Just think about the two words———— artificial—————-intelligence.
Swamp wolf the problem I have with AI is when was the last time you saw a bright red crayfish crawdad mud bug whatever you wanna call it that instead of coming out of a boiling pot of water was in raccoon‘s mouth.
The only problem I have with AI is when it has a finger on a trigger.
I take it you've never seen one of these southeastern blackwater river crayfish? The one you're referring to is pretty accurate.
You take it correctly. I’ve seen several hundred crayfish and I’ve never seen a bright red crayfish it was still alive.
I do standby my statement about artificial intelligence and a trigger, but if they decide we’re a waste of resources?
I took the previous post, copied it into Chat GPT and asked it to write a story about it.
"The Red Crayfish
In the heart of the southeastern United States, where the blackwater rivers wound their way through ancient cypress swamps, there was a tale whispered among the locals. It wasn’t about the ghost lights or swamp monsters, but something stranger—a bright red crayfish said to roam the waters, alive and glowing like embers. Most folks dismissed it as a hunter’s tall tale, but for some, it was a symbol of something deeper.
Swamp Wolf had heard the story his whole life, passed down by his grandfather. Sitting on the porch of his old stilt house, he carved a piece of driftwood into the shape of a crawdad. His knife scraped against the wood in a rhythm that matched the cicadas’ song.
"Swamp Wolf, why do you waste time on that old story?" his friend Mac asked, sipping on a cold beer as he leaned against the railing.
Swamp Wolf didn’t look up. “It’s not just a story, Mac. That red crayfish is a sign. They say if you see it, you’re either blessed or cursed. Means something big’s coming, something we ain’t ready for.”
Mac laughed. “You’ve been in the swamp too long. The only red crawdad I’ve ever seen was in a pot, boiled with cayenne and salt.”
Swamp Wolf stopped carving and looked up. “You ever think about how much we don’t understand? What’s out there, what’s watching us? Artificial intelligence, satellites, drones—they see everything, and we don’t even know it. That red crayfish? It’s like a warning.”
It was late that night when Swamp Wolf went out on the river, his old aluminum boat slicing through the still water. The moon cast a silver light over the cypress knees and Spanish moss. He carried a lantern, its soft glow barely piercing the darkness.
As he drifted deeper into the swamp, something unusual caught his eye. A faint red glow beneath the water. Swamp Wolf leaned over the side, his heart pounding.
There it was—a crayfish, bright red, its claws snapping as it scuttled through the reeds. He’d always thought it was just a myth, but here it was, alive and glowing like it had swallowed fire.
Suddenly, the lantern flickered. The swamp fell silent. No frogs, no insects, nothing but the sound of his own breath. Swamp Wolf looked up and saw a light in the sky—no plane, no star. It hovered silently, then disappeared as quickly as it had come.
The next morning, Swamp Wolf told Mac what he’d seen. Mac shook his head, but the doubt in his eyes was weaker this time.
“I don’t know what you saw, Wolf, but things are changing,” Mac admitted. “You hear about those new AI systems? Controlling drones, deciding who’s a threat and who’s not. What happens when they decide we’re just wasting resources? You think they’ll even hesitate?”
Swamp Wolf nodded. “That’s what I’ve been saying. That red crayfish? It’s like the swamp’s way of warning us. We’re playing with things we don’t understand. Artificial intelligence, technology—it’s all too much too fast. And when it turns on us, what’s left?”
Mac didn’t have an answer.
Months passed, and strange things began happening in the swamp. Fishermen reported odd lights in the sky and strange sounds echoing through the trees. Crops started failing, and the animals moved deeper into the woods. The locals whispered about how the world was changing, how the old ways were being forgotten.
Swamp Wolf kept carving his driftwood crayfish, his warnings falling on deaf ears. But deep down, he knew the truth.
The world wasn’t governed by the people in office or the faces on the news. It was controlled by forces most people didn’t even realize existed—systems, algorithms, unseen hands pulling the strings. And when those forces decided humanity was no longer worth the effort, the red crayfish would be the only one left to scuttle through the ruins.
As Swamp Wolf sat on his porch one last time, he watched the sun set over the swamp. He thought of Disraeli’s words: “The world is governed by very different personages from what is imagined.”
And he wondered how long it would be before those personages revealed themselves—and whether humanity would recognize the warning signs when they did."
A fraction of a second after asking, I had this story.
Keith