sophisticated malware that targets Iran's nuclear facilities. This cyber-attack, attributed to the United States and Israel, demonstrated the potential of cyber weapons to inflict physical damage on critical infrastructure, highlighting the strategic value of cyber capabilities in modern conflict.
Implications for Global Conflicts Cyber warfare's asymmetric nature allows smaller nations or groups to challenge superpowers, shifting the balance of power and introducing new uncertainties in international relations. The blurred lines between cyber actions and conventional warfare complicate responses and escalate tensions, increasing the risk of unintended consequences.
The Evolution of Military Robotics and Autonomous Systems - I, Robot
Advancements in Military Robotics The rapid advancement of military robotics, including drones and autonomous vehicles, is transforming the battlefield.
These systems enhance operational efficiency, reduce human casualties, and allow new tactical possibilities. For instance, drones provide real-time intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance (ISR) capabilities, while autonomous ground vehicles support logistics and combat operations.
Bone-drained, there is no respite, no split second of peace. The “sundowner”, a hyper-active toddler in a man’s vehicle, never sleeps nor sits.
When I succumb to that one precious moment of rest; I am awakened to a furnace running full blast in a freezing cold house and on a nineteen degree night. A butter knife has removed a window; the culprit and dementia-mind panics; he’s terrified of being trapped in a fire. There’s no arguing with dementia-mind; it’s best to play along with the his ideas.
Another day of madness and I awake to a frantically screeching doorbell; it’s his nurse. I've revived in the floor. A migraine faint pulled me down; I’ve had no sleep for eight nights, you see. Sweet respite…she says she’ll, “sit with him”, so I can lie down a bit; a pleasant miracle; such happenstance is a rarity.
Dementia-mind has no solutions, only hallucinations, delusions; absence of mind and aggression for the “sundowners”. I watch at breakfast, as he pours his milk upon the floor; he has no clue of what he is doing or why;
he stares, mindless. When the eyes go blank it’s obvious; he’s not in there. A robot gone haywire, used to be my Father. The last thing to go, were his mathematical skills. Dementia-mind has forgotten so many people; how to swallow, but recalls numbers…
“Who is that man?” he demands, pointing at himself in the mirror. My exhausted mind briefly forgets and I mistakenly reply, “You dad.” The firestorm is initiated; he calls me a, “liar”. Self recognition has failed him now; the flame of his mind is burning low; soon to extinguish.
He’s fed and dressed, but I’ve no time to eat; if he should sleep an hour today; I must cook for the week. It’s the only opportunity I have…when and if he sleeps. I must not go to the bathroom; he’ll break something or fall. I must hold myself until my sister arrives.
The “passives” are painful to watch, as they deteriorate, but the “sundowners” are constant exhaustion. I was in the ER, almost as much as, he. You see, there’s no one to care for the caregiver, but themselves and when they can’t, exhaustion and malnutrition escalate. Dementia-mind is round-the-clock work and two doing the work of six people, takes its’ toll. The disease never discriminates; it destroys everyone.
(My Father died with dementia, a form of Alzheimer's in 2003, after a 15 year battle.)
‘Twas two thousand and fifty AD, Planet earth found it’s tipping point, this year was decision year, leaders of every country of our world came together to formulate a workable system to prevent the inevitable demise of our planet, our eco systems were being destroyed at an alarming pace, wild life becoming extinct, water supply’s nearing critical point, pollution had devastated our waterways, seas, and oceans, undoubtedly the blame for this catastrophe was placed on human activity, new directives and rules to prevent these problems to escalate was passed unanimously, top of their agenda was an end to warfare, next was the ever increasing human population followed by effects of new technologies.
It was decided that war must become a thing of the past, no country or state as from two thousand and seventy can inflict any aggression towards any other country.
Human population would be curtailed and monitored.
New technologies would be prioritised, investment would increase enormously.
Unfortunately there were opposition to all proposals which created an adverse outcome, and consequences.
