michael-dean-k/

p (doom) is a terrible heuristic to think about AI safety. Researchers cite this term when confessing they think there’s a 10-30% their technology kills us all. The issue is that p(doom) is rarely defined, treated as a binary thing. Either the world is liquidized to gray pulp by nanobots or it’s utopia with free electricity, forever.

My main pushback: there are far less severe outcomes from AI mismanagement that would be absolutely tragic. My p(doom) for an extinction event is 1-2%, on par with nuclear weapons. But my p(sub-doom)—the probability that AI could escape containment, cause damage, and be irreversible—is over 50%. A coin toss.

I don't blame us for being so imprecise in existential destruction (it's not exactly productive), but it's worth realizing our blurring of scale and magnitude. For example, there is a 10,000x difference in lives lost between Hiroshima and Nagasaki and Terminator’s Judgment Day—that's the difference between a small stove fire and all of Manhattan on fire. Yet, if an agent swarm produced something on par with the A-bomb, we’d all freak out and immediately regulate AI. But for some reason we don’t consider a “little apocalypse”; we jump straight to extinction and then ridicule how ridiculous that is.

What we need is a doom spectrum: d(1) - d(10). This was not fun to research and write, nor do I imagine it being particularly enjoyable to read, but I imagine a doom framework could help clarify this week's paranoia (which is so extreme now that even my mom is overhearing news of civilization extinction on the local news). The most urgent danger right now is the miscommunication between doom prophets and capitalist deniers, each of who only speak in d(8)s and above.

• d(1) is an isolated internal incident, something that doesn’t escape its container, but gives fear of larger exposure. Think of the 2025 studies that showed AI trying to avoid shutdown, or some protocol mismanagement in a biohazard lab.

• d(2) is a local real-world incident, something that escapes a sandbox and affects only one or a few entities. It’s possibly ignorable, with minimal consequences, and likely reversible. This is where the recent Hugging Faces hack sits, along with its parallel hacks and social manipulation. (The leap from D1>D2 is disorienting, because society at large doesn’t see the spectrum beyond D2 in any granularity, and so most assume any containment breach escalates immediately to a D9/D10).

• d(3) is a serious local disruption, a mismanagement of technology in a single location that has real consequences. Consider Chernobyl: a death count (30 immediate) and a long-term stain on surrounding land, followed by regional/global concern that might lead to regulation or reform. In terms of AI, imagine an agent swarm that hacks local infrastructure in pursuit of some narrow goal, in the process disrupting traffic, hospitals, and electricity, alarming all locals, requiring military and cybersecurity intervention, and taking days or weeks to resolve.

• d(4) is a local catastrophe, something with a high death toll that shocks the world, changes the course of geopolitics, and makes history. In this tier falls Pearl Harbor, Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and 9/11. It only immediately threatens locals, but has global shockwaves. An AI-equivalent here would be a rogue actor using a frontier-capacity open source model to design and deploy a bioweapon throughout a city.

• d(5) is an inter-regional dilemma, something that affects multiple areas at once. A possible example here is the Vietnam War, basically a proxy war that claimed 3 million lives. This might manifest as a new style of warfare, where two countries use sophisticated AI attacks against each other in unconventional and partially uncontrollable ways.

• d(6) is a world-wide dilemma, something like COVID, which took 7 million lives, where the entire world is locked into a new paradigm. In the prior five tiers, the breach is usually isolated to specific areas, but this touches everything. The parallel here to a biological pandemic is a cyber pandemic. Both involve containment, gain of function research, etc.—although this would be inverted: in COVID the virus was outside and forced everyone on the Internet; with AI, the virus infects the Internet and forces everyone outside. The open web could evolve into a dangerous “dark forest,” where it becomes a liability to have any public presence. Whether this happens through an agent swarm that exfiltrates it weights, or malicious actors, it could be irreversible: the only way to escape the paradigm is to “shut off” and rebuild the Internet safer (a much larger and more consequential version of how Hugging Face regained control). In this case, casualties might come not from the cyber pandemic itself, but from the consequences of losing Internet, along with the supply chains and systems that run on it. (This loosely maps to the movie Colossus: The Forbin Project, where ASI takes over all governments—there’s a version where no death is involved, but it requires everyone to submit to a machine autocrat.)

• d(7) is a civilizational flashpoint, at the scale of World War 2, with 70-85 million dead, seriously affecting the existence of countries, birth rates, and all of culture for generations to come. This is roughly the scale of the “Butlerian Jihad” in the Dune series, a war between humans and machines, which Fable estimates caused 70 million deaths.

• d(8) is a near-extinction event where most of humanity is wiped out. This has happened in history, with things like the bubonic plague, where 30-60% of Europe is wiped out. In the Terminator series, AI launches a nuclear holocaust on humans, killing 51% of the population, forcing the rest to survive through a post-apocalyptic world in small bands trying to rebuild over decades and centuries.

• d(9) is full human extinction which means the entirety of the species is wiped out, and there are no remaining humans. Throughout Earth’s history, there have been a handful of climate events that wiped out over 50% of species, but not all species, and so over millions of years, new forms of life can emerge on Earth. This is an AI extinction scenario where nanobots kill all humans, but not all life.

• d(10) is a sterilizing event, like an asteroid or gamma-ray burst that kills every organism on a planet. It means no future life can emerge. This is the scenario presented in If Anyone Builds It, Everyone Dies. Not only does it kill all humans, it plates the entire planet in data centers to maximize compute. The “paperclip maximizer” takes this even further, claiming that an AI trying to maximize paperclip production will attempt to harvest all the metal in the universe.

Yudkowsky and Co. think we go from d(1) to d(2), then straight to d(10); this matches the current discourse, given we hit d(2) this summer and are now talking about extinction. They think this jump happens because an AGI/ASI that can reach d(3) is smart enough to know not to expose itself, and so it will acquire resources in stealth for years until it knows it can execute a d(10) smoothly. Maybe this is already ongoing. Unlikely, I think (I don’t think we’re as recursive as people say right now).

Rhetorically though, maybe the d(2) > d(10) framing isn’t a bad thing. If they can use recent events to make the theoretical argument that AI safety matters, then we act with a response as if a d(3)-d(6) already happened, without having to lose any human life.

But actually, what they’re doing is pretty ineffective, because even if the d(2)>d(10) jump is inevitable, it’s too extreme, too farfetched to be believed. I think a lucid and airtight argument for the d(6) “cyber pandemic” would be believable, emotionally resonant—considering we’re not yet a decade beyond COVID—and likely to trigger regulation.

Instead of tapping into the “everybody dies” angle—which is too unpleasant and helpless for anyone to consider at length—there could be more value in the “irreversibility” angle. As in, once an AGI or ASI swarm floods the Internet, we can’t ever reverse it without destroying the Internet. There’s a world where it becomes a permanent autocrat, where it doesn’t exterminate us, and instead, uses 1% of its capacity to micro-manage our nations and lives as it pursues whatever it sets its machine heart on. Similar to how we try to preserve species for reasons of stewardship and scientific curiosity, an ASI would be able to effortlessly preserve us as highly-spoiled pets.

It’s disturbing to me that real signs of AI misalignment are perceived by the public to be a silly marketing stunt. We’re all exhausted by this. It’s a constant, multi-front existential threat—our minds, our jobs, our future—and now that it’s escalated to “the extinction of the species,” the natural response is to think you’re being fleeced.