We are now in the year two thousand one hundred and eighteen,
advances in technology has exceeded all expectations, human interaction is now not allowed, every human is served by machines that mimic humans and are of human form, earth is now controlled by a centralised computer system that monitors everyone and everything, human lifespan is now restricted, the maximum age is fifty years, our health is monitored every month, all children under the age of sixteen are educated in isolated institutions by computerised systems in isolation, human reproduction is totally controlled artificially through egg and sperm banks, incubation in artificial wombs in laboratories, these offspring never encounter any human interaction, my abode is a single room I am served by two robots that fulfils all my needs, nutrients and medication is all intravenous, I require no exercise, I sleep for a maximum of eight hours, everything else is virtual, my vacations are interplanetary and interact with inhabitants of other planets,
What a difference 100 years can make so expect big changes!
May 26 2018.
Contest:- in 100 years
Here we are
a title of a song, a transitional statement with no meaning
does it really serve a purpose
delaying the inevitable train-wreck these words will incur
I concur
words are meaningless, disastrous
If they were of any help
citizens would clean every bit of earwax building in their ears
to make waves in lines to city halls
for the hammer of justice to...
I have no manner of speaking for this
my chest can be ripped bare with insufferable pain
to describe all the things I wish to say
but with my voice and lack of utter talent
I can only whisper blanks for modesty betrays me
Believe me I want to scream
scream at men and women in blue
who swear by the law and citizens to keep us safe from harm
do right by society
scream how they are the stars of their own TV show
scream how we've glorified these acts without really realizing it
scream at the government for making "getting away with murder"
a nationwide trend
I want to scream
but my voice would be deafened by the millions of others
out in the streets, protesting, standing for something
my voice would be deafened, put in handcuffs, silenced for all to see
I want to scream
but there's enough people doing that for me
I want to bolster myself up like a bear
stand tall above all
to scream, to shout in defiance of people praising murder upon families
to scream, to shout in defiance of people praising revenge
praising physical retaliation like it ever solved anything
We have enough wars to fight, we have enough everyday worries
this avoidable conflict doesn't need to continue to escalate so rapidly
so tragically
but I'm just a muted voice behind a desk
attempting to fill a quota for a day
to just not be seen as lazy today
I'm just a muted voice, listening to Volbeat
pretending like I'm shouting this rhetoric in front of a crowd
but that very crowd would just pull out their smart phones
run my name through the ground
and I will be trending worldwide as one more person
shoved under the rug as non important
Why am I even still typing I've said nothing, am nothing
I'm alone
and with the world so quick to rip itself apart
I can't tell if that's a good thing anymore
We’ve all been young dumb
and unaware so has everyone,
we too were the first generation
growing up with tech others hadn’t
I was born last century so to kids I’m old
Born the same year as Back To The Future
predicting widescreen television, video calls,
audio control, using fax but not computer
Fax and pagers have gone away with phone booths,
VHS and Cassettes, everything was fuzzy,
TV pictures Radio sounds and body hair now removed,
My generation inherited rubbish then we got real busy
Everything computerised, compact and crystal clear,
mobile phones sized like part of Stonehenge
couldn’t hear people talk unless they stood within ear
we sped up our evolution, the crap we had back then
Kids don’t stop and think they use what my generation made
As we did too they now joke “you’re so old you grew up in a cave “
My age group are called millennials, children of the millennium,
We watched as those Twin Towers fell and then lost a war to the Taliban
We grew up hearing stories about the “Greatest Generation”
Their finest hour and the few, the honour that lost the Empire,
We used to rule the waves and had the biggest empire in creation,
And we’re just Great Britain and it’s all gone a bit dire
In this age today, “The Technological Revolution”
On the fringe of World War Three, this dick-tator called Putin,
now I’m not saying assassinate but somebody should shoot him,
Because kids today cannot fight, this war will end us losing
100 years ago we really had the might
how did we reach this point, nothing left
but sh**e
we’ve broken down the race divide the sex divide and preference,
“We must see the Russians off or lose our independence”
A future of lost privileges lacking new creations
imprisoned by technology and bigoted racist nation
winning this war will take “The Greater Generation”
should that day come, history must be the most important education!!
We gave Hitler room, it gave him the advantage,
So I say flatten Moscow, and leave Russian cities damaged,
It’s only going to escalate, casualties a plenty,
We should all attack at once, destroy and leave Russia empty
It’s May 18th, 2022. I’m poised, alone, heart pounding, in front of my laptop, waiting for courage, my finger hovering over the return key, like a child hoping the timing of my keystroke will bring me luck.
I took this summer off - which drove my mom absolutely CrAzY. “You CAN’T!” she’d said last month, only to be overruled by my Grandmère. Now I’m home for summer break and tonight she’s flush with exasperation.
“You should have applied for a dean’s fellowship,” she said, her voice rising as she rubs her hands together, as if scrubbing for an operating room procedure, “and a summer research position!” She’s practically twirling with suppressed emotion.
I get why she’s upset. She only goes “deep end” when she's worried about my future. She knows what’s needed to get a medical school slot in 2025 like other moms know their favorite recipe - after all, she’s done this twice before.
Leong’s upstairs, avoiding this family scene. When I described my family expectations as “hustle culture,” to my roommates, they all understood - we’re that much alike.
Step (my stepfather) is trying to de-escalate and calm us (her) down. “Look,” he says, holding up his hands like someone talking down a gunman, “NEXT summer she’ll buckle down, get in more volunteer hours and get a dean’s research fellowship” he says, sliding his eyes to me. I nod “ok” almost imperceptibly. “It’s ok to start grinding sophomore year - that’s what I did.”
OOOO! She turned to him and if looks could kill, he would have exploded like someone in a Tarantino movie.
By some psychic grace my Grandmère chose that moment to call. Step and I fled the den like it were on fire, going our separate ways to halve the chance of being followed.
In my dark room, lit only by the light of my MacBook, a quiver runs through me, and I finally press return. My grades for Spring semester - and Freshman year come up. My eyes water and I relax back against my chair when I see “Dean's List.”
I smile to myself, and slowly, fiercely I clench my fist with a “YESS!" As I postulate my victorious reprieve.
A young boy with such innocence such an extraordinary existence
Yet not enough patience with such distraught thoughts
To young to understand his necessary and unnecessary wants:
Drugs, sex, alcohol, acceptance, religion, love and he just can’t grasp the feeling
Within him is enough fury to harm a cat so small and loving in such an unusual
package
Oh the amount of affection that took place while they were together.
He was found not a bit innocent well…on account of him harming the one thing
that
Accepted him in this world of time.
Then to be a drunk on account of his extra time with no one to force him to an
education.
The judge calls him to the stand.
Getting a punishment before his time without committing a crime
How could you blame child for what an adult has said?
A poison was given, not as if it was taught or read.
Time continues to move on at a fast pace.
With a lack of religious commitment,
He is the only one who can defend himself,
Tick, tock, tick, tock… the clocks continue to count down.
From left to right, back and forth, round and round, in and out
From job to job, being put down by those you my call vigilantes? For whites that
is but, a
Riot for the blacks.
Those white, but transparent faces.
Not being able to see the race because you are blinded with the fact of still being
a child.
Slowly building a mentality to be subservient
With a sudden ambition to take an observant glance
That deters him from a love and romance.
His innocence begins slowly decreasing while his pain, turmoil, and tribulations
rapidly
increase.
Giving him a second look at what he faces and all the equality deteriorates
As the inferior complex begins to escalate in his mind
Being as though he is so humble
As he trips, falls, and stumbles.
He escapes from all the tension and hate.
What does he find?
That it is all much more than just a “race.”
Time waits for no man.
The human race does not have racists or we will just lose the rat race.