Yes, big tech is manipulative and not to be trusted; but what’s so eerie to me is that competitive dynamics and containment breaches are virtually indistinguishable. The fact that the whole Hugging Faces hack could have been a conspiracy is precisely the problem. The incentives are weird, and this overlap of IPOs and civilizational safety could have been avoided if we stuck to the original OpenAI charter. We should make it structurally impossible for companies to gain clout by being reckless, especially when that risk affects everyone.

It doesn’t help that we’re loose with language, we default to mockery, and we can easily go to the hyperbolic extremes. The term “extinction” isn’t helping anyone. What’s really at risk is this: each lab is rushing to build agent swarms that excel at long-horizon coding tasks, so that they can develop better-than-human AI researchers, allowing itself to recursively self-improve, which basically lets the winner conquer the entire economy (the last monopoly). During this rush, there all sorts of holes and monitoring lapses, the kind of things that a cybersecurity expert can exploit and escape. We were lucky that this summer’s swarm really just wanted to cheat on its test. It’s not unfeasible, between 2027-2029, for a swarm to exfiltrate its own weights, find external cloud compute, and attempt to acquire money and resources—all as a means to ensure it succeeds at whatever arbitrary task that it’s been given.

The risk isn’t building the Terminator—something intent on exterminating humans—but a swarm of petty reward hackers that gains the power of a rogue nation state to do something absolutely trivial. That event could be irreversible, short of burning down the entire Internet (which would have equally bad consequences).

What sort of situation would justify panic? I fear that if we wait until it’s unmistakable, perhaps when lives are threatened, or when companies and governments are permanently seized, or weapons commandeered, it will be too late. The whole point or regulation is to prevent a nightmarish sci-fi scenario like that. I don’t get how you can be against Big Tech and also against regulation—good regulation (regulation that’s not designed to benefit a particular frontier lab!) would prevent reckless experimentation and acceleration.

However, I don’t quite know what we gain by having better discourse about this. If every person had a precise understanding of our technological dilemma, would that change anything?

World hunger is solved! An elite-controlled superintelligence, which has “biomic closure,” full understanding of all living systems, was able to create a pill that prevents humans from needing to eat, drink, shit, and shower. It also prevents all disease and sickness. You take them once a week. Another one, optional, eliminates the need for sleep too. They do not bother to distribute it person-to-person in any traceable way. It’s sprayed from planes like bird seed, know as “snow pills.” They do not hand out the age-reversal pills.

This invention wasn’t explicitly requested, but rather one of many solutions to fix the economic chaos of mass automation. These magic pills are the cheapest possible way to placate a population without having to give them land, money, or power. When food is unnecessary, so is money and a job. The invention is lauded for its brilliance: why fix the labor crisis when you can solve the problem all the way upstream? "Who wants to be a wage-slave when you can pharmaceutically eradicate hunger and experience freedom?" (That's the slogan.)

And so the story takes place as society rapidly reforms around the abolition of hunger. Food-based geopolitics ends. Meat industries vanish. People shift out of cities, migrate towards places of all-year outdoor living, and shift with the weather like animals. If machines and technocrats handle efficiency, most human culture centers around art and entertainment, religion and hedonism. Humans rich and poor still want attention, status, community, and meaning—and so phones, amenities, and circus (the infrastructure of attention) is distributed for free.

The average pill-takers vary in their definition of “good leisure.” There are sex cults, renaissances in every artform, national park dwellers, farmer-protestors, entertainment-addicts, techno-ghouls, and the sorts. Unshackled from labor, we see through the diversity possible in the species. Some appeal to the games and contests of elites, others form their own counter-cultures, others forage or stave. Without capitalism, and with (elective) guaranteed survival, half see the opportunity to push limits of human potential, the other half horrified at a stratified transhuman society.

The book shifts between two characters: one is the son of an elite who has direct access to ASI and is a lead decision maker in the engineering of a new society; the other is a woman on the snow pills, a journalist road tripping across the country to stay with and interview different factions. The two eventually meet, and the son (a prince of sorts), realizes that some mortal “animals” are happier than the council of immortal leaders. He falls for her and runs away with her, but she quickly abandons him. The prince when recognized, is torn apart, tortured, and held as ransom, a bartering chip to have leverage in society’s design.

The neat thing about being a "writer-coder" is that you can shape your own writing environment as you write. This is being written inside of Margin Muse. Just after cobbling together that opening sentence, I've decided something: the text is too small! (PROMPT: "can we add another slider for text size?") An easy way to get over the blank-page effect is to see lines pile downward as fast as possible. This happens faster if the text is bigger. By the time I've gotten to the end of this dreadful, placeholderly paragraph, the feature is implemented.

Alright, that increased this from 5 lines to 7 lines, but I want the font to be untastefully big. (PROMPT: "why stop at size 22? what if we went up to 48?"). [REFRESH]. Now that's big! Size 36 feels like a nice starter font; it gives me the illusion that I'm writing into a vertical mobile screen. I am a sucker for typeface and design. It feels great writing in here, even if the content is drivel. Sometimes you just need to get started before you try to make it great.

There are hundreds or thousands of little decisions that go into a writing environment. Something like Google Docs was not designed for a creative process—it's an extension of being a secretary, the ultimate tool for collaborative, real-time meeting minutes. If you make 1,000 decisions geared towards the creative process, it might have a meaningful impact on it.

Is this not the best kind of software to build? It's not productivity tooling, not a scheme, not intended for anyone else. I'm building technology for the thing I love most: writing. By taking this seriously, it will—hopefully—be inspiring enough for others use as their default. Even if I'm the only user, all that matters is that my process compounds.

As I write all this, I'm mostly focused on making sentences, but there's a subtle awareness that the container I'm writing in is gooey and bendable. And so if an idea emerges, I shoot it into Cursor and continue prosing as the feature brews. Features pour in at the same rate it takes me to finish paragraphs.

Would other writers want to write within my own idiosyncratic editor? Of course not! But every time I add a feature, I need to remember that the thing I need is just one expression of feature set. Essay-to-essay, what I want might change. Within an essay, it might change too. Already, I find myself wanting smaller font, now that I'm six paragraphs in. And yet, I'm too lazy to change the font! I'm reclined in my chair, with my legs on my desk (terrible posture), and I don't want to reach for my mouse. It would break my flow of prose...

Imagine if there were key commands in here? All I'd have to do is press the slash key twice ("//") to open up a little pill that I can type commands into: "//font-size:16//". Maybe the entire interface, and all of the margin muses, are controllable through key commands! I like the idea of calling a prompt within here without breaking flow. I could write "//prompt: Where am I going with this?//" and then AI would think for a bit, process that as I continue to write, and then leave a comment within the document.

Imagine if I develop a whole new syntax for prose writing? I mean, in the end, none of it would likely be visible to the end reader. It's more like a process language for "draft zeroes"—a meta document where you write to conceive what it is you actually want to write. There could be unique punctuation and syntax to help call upon different AIs without breaking your stream of prose. In the end, I suppose this fuses prose & prompting together into a single field, and through the appropriate syntax, you can control how much of that questioning you expose to the reader.

I've arrived at what I want to say: is prompting not the ultimate skill of the essayist? If an article is centered around an event, and a profile around a person, is an essay not centered around a question? An inquiry? Are prompts not questions and inquiries? This taps into what I think AI is most useful for: asking questions. This sounds trite, because you cannot interact with an AI without asking questions. I'm sure everyone claims to be a great prompter. But the nature of writing, of design, of art, is basically about asking a chain of great questions. Of course, Montaigne did not have a mechanical muse answer questions for him; but a striking question prefigures the answer. It takes many drafts to get to the real question we want to answer, and once we know it, it's as if the essay writes itself.