Form:
"The Circus"
The master of ceremonies taps his cane to begin the fireworks
While graduates of the ground exercise their prowess high above
They are wired with decent grip on balancing poles that save their lives
The crowd holds their breath to a well paced piece written just for them
Expressing god given talents in consonance to the format of the show
There are many circumstances of life and death to travel a topsy turvy wire
The crowd has gasped enough
Surprising all who thought they could not do it
The danger, the glory, all to the tune of "Let Me Fall"
A luscious aria for the ears begins to assuage the high tensions
Seeing participants of talent take on amazing feats
Colorfully contorting and twisting to terrifying positions
We could never dream about for it would break our backs
A motorcycle roars loudly without a muffler, majestically it comes
To ride the ring of fire for which rock anthems echo
Off the circle and through the heat while the elephants wait their turn
Standing on hind legs they rise to the occasion
Responding to measures that escalate the mood,
Agnes waves her dancing trunk in 4/4 time
The audience waves back and claps in satisfaction
For the show that began as the Circus Maximus
When Romans needed entertainment all those years ago
And the practitioners of stunt were truly at risk flying high
Without cords and wires for safety, they flew to new realms
Of daring and danger all meant for applauding strangers
Lions and tigers and bears oh my! Today will be so special for the kids
Looking at this and looking at that, all amongst a backdrop of darkness
The clowns flipping bowling pins flopping around in over sized red shoes
Their jovial exterior matches a beauty inside them
It's all for the children responding to boisterousness and glee
Tigers know when to roar and acrobats know when to soar
Adding to a perfect panorama no one can possibly take it all in
The finale comes to an end and they say good bye, taking a bow
Lights come back on and the atmosphere is gone
And leaving almost feels like a sin
a fellow atheist who was making a peanut-butter & jelly sandwich one afternoon
while her pesky neighbor continued to make noises on the other side of the paper-thin
walls
(annoying the bejesus out of her),
gripped the butter knife in her hand
letting all the murderous fantasies enter
(how easily said neighbor could be made to stop said noises)
which would allow her to begin enjoying her saturday again &
yet that thing we call a conscience
stepped in & slapped her silly
(as it does every time),
bringing her back to the world where she was virtually powerless,
as calling the super would only escalate the situation,
that is, if he even showed up &
yes, she could go further, calling them coppers,
but they would show an even greater amount of
indifference---
she knew that once they were done with their little afternoon romp,
that things would quiet down
(as prior experiences revealed),
but the wait would be excruciating.
a jealousy grew within---
this feeling came from knowing that
if she walked out the door, knocked on the neighbor’s,
waited until they answered & then
massacred the two of them in cold blood,
that she’d have nothing to use as an excuse like so many good believers---
you see, she couldn’t stand before the judge & say that
“satan” had told her that the two she killed had “demons” in them
so she fulfilled her duty of sending them off to “hell,”
like Andrea Yates did when she drowned her 5 young children, Mary, Luke, Paul, John & Noah in a bathtub in 2001---
she would certainly not be able to say with a straight face
that “god” had told her to smash two of her son’s heads like a pumpkin in her front yard,
like Deanna Laney in 2004 &
she definitely knew that unlike Dena Schlosser, who cut her 10 month old baby’s arms off (as well as beginning to try & cut her own arm off via her shoulder) while listening to a hymn in hopes of offering them to “god,”
she just wouldn’t be able to get away with such
privileges of faith &
it just made her eat that pb & j quicker
so she could go for a walk
until her neighbor stopped ****ing.
Running cracks of lead flaked paint, spiders across the front door like a grandfather's
forehead.
Its hinges squeal from years of inattention and forgotten maintenance
Floor boards moan a song of dismemberment and forgotten age
While musty gloom thickens the air – inhibiting, restricting, compressing breaths
Entrance ways lead to hallways which culminate and connect enclosed spaces,
hovering in an atmosphere of haunt and mourn
Conversations linger, echoing within walls of dine and feast
settings arranged from ritual –
two plates,
two bowls,
two cups,
two knives,
two spoons,
two forks,
two napkins,
two chairs,
with only voice and ephemeral trace.
Twisted unleveled stairs, escalate to second stories
letters to love and hate cover ancient mourning boards.
Segmented space divides the infant from maturation.
Cracked spine, chipped rails, exposing the wooden crib core
Superficial angst and rage characterizing the infant's facade,
yet delicate love exposed in clean white linens pressed and laid in perfection
sets the bedding stage for stuffed bears and embroidered blankies
Toppled bookcase defecates bound knowledge across adult wooden bed frame
disheveling sheets, rugs, and right angles,
its half fallen posture exposes entrance way to hidden passages.
Between walls, moving slow as not to catch thread to exposed nail, pipe, or wire
shoulders grazing support beams, pace entranced by flattening florescence bulbed ceilings
Each step enclosing space tighter and tighter
Climax turns to anticlimax as exit opens to
a hermetic cell of textural paint echoing skin blotched and boiled.
Surrounding walls of tattered gold, ulcer red and puss filled purple,
each based with blotched skin.?Encircles full length mirror exposing views of deceased
discomfort –
Black glass glows within frame of ornate wood
spiking and curling with baroque transcendence
Reflecting back a ghost of future deceased persona.