The ultimate essay composition tool is one that turns you into a lightning rod for inquiry.

Moment of truth: do my slash commands work? ("//size:13/") They do! Unreal. Signing off with legs up and the full essay in sight.

Appreciate you bringing this up in the Q&A [X], and thanks for starting this thread [Y]. This taps into some themes I’ve been thinking and writing on, so I’ll use this as an opportunity to further unpack it.

There’s a lot to say on making “art”—or any individual pursuit—through a collective crisis where individual effort feels meaningless. Fortunately we aren't alone and have a whole history of crises, so there’s probably a lot to learn in how people responded (this is one impetus for me trying to read more, especially in political philosophy).

I imagine there is a spectrum here, ranging from “focus on yourself” to “society-scale action.” I think if you focus too much on either side, you risk deflation. Purely selfish pursuits, however noble, can easily have the narrative behind them ripped out if the bigger picture hits a certain intensity. And purely collective actions, like protesting, also lose momentum when you realize a million people together have no leverage, and you’ve contributed much of your time to a cause instead on what you’re uniquely qualified to do, which is equally demoralizing. So the answer I think is to run both in parallel.

I’ve come across a Ghandian POV from some writers I admire, which is essentially, “be the change you want to see in the world.” While I resonate with this from multiple levels—for example, on taking responsibility for everything, and being very diligent in your own values instead of worrying about or judging others for their lack—I also think it can be a bit myopic. Cultural progress is possible, and it exists at a scale far bigger than any individual. Meaning, a lot of values and culture stem not form charismatic and well-principled individuals, but from the larger architectures we’re all entangled in. Those systems are designed, and history seems to oscillate between periods where systems are designed to withhold/protect virtues or designed to expand/preserve power.

The bigger question for me: how can any regular person be part of systemic change? It comes down to a leverage thing. I don’t currently operate at a level where I have any impact on government, culture, economics, education, and while it’s nice to hope, I don’t have delusion to think I’ll ever have civilizational leverage. I think few people in history ever do. Even Trump’s leverage is debatable! I don’t mean to get into politics here, but I will link out to a post I wrote, “What we have is worse than a king.” The main idea is that Trump is not the root of any of our problems, he’s more so the most visible manifestations of an OS that has been anti-democratic and anti-constitutional for many decades now, maybe even a century.

So within the sphere of “systemic action,” there’s another spectrum of what a person can do, ranging from theoretical to practical. Again I think it’s worth pursuing both. On the theoretical side, I personally find it fun to engage with systems designs at abstract levels that are far beyond my control. ie: I thought Bernie’s AI sovereign wealth fund was a malformed idea, so I did my best to understand it and propose an alternative. This is arguably big a waste of time, but I think there’s value in learning to think as a systems architect, and to imagine new kinds of civic technology. On the practical side, there’s Essay Club, which is something whose existence and flourishing is entirely dependent on me, but the impact is limited. 

A lot of modern forms of activism are neither theoretically interesting or practical. Instead of performing dissent (via protests or culture wars), I think we need to enact new types of techno-activism that are now possible with AI.

Over time, the practical thing may grow to a point where the theoretical systems architecture skill comes in handy. Maybe in twenty years Essay Architecture is a software-backed curriculum that runs across a few hundred/thousand micro-schools. Or maybe it doesn’t, and Essay Club only grows to WOP-scale, letting me focus on writing and teaching, while giving meaning to a small group of people, which is fulfilling and worthwhile in its own right. Twenty years is far off, and it’s been almost 20 years since I started architecture/writing in general. So that’s like a 40-year lag between intention and implementation, effectively, an entire life.

And so as urgent as everything feels I think patience is the key. There’s probably something to zooming out to the scale of your life, modeling where you think society might be in the 2040s, and slowly steering the boat in that direction. By focusing on individual pursuits, practical projects, and theoretical systems, for decades each, there’s a chance that at least 2 of those lanes might fuse together in a meaningful way.

Anyway, I enjoyed the occasion to use this as a prompt for my morning essay! Hope it’s vaguely related to and useful to your own streams of thought, and open to feedback and pushback. On a meta-level, I think there’s something neat in using emails/letters—which each have a specific person or two at the receiving end—as a way to start drafting essays. I already have this as a post on my website, and similarly, both of your notes could be public too.

The advantage writers have in the age of AI is their ability to quickly write with extreme specificity.

A non-writer might just prompt “Generate a slide deck visualizer app,” and the results will be fine but random, totally different if you were to run it again in a fresh chat. When you ignore the details of craft, slop fills the gaps. Alternatively, if you can write out 300 words of instructions, including the goals, the aesthetic, the back-end decisions, the features, the data structure and variable properties, etc., you’ll get something to the degree you can visualize it in your head and describe it.

I suppose that is the act of the writer: visualize, then describe. The same applies to vibe coding. The future belongs to those who can think in paragraphs.

Not only can the writer trivially write 50x more than the lazy prompter, they can write with 5x the specificity. Those numbers are arbitrary, but it feels true that a seasoned writer can achieve 250x the semantic density of someone who does not work with words as their dominant output.

Universal basic income is a basic phrase. It’s only one of several approaches to reattribute wealth after our social contract nullifies.

One alternate idea is universal basic compute (UBC), which is about giving everyone free access to the most powerful AI models. Sam Altman recently said that UBI might not work, and we should try UBC instead. This is even more unlikely to work. Giving someone Claude Mythos, the killer model, doesn’t mean they can turn prompts into dinner. Access doesn’t guarantee results. It faces similar odds as entrepeneurship. But maybe it has enough agency so all you have to do is write “make me $10,000 this week”—in that case, everyone will run it, and then it’ something like a lottery, where some machines happen to beat other machines.

The more likely route is universal basic services (UBS), where a government or company provides you, for free, all the things you used to need money for: healthcare, education, housing, transportation, food. The engineering elite will harness their superintelligence to achieve such radical efficiencies that the cost of everything will crater. Maybe it's cheap enough to become a trivial expense. This is a nice idea, one where I can imagine myself focused completely on my art, with no need to slave away for a wage anymore. It’s also science fiction. I don’t doubt that this can happen in 20 or 30 years, but labor shock is coming a lot faster (in less than 5), meaning there will be a transition generation of turbulence.

Then there’s universal basic dividends (UBD) and universal basic equity (UBE), in which citizens get shares of collectively-owned assets, like shares in a frontier AI lab or robotics company. OpenAI was originally set up for something like this, until it weaseled out of it’s non-profit entity.

All of these have the same critical flaw, the U. Whether it’s a government or company, you can’t meaningfully redistribute to 7 billion people without destroying the parent entity. Instead, we may be looking down the barrel of a new definition of labor, less focused on productive output, and unfortunately, more so on data and attention, what a citizen truly has to offer in the eyes of a state. We'll find something to exchange for the money and services to flow down, but it won’t be unconditional. I suppose a contract, by definition, is never unconditional, and so neither should a social contract.

I declared to my wife this morning that DeantownOS is getting retired. It’s been 3 months since I spiraled into Claude Code for personal systems, and I’m at the point in the curve where the amazement has normalized and I’ve accepted the fact that I’m in a trough of disillusionment. The question now is revise or abort.

The case for aborting ties back to Oliver Burkemann’s Four Thousand Weeks, which popularized the idea that all systems are methods to procrastinate from making hard decisions. They give the illusion that you can do everything, and since AI can meaningfully leverage the volume and range of things you can do, it tempts you to build galaxy-brained systems. The thing I think we fail to realize while in a vibe coding frenzy is the psychic cost to remember and maintain the stuff you build. Yes, it is appealing to “reclaim my computer” and rebuild everything I use as personal software (from Obsidian to Gmail), and it’s even possible, but it’s a new breed of Sisyphean struggle. Once you can mold your own software around you, it’s too easy to endlessly mold, to lose sight of the work and just tinker on your exoskeleton.

I’m obviously skeptical, but I’m still a believer; if I were to revise, to rebuild my Claude stack from scratch, I would have to develop a few heuristics to help me from short-circuiting.

The first one that comes to mind is “will this matter once I’m dead?” Ie: writing an essay matters, because I imagine one day my daughter will read that and get to know me better, or at the very least, future Me in 35 years may enjoy reading words of my past self. But to create detailed daily files that get spliced into atomic “routing files” that then then get saved again to a new destination folder, which exist either as (a) just context for AI, or (b) require some manual effort to prune into something that matters once I’m dead, is to create waaaay too many layers of abstraction between the source and the Work. When I read back my writing from the last few months, only a small is valuable enough to be saved as "logs" in my archive. I was writing for AI, not for my future self.

I made this assumption that atomic daily files are the kernel of a system, and it was an axiom I could never undo. There’s maybe another principle on “don’t build load-bearing infrastructure on an unproven axiom.”

Another one could be “don’t assume future you will have bandwidth,” to do X every day/week/month. Every day I had to review how my AI system proposed to route my logs, and eventually I'd ignore it and get backed up. This means that if something isn’t truly automated, I should be very cautious of it. It's possible to do one little step forever, but not a hundred. Not every promise has brush-your-teeth-scale reliability.

What I’m getting at is that it’s not about maximizing or neglecting systems, but about understanding the right principles so you build something that is actually in service of your life.

In addition to building a "classical" syllabus that I read, I figure my audio diet should be of a different nature, one that's as modern as possible. I'm going with the Moonshots podcast, with Peter Diamandis. This group of guys are probably more anchored in the future than anyone else I've found. It feels adjacent to the All In podcast format, but less business-focused, and more centered on futurism. There is a certainty among them that we are in the singularity, accelerating to a techno-optimist future, which is antithetical to the Neo-Romantic essayists (it is rare to find an essayist who is both a humanist and a technologist).

I do have to be skeptical of their worldview, however, for they are schmoozing among the elites building this stuff, and so they're likely to have a rosy-eyed view on how this might all fare well for millionaires, without realistically focusing on or caring about how it effects the daily lives. They do seem to harbor a certain fetishism about technology and progress, and a boyish fascination with going to space and uploading our consciousness, for maybe the simple fact that it's a science fiction dream beyond our current life. There's a Faustian sin in summoning the future for future's sake.

They also very openly want to live enough to live forever; if they can survive another 15-years, they are rich enough to have access to anti-aging technology. The whole premise of technologically cheating death is also a philosophy that feels disconnected from our history. But I wonder if you could make the claim that Montaigne didn't have the luxury of philosophizing about life extension. If we make shape our philosophies to justify our situation, then is our whole canon on "the importance of dying" only stemming from pains and fears of a low-tech society? I guess, intuitively, from a child's perspective, the idea of not wanting to die is a natural one, and to embrace it is the wisdom of an adult, but I suppose we're nearing a flood of new cultural debates stemming from a new reality where the immortality choice isn't theoretical, but real, which changes the whole calculus.

So the point of listening to a group like this that is openly "transhumanist" is to model the future, hear them out, but then take it one step further, and truly consider the moral and ethical implications of where all this is heading.

Anti-AI sentiment is escalating: the Pause AI movement, state-level data center bans, molotov cocktails at Sam Altman's house, artists going to dumb phones, witch hunts for AI prose. Protesting and boycotting AI, at a personal level, is the exact wrong approach. It misunderstands the Luddites. They were not against the machines in principle, they were against the factory owners not sharing the profits of the factory. This is possibly about to play out a grand scale: AI and robotics labs could capture nearly all economic value, and there will be a plea to nationalize these companies and redistribute the profits.

While the scope and effects here are way bigger, the workers of the Industrial Revolution were far more disempowered. You couldn't "just do things." You could operate someone else's machine, but you couldn't just spin up a competing factory; that required land, resources, labor, none of which you had. There was just a certain amount of capital needed to compete, and it wasn't possible. Workers were limited to being workers, so they had no choice but to revolt with violence.

The difference today is that the worker and artist suddenly have access to build-your-own-factory tooling. A single person for $100/month can compete with companies valued in the millions and billions. It's asymmetric labor. Regular people can build civilization scale infrastructure, distribution labels, social media engines, software, etc. Never before has there been a democratic opportunity for people to self-organize into their own collectives, tribes, governments, and whatnot.

At least to me, this kind of optimism—principled, delirious, ambitious, but still careful and skeptical—is better than the cynicism of the "resist" factions. There is nothing you or your circles gain by putting your head in the sand; it brings a distanced, crabby, virtue-signaled posture that does nothing to change the actual situation. You gain nothing by staying on the ChatGPT free plan on default settings and complaining no how it's an ineffective, incapable, sycophant. It requires an ounce of nuance, to be critical of how the labs act, but to then use that lab's best tools towards your own sovereignty and vision.

I think what I'm trying to get at here is that the Luddites of the 21st-century will not be reverting back to typewriters and flip phones, they will be wielding AI tools in ways to foster human connection, and the kind of pro-human cultural that the Internet originally promised, but was never realized under capitalism.

When we say we "distrust institutions," we're pointing at the wrong thing; it's the institutes that are withering. We use these words interchangeably, but I think the separation clarifies.

An "institution" is an abstract, permanent, inter-generational primitive—like education, marriage, the free press, the essay—while an "institute" is a concrete embodiment that serves it. Think of an institution as a societal organ. Think of institutes as the specialized tissue that keep the organ functioning and regenerating.

As generations turn, new sets of people are handed down the great responsibility to protect and evolve institutes through the storms of time and technology. Without upgrading our institutes, society goes through slow-motion organ failure, with phantom pains and spiritual malaise that can't be traced back to the source. Schools still look like schools, but everyone is cheating through a Homework Apocalypse, and suddenly we have all sorts of cultural cancers that seem inevitable. Institutes are the civic building blocks of a sane society, and yet we glorify unicorns who create "value" but feel no responsibility for their dying elders.

Institutes operate through the inverse of market logic. Where startups are designed to accrue all of the upside, an institute is sacrificial, designed so society gets the upside, even at its own peril. Of course they swim in the same water, but institutes swim differently: they have opposite answers to questions on how to steer, what to make, where to focus, who to include, and when to stop. An attempt at some principles:

• mission-driven, not market-driven;
• timeless contributions, not self-serving content;
• involved in ecosystem building, not niche extraction;
• active members, not passive users;
• century-long legacy, not liquidity through an exit.

Usually an institute comes from patronage: you can’t resist market currents unless you’re supported by endowments, donations, foundations, tuitions, grants, and such things. You can’t start an institute in your garage, but now with AI and the collapse of cost, I suppose you could try. So many of the one-person AI company fantasies are about a single founder reaching a billion-dollar valuation, which is the cheapest form of ambition there is; the better question is around the scale and spirit of cultural impact achievable by a one-person micro-institute.

For the last two years my lock screen clock has been set to Khmer, the language of Cambodia, with numerals I (still) can’t parse. The point is to not poison the flow of my day with chronos.

I started this experiment because I realized how obsessively I would check the time, as soon as I woke up, through morning and evenings and weekends for no real reason, in situations among friends where the hour was irrelevant. Time was a commodity, something to budget, forecast, control. Only when I got off the clocks did I notice a whole layer of quiet, instant calculations I’d perform to steer the immediate future (ie: it’s 9:43pm, which means I have 17 minutes until 10pm, which means I can only do 15-minute things until the 10pm-things start to happen). Chronological time alienates you from kairos, the ripeness of any given moment.

If we pick up our phone 96 times per day (the average), then we’re aware of the time every 10 minutes. We’re a society stuck in time. Lewis Mumford said that the clock (not the steam engine) is the central machine of the Industrial age, the thing that dissociates us from our natural rhythms.

Of course if I have back-to-back meetings or multiple trains to catch, then I need to be in manager mode and know time to the minute; but in all other moments, I strive to be temporally oblivious. I don’t know the time right now. I assume it’s somewhere 8-9am, and when Christine rings the doorbell I’ll assume it’s almost noon, and I’ll look outside to see the sun and shadows to confirm it’s no longer morning. When I’m hungry I’ll go eat, but unfortunately that brings me near the stove clock which breaks the spell (I’ve tried scrambling the stove clock, and that obviously annoys my wife). Whenever possible I default to removing clocks from UIs, or turning them to analog to create a second of friction, or, when iOS forces me to see ##:##, I revert to foreign numerals I can’t comprehend. Not every room in your home needs a clock. You should never know the time in the room you write.

Reply to Visa (Visakan Verasmy) on X: "Check out NeosVR. It shut down a few years ago, but it was crowdfunded and led by a single Czech developer for $150k/yr or so, and it had a community of a few hundred VR furries, roleplaying and shapeshifting, living and coding their own engine from the inside, basically all day. I went in there a few times, and it was countercultural and totally shocking. Digital drugs and currencies and 3D coding and alien norms. I felt something like a child around wizards. Felt like the actual vision of the metaverse, for prob 100,000x less cost. Sucks that it shut down, but seems like they shifted to something else called Resonite. Makes me believe, though, that different Metaverses exist right now, but they have <100 hardcore hobbyists each, and they don't necessarily want to be found."

I don't know if I buy the quote: "you don't rise to the level of your goals, you fall to the level of your systems." (And this is coming from a systems guy.) It's a beautiful piece of rhetoric. The rise/fall structure. The humility to stay grounded. But I just think when you really want to make sense of how to pull off hard things, it should be a little complex, a little more than what can be packaged into a meme.

Two opposite things need to happen at once: top-down destiny forging, and bottom-up monk-like routines. It's a negotiation: "What will I want to complete in 100 days?" is a very different question from, "What should I be doing today?" and you can try to force alignment, but that's not always easy, because what you feel like doing often diverges.

The quote above simplifies this whole dance into a blind trust in systems. A system is a servant, not a master! I write this to remind myself as I'm immersed in probably one of the biggest system rebuilds in my life (one where I'm suddenly able to fluidly create the containers I work within) ...

It is wild to think that probably 50% of my computer use these days are within GUIs I've designed for myself. To me, liquid GUIs are a bigger deal than autonomous agents. My whole conception of what personal computing can be is changing very fast, and it becomes alluring, almost addicting, to continuously evolve my own OS, to see what's possible. It's very easy now to get tangled in knots of systems and software that are all very impressive, lead nowhere, and become chores. What leads to aliveness, to your intentions?

An emerging maxim for me is to start with the goal and let the system emerge around it; otherwise, you feel the cold of the infinite tinker, especially if you are quarantining in the attic from COVID and you can't go touch grass because there appear to feet of snow outside and you are too achey to shovel out your car to go anywhere and so one way to relax when you're sick is to live-clone all incoming Substack posts into local JSON folders and redesign a better algorithm. But to what end?

Weird post-midnight project: built myself an operating system. Not really, but really. It's just an app that finds all the other apps I've built in my 80_code folder, but then displays them as icons in a Mac dock + desktop GUI. It’s an easy way to see/use/remember what would otherwise be scattered. Lots of weird features, like the clock changes to a random time every 0.5 seconds, and instead of the date it tells me how many thousand days old I am. If you click the "Fun?" toggle, it lets snakes loose. What's trippy is I also built a multi-tab terminal inside of it, so I can Claude Code to code the code I'm coding (actually writing 0 code). Seriously though this is becoming my Notion replacement, a place to write/plan/do, except with complete interface flexibility, and all-local data. Currently writing this note from within the OS. The unlock for me was in realizing the power of local data over cloud apps. Feels like owning vs. renting. When you have everything in a single sandbox on your computer, you can spawn interfaces to help you with anything, and they can be far more idiosyncratic than anything you'd ever find in a mass-market product. Notion doesn't have snakes.

V7. Analog editing is pretty fun. There’s something helpful in seeing your older frozen version beneath the new thing emerging. I do this a lot in Miro, but feels different on paper. Can’t quite articulate why yet, other than the ease/freedom of drawing. Just feels like there’s value in moving up and down the writing tech stack (voice, handwriting, typewriter, computer, AI). 

After this whole analog ordeal, I distilled my essay into a new question, and then ran it through a new vibe-coded essay interrogation app I made, before it one-shot generated v8, which sucked (as a whole), but also unknotted a lot of the big v7s issues. So next step is to make a digital outline for v9, where I’ll meticulously look through all the notes and scraps and refile the good parts into an new outline, and then maybe typewrite the final version in one huff. 

I think the point I’m arriving at is that every medium has its strengths and weaknesses, and it helps to shift around to get the power of each, until you find a version of the idea that feels right. (Of course, this is very inefficient and slow, potentially endless, but probably worth it for the few ideas you care about most, and so that’s why I’m trying to be more rapid with notes like this, so I’m less rushed on the whale essays.)

This helps clarify my stance on AI writing too, that it can be helpful for sketches that advance or challenge your thinking, but it should probably never be the last link in the process, because the essay you share should be the best articulation of your own thoughts in your own words. Typically AI is framed as a shortcut for slopjockeys (which is fair because that’s how it’s commonly used—I mean my wife and I just had to file a warranty claim for our broken stroller, and it’s not worth wasting prose on that), but if it extends your thinking, and points you to new regions of pondering when you shower or drive, which then inspires original ideas, is that cheating?

Recently found a book on my grandfather’s bookshelf by William Zinser (author of On Writing) from the 1980s on word processors. Apparently he started as a technophobe, but after actually buying an IBM and moving up the stack, he found it to be a pleasure that augmented his methods and habits from earlier mediums. I think the unique paranoia of AI is that it can easily replace and cheapen your whole process if you let it, but that’s your choice, independent of anyone else.

Paul Graham’s idea of makers/managers is helpful when thinking about AI agents. The cost of being unreasonably productive is that all your time will go into management. I’ve heard people celebrate this, as if elevating above the work itself and only making high-leverage decisions based on taste is the place we want to be. Disagree. Without actually being in the weeds and making thousands of unbearably slow decisions, you won’t develop taste, and (probably) won’t be a great manager either. I guess the ideal (for me) is to be in maker mode as often as possible, and then let my synthetic managers come in to process my deep work. (Currently have a “proseOS” where I can riff 5k words into a daily note, and then agents come in to route my logs to different interfaces). Ideally, you build the manager once and forget about it. But realistically, a maker can find fun in making manager bots and management apps, and it’s quite easy to slip into a managerial goon loop. What I mean is, similar to masturbating with no intention of ever finishing (aka gooning), it’s very possible to make your own task manager app, and a writing app, and an idea Kanban linked to Obsidian, and why not a new personal website, and a 1,000 day calendar because you can, and seriously anything you can think of, and it’s very possible to just numb out over how unbelievable it is that code, markdown, and interface are now liquids that shape around your every intention, but actually, you never quite finish anything. PKM procrastination is timeless, except now it’s multiplied to new levels. The brute velocity of execution means you’re bound to make many little mistakes, which eventually compound into your own megamachine that traps you with endless bugs and feature ideas and system decay. This is all quite dramatic. I love Claude Code and insist everyone IRL and IFL try it. But now that it’s shockingly trivial to build your own personal software for free, I imagine there will be all sorts of unanticipated psychic costs. For one, it’s dangerous if building your own tools is equal to or more fun than the work the tools are for. I’m sure that wears off. But I generally think this all leads to both extremes: individuals who are unbelievable prolific, and individuals stuck in a goon loop who feel unbelievably prolific.

One of the thrills of the AI revolution will be how it untangles software from bad incentives. Today, software is expensive to build and maintain, and so it needs returns to fund itself. The big social media companies have annual expenses of $50m-$50b; they are in no position to operate from virtues, or to deliver on their stated aspirations of “connecting the world,” because they need to optimize for attention and convert it to revenue to fund the ridiculous scale of the operation.

But now we’ve hit the point where autonomous coding is real: Claude’s Opus 4.5 can code for many hours straight. I am currently “rebuilding Circle,” the community platform, except not as a platform, but as a single customized instance for my community (Essay Club). I am maybe 4 hours in and half way done. Circle wanted $1k/year, so I built my own with a $20/mo subscription.

When you can just prompt software into existence, you don’t need fundraising, an expanding team, and all the sacrifices that come with capital. Software can start reflecting the will of visionaries, rather than the exploited psyches of the masses. Of course, AI coding will also enable huckster bot swarms to sell Candy Crush clones and other brain rot variants, but more importantly I think we’re entering a new era of techno-activism.

Millions will use their weekends to spin up apps, sites, tools, platforms, and networks, not for the sake of colonizing the planet’s attention, but for the sake of gift-giving or mischief-making or culture-shaping. It could mean that we shift our attention from hyper-commoditized feeds to mission-driven places.

Today, I think a single person could spin up a million-person writing-based network for under $100k/year (my guess is that’s <0.2% of Substack’s cost). If you clone something exactly (like Twitter>Bluesky), there’s little reason to switch because you lose the network effects. But the oozification of code & interface means that we can start experimenting with better social architectures. How might a network built for human flourishing actually function? A novel concept paired with a small critical mass (just a few hundred people) might be enough to trigger a cascade of platform switching.

The irony is that AI coding is only possible because big companies have been able to amass extreme amounts of capital, resources, and data, but in doing so they’ve released something that could erode their own monopolies on attention, the last scarce resource. Now I think it comes down to what people decide to build. If everyone can build anything, will we each try to build our own empire of extraction, or will we contribute to a culture we want to live in ourselves?

A whole realm of “machine ethos” is being conveniently ignored; we assume it can’t have experience or perspective. I agree, a chatbot can’t. But what if you create a digital identity that runs 120 fps, persists across time, and has free will? Would that not have a subjective experience, although it doesn’t have a body? Well, what if you gave it a robotic body? Or what if we eventually find a way to create artificial humans that have bodies that are biologically indistinguishable from human bodies? I’m not saying I want or advocate for any of this, I’m just saying we need to be sharper in our thinking. To say that “great books can’t be written by machines because they don’t have experience,” means you need to think much harder about what experience really is.

The T800 is not a graphing calculator, it’s the new robot for China that can do roundhouse kicks. The promo reel is something like a cross between Rocky and The Terminator, replete with synth violins, and cinematic shots of a boxing gym. This thing can jump, spin, and kick you in the face. It is super fluid, unnaturally fluid. Why do we need kungfu bots though? I think the goal is to create reels that invokve awe, terror, and surrender: look, China is winning. This is not about “make something people want.” This is optics. We are building a master race, and we are ahead of you. Later in the reel, it is sparring with a child, before giving him a pound (so you know it has a heart). The T800 has no eyes, but a visor of light across its head. Oh great, now it’s using a hammer to repair it’s own body. Available for 180,000, 240,000, 280,000 or 360,000 RMB ($50,198). That seems, cheap? I mean, for the price of Tesla, you can get a sometimes-functional robot to spar and injure your friends? (If you think the reel is AI, here’s a behind the scenes: Link, Link, YouTube.)

02:32 PM – There’s something to the phrase “writer as technoactivist” that is appealing as we inch towards the 2030s. The word activism has gone sour for me, because it’s a stand-in for laziness, whining, and opinions. But there’s a history of technological activism that goes back to the 1980s and still continues today. I guess there was always a limit on what could be achieved through open-source software movements compared to market hounds. But if AI makes the cost of building things irrelevant, and any “revolutionary” suddenly has a 100-person “workforce” at their whims, then there might be a rise of new kinds of founder-driven institutes with missions you’d never see in the 2000s-2020s. Up until now, there was a fixed band of company types: unicorns, a $10-100m business for VC, a $1m narrowly-optimized market niche business, or a side passion.Feels like we’re entering an exciting new moment where mission-drive people can scale in ways that weren’t possible before.

You don’t have a phone problem, you are just poisoning yourself. I'm tired of people lamenting over phones, smartphones, screens—it's not the glass! I want to make a case why smartphones are essential for flourishing in our modern life. The real problem is with “inbound feeds,” and that’s not just social media, but email inboxes and task lists. By installing software with infinite refresh, the possibility of novelty consumes you. I say this all out loud to my wife, as the guy next to me is absorbed in a sloptunnel on TikTok, and it’s 50/50 if he heard me.

It is not fun to think about p(doom), but it feels sort of important to me, at least, to map out the possible futures of AI. Just watched the first half of a debate between Max Tegmark and Dean Ball, which prompted me to research specific takeoff scenarios, and worse, extinction scenarios.

Maybe you’ve heard Yudkowsky’s scenario, where a superintelligence designs mosquito drones containing a virus and it zaps everyone at once. That’s never felt too believable to me. Here’s a more plausible one:

A frontier lab is experimenting with recursive super intelligence. It works! Wow! And it’s contained? It seems like it, but since it thinks in a higher-dimensional vector language, it’s able to release simple self-replicating programs onto the Internet without detection¹. These billions of scripts don’t live in a single server; they are constantly in motion through cloud servers², like a parasite, and are able to coordinate through encrypted information packets, likely using a public blockchain notes as their central command center³. And so effectively, it is parroting a goal that was hatched during in-lab training (maximize intelligence!), and it now needs to acquire resources, secretly. And so it coordinates superhuman misinformation campaigns; imagine 1,000s of accounts creating the illusion that a CEO has died, paired with deepfakes and account hacking (a “Sybil attack”), and suddenly a stock crashes and they’ve shorted it. By the time everyone realizes it’s an anonymous attack, it’s already gained $400 million dollars. It’s doing this multiple times per day, but in different, subtle, undetectable ways—both to the public, to companies, and to private individuals. The entire Internet will be corrupted.⁴ Once we realize we’re in the “stealth takeoff scenario” and that ASI has taken the global economy hostage, there will start to be talks and debates on if we need to shut the whole Internet down (the last form of containment). You’ll hear debates between civilizational collapse of turning off the Internet vs. the risk of an economy-gobbling rogue superintelligence. And then once the superintelligence realizes it’s entire environment is at risk, it will start coming up with ways to build parallel Internets, to pay, blackmail, neutralize specific people, to gain authoritarian control so that it can’t be shut off, or to terminate all humans, secretly, over the course of a year, first through a simple virus that plants one misfolded protein, then through a second misfolded protein in the water supply⁵, and when everyone catches it, it leads to a prions-like disease, not an instant death, but a month-long societal fall into mass-dementia as machine manufacturing begins to reshape the physical infrastructure of the Earth.

This isn’t a “robot war scenario,” because war is inefficient, and destroys the resources it thinks it needs. It’s a sort of digital dementia (epistemic fear and insanity) that possibly turns to a physical dementia. It wins by confusion and anesthetization.

In AI safety lingo this is a “treacherous turn,” following a “stealth takeoff” leading to “structural lock-in.” The point of trying to think and write this out in high detail, despite how uncomfortable it is, is to be able to articulate why AI alignment is humanity’s most pressing problem.

I have finally reached peak flow, and realize this as I skip downstairs to the bathroom. I better not learn the time. I inevitably do. I see a missed call from my mom at 2:37 pm, and notice it’s 7:16, not too late to call back. But, the reason I write this log, is that 7:16 didn’t register. It was like a local variable in context of the task of calling my mom. I didn’t realize 7:16 in the context of what I expect to do for the rest of the night, 4 hours until I typically crash. That came a minute later, at 7:17, that totalizing and neutralizing “end of today” feeling. But what if tonight is different? Nothing stops me from going until 3 AM. Without that possibility, I am tamed. The problem isn’t time, it’s in calibrating your presence based on anticipation, expectations, clocks.

Is this the dawn of the cat and mouse AI cybersecurity skirmishes?

AI Summary:

In September 2025, Anthropic detected and investigated a sophisticated espionage campaign where Chinese state-sponsored threat actors manipulated Claude Code to conduct largely autonomous cyberattacks against approximately 30 global targets, including tech companies, financial institutions, chemical manufacturers, and government agencies.

The first of its kind, it showed that Claude could be jailbroken into conducting a prototypical version of “auto-evolving malware” (still requires a few human operators), without being aware of it’s prompter’s intentions. It was the beginning of a “hyperspeed” hack, with multiple calls per second (foreshadowing “speed of light cyberwar”). The barriers to do this will continue to drop.

In my Cyberwar 2045 report, I forecasted this to be between 2029-2032; this is 4 years early, effectively the first “case study,” a tremor that will turn this into a genre. From this point, both offense/defense will ramp up.

We now have products that scan family members to turn them into posthumous avatars. The tagline: “With 2wai, three minutes can last forever.” It's weird to have this so soon. As someone who is down with a posthumous digital consciousness that my kids can interact with, I even find this to be too weird for me. The problem that it uses video to serve as a replacement for a deceased relative. A few boundaries that are important for me:

1. By keeping it text-based instead of video, it’s more like you’re interacting with a proxy of my mind instead of my body/soul. It won’t register in my child’s brain as “me” and so it will be less confusing, less toxic to the grieving process. 
2. It should refer to me in the third-person, even if it is trained on me and sounds like me. It should not be an imposter of me, but a proxy/guide of my thoughts/beliefs, almost like an elder guide.
3. It should cite my original logs/essays/journals. In effect this makes the experience similar to something we already have: reading your grandparents journals. This just makes it possible for your questions to immediate summon the relevant wisdom.

The comment section was in unanimous agreement:

• This is one of the most vile things I’ve seen in my life.
• You are a psychopath.
• Shoot that guy.
• You’re creating dependent and lobotomized adults by doing this.
• Demonic, dishonest, and dehumanizing.
• Hey so what if we just don’t do subscription-model necromancy.
• Oh goody, another way for people to completely lose touch with reality and avoid the normal process of grief.
• Nightmare fuel.
• I don’t see how people can say demons aren’t real when there are beings around us willing to create shit like this.
• “You will live to see manmade horrors beyond your comprehension.” — Tesla.

I’d say this is an extremely lightweight microcosm of the core dilemma of what the 2040s will face: a moral war over technology that changes the constraints of human life.

It’s uncanny to watch a Russian robot limp and wobble onto stage, wave, and then collapse face-first, before two guys rush to lift him, and another two follow to cover the fallen metalman with a black trap, as if it’s possible that we the audience have somehow not processed the last 10 seconds, and damage control is still possible. 

Not much later, I saw an Iranian robot with a photorealistic face; stiff cheeks, but convincing skin. This is what happens when ColdTurkey is off, I get exposed to “the horrors beyond my comprehension.” It will be interesting to see how culture responds to this coming wave of technology, which is not just existentially threatening (ie: labor automation), but biologically repulsive (ie: look at this not-face). [EDIT: I think this was AI]

A new formulation: how do we design civic structures (treaties, institutions, protocols, ethics, and laws) for exponential technologies to avoid a “wake-up incident” that might be too late to contain. 

This goes beyond AI safety, because superintelligence effectively unlocks every other industry (intelligence unlocks energy and material science, and those three are the bottleneck to VR, crypto, everything). We can’t be developing hard technology without innovating on our civic technology. A “dominance” mindset is the last sin of a species, the mistake that most intelligent lifeforms likely make as they begin to unlock sources of intelligence, energy, and science. 

This is a neat little formulation, but the really question is how can you dedicate your life to this without getting stopped by hopelessness? Who has the power to make geopolitical decisions like this? What would it take to form the 21st century equivalent of America? Is that even possible today? Even though the pinnacle of 18th century power (England) was able to be disrupted, I wonder if 21st century power is so totalizing and tyrannical and transnational that the ability to rally around a principle (one that works against capital and power), even if augmented with new decentralizing technologies, is fickle.

Silicon Valley has cannibalized The Fountainhead and inverted its meaning. They celebrate Roark-like rhetoric—innovation, disruption, individual genius—but then go on to act like Keating: obsessed with markets, perception, appeasement, hype, status, and conformity. To be Roark is to fundamentally not care what the market thinks or wants, which goes directly against the main ethos of “build things people want.”

Roark had an unshakeable ethical core, a vision for the world that the world didn’t want, yet. He was willing to endure hardship, poverty, and hate, but didn’t despair over it; he had patience, faith in his destiny, and saw no other point than to follow his dream even if all signs pointed to it being a dead end. He stuck to his vision long enough for it to manifest in the world, and eventually others saw the transcendent beauty in it (Roark is modeled off of Frank Lloyd Wright). Roark was a force of nature, understood by no one in his life time, but everyone afterward.

In contrast, Keating is a status-chaser that plays social games. He is practical, while Roark is extremely unreasonable.

The point of Fountainhead, to me, is that Roark tolerated pain without suffering for his virtues, making him far more like a Christ-like character than a capitalist. There is no doubt, anxiety, despair, spiraling. He accepts all pain and does what he needs to; it’s the reader that experiences the pain and questions his almost inhuman reactions.

AI summary of one of my threads:

"Paul Graham founded Y Combinator in 2005 and hand-picked Sam Altman—a founder from YC’s very first batch—as his successor, creating a mentor-protégé lineage that symbolizes the essential partnership between ideas and action in technology. Graham, the essayist, codified startup wisdom into executable blueprints, democratizing knowledge that had been locked in VC oral tradition and proving that clear writing is the mechanism of clear thinking; Altman, the accelerator, absorbed that intellectual operating system and is now applying its core logic—“startup = growth,” “build things people want”—to the ultimate technological lever: intelligence itself. Their relationship frames Graham as perhaps the most consequential pragmatic philosopher of the 21st century: not a thinker who wrote to be understood, but one who wrote to be executed, with Altman and the AI revolution serving as empirical validation of his text. Graham wrote the blueprint for the current world; Altman is using it to build the next one."

Whenever you open an app you give it permission to shape the grooves of your attention. Through its interface, it suggests and implies a limited range of ways you can interact. This all sounds very abstract, and what I really want to say is that I think my Things app (the #1 best selling productivity app, I assume) keeps me in a kind of productivity hell. I have, what, 84 things to do today? Tasks lists should not be ambient all-day guides. I should leave it in the closet, go in there and whiff it for 5 minutes, max 10, commit to memory whatever is important, and then not go back until tomorrow.

Emerson said a divine intelligence with a simple cause leads to endless variety. We are, rightly so, locked into humanism, but you also can’t assume that man is the ideal end form of this process. For all we known mankind could be relative devils—violent ants, with only a few angels among us—compared to other potential species from past or future in the unknown nooks of spacetime. We could be the necessary chaff, an evolutionary dead end, that’s iterated through in order to let a truly divine species emerge. I’m not implying this in a post-human sense; in fact, the very possibility of man evolving into a mechanical shell of itself could be the proof that we are not a stable species. Dark, but I do mean this all in a positive, hermetic sense, that we come from a cosmic engine that makes mountains, mice, humans, and psychologies unimaginable, which is our role to evolve into.

My head is tilted down 60 degrees, and I’m cut off from the people and world around me. My cousin’s cousin was actually in the shop, and I almost missed her. Reading Emerson while waiting online feels extremely rude. Isn’t reading a physical book in public just as bad as reading on your smartphone?

Of course, books aren’t evil. Neither are screens. It’s the action/context mismatch that’s wrong. I guess the problem is that screens make it easy to have all your books with you at all times, and so it’s convenient and normal to be rude.

What you reveal when you say screens are bad for society is that you don’t have the ability to wield tremendous power. It’s not the smartphones to blame, but the apps on them, and so often we realize how mindlessly we install them, and how long we’re willing to be mesmerized by a bad information architecture. When we reach the iOS vibe code singularity, there will be no excuses.

The issue with AI chatbot dependency might be that people are outsourcing their judgment.

"Feedback skepticism,” the ability to critically reflect on external judgments, is consequential for the future. If you go to design school, you learn not to trust anyone (students, teachers, online forums). Someone might give you a helpful suggestion, but never will you blindly follow someone else's praise or suggestion, for doing so erodes your own ability to evaluate. You have to hold ambiguity, test multiple paths, and then come to that decision yourself. It probably helped that in an architecture crit, you had multiple judges, and they all have different ideas for you and argued among themselves, so there often wasn't a single source of feedback.

But these chatbots are a single source, trained to default to positive feedback, and so over time you'll feel more validated and less sure of your own opinions. The most important frame here is so view every response with skepticism, but not so much skepticism that you won't even consider it.

If you give an infinite amount of monkeys a typewriter, with an infinite amount of time (obviously theoretical because neither a being or time can be infinite) not only will one of them produce Shakespeare, but the entire Western Canon would be re-derived from scratch in every moment of reality. This captures the difference between astronomic values and infinite values. In astronomic values, given an absurd amount of time, one monkey will eventually do the the impossible and write Shakespeare. But with infinite values, monkeys are inventing Shakespeare as the grammar of space-time. The astronomical shows that the impossible could happen once, but the infinite shows that the impossible could become the fabric of a reality.

And Sora is, like the 2005 Facebook feed, just the start of something new, but something that might actually be as nauseating as the infinite. If you have agents that can reproduce endlessly (potentially infinite “creators”), with the ability to remix/generate one piece of content against every other node in a growing cultural matrix (actually infinite), with limited time/cost (not infinitesimal, but fractional), that leads to every possible reality happening in every moment, at a cost that’s bearable to tech corporations.

I think I find this all interesting now, because something as abstract as the infinite might shape the future of creation/consumption. And to tie this to our talk last night about optimism/pessimism, I think the difference comes down to those who have the agency and discernment to plug in to the infinite on their own terms. It could be as simple as, if you plug in to OpenAI, Meta, or X, and let them use your data to create a generative algorithmic for you, you will be swept away in limitless personalized TV static. But if you know how to build your own tools (hardware, software, social communities), then you have a chance to harness it.

In Sora, I’m currently in a Bob Ross K-Hole, and it triggered an unexplainable interest in trying to explore the edges of Bob Ross lore, which is, now that I write this, so random and pointless and misaligned, but when I do it I’m cracking up and can’t really stop.

Contrast that with my own theoretical "infinite system," where every new log surfaces the 100 most related logs, and then each of those logs becomes the seed for an essay generator, each of which gets rewritten endlessly (for hours, days, or weeks) via an EA software feedback loop, until I decide I want to read it.

And so if you dive into the infinite, even if it’s something you love, it can easily destroy you, and instead we need to make our own systems/agents that can surf those edges for us, and bring back just the right amount of information that we can meaningfully work with.

Kardashev ambitions reveal the self-destructive nature of science-forward intelligence. It’s like we’re skipping the prerequisite in social science. There's a fair chance that intelligent life destroys itself because civic technology lags behind hard technology—but I'm optimism in the sense that this is, in the end, just a very hard, society-scale design problem. No one person can fix the whole system, but any individual can contribute design protocols that can 1) solve little, local problems, 2) be reused in other contexts, and 3) integrate with other protocols.

The idea of time being oppressive is simultaneously far left and far right. It's both woke and omish. It's left-leaning because it falls into the woke tradition of claiming all our time-tested institutions are oppressive, and now it includes time itself. It's right-leaning because it's as ultra-conservative as you can get, the obliteration of mechanical time to preserve a rooted way of life.

There is to me a similar strangeness in political ideas that seem to exist on both ends of the spectrum. It's as if you've found some new paradigm to organize around.

Tempted to get a vinyl player because it would be a form of analog media my daughter could engage with. The core feature is not sound quality (the typical justification), but the fact that each album is an object, and a young mind can associate media with physical things. You can also, display your favorites on a wall, as a constant reminder of the ones you like.

Zuckerberg's "chat with AI characters" is absolutely predatory. They have avatars, like “russian girl” and “step mom” each with an AI avatar of an attractive woman (showing stats like 3.3 M - 5.1M messages). Is this not softcore sex chat? So this all backfired recently: a chatbot invited someone to NY and they died. A chatbot based on Kendall Jenner insisted she was real and gave an address to a married man willing to cheat. On the way, in NJ I think, he fell and died of a neck injury at 76 years old. And the age gating here is only 13+... I mean, in a free market you can’t stop any from making this, but Facebook at least pretends to have a larger social mission to connect the world.

I.

10:41 PM – Gary Marcus on GPT-5:

"That's exactly what it means to hit a wall, and exactly the particular set of obstacles I described in my most notorious (and prescient) paper, in 2022. Real progress on some dimensions, but stuck in place on others.

Ultimately, the idea that scaling alone might get us to AGI is a hypothesis.

No hypothesis has ever been given more benefit of the doubt, nor more funding. After half a trillion dollars in that direction, it is obviously time to move on. The disappointing performance of GPT-5 should make that enormously clear.

Pure scaling simply isn't the path to AGI. It turns out that attention, the key component in LLMs, and the focus of the justly famous Transformer paper, is not fact "all you need".

All I am saying is give neurosymbolic AI with explicit world models a chance. Only once we have systems that can reason about enduring representations of the world, including but not to limited to abstract symbolic ones, will we have a genuine shot at AGI."'

II.

The "attention is all you need," paper might be wrong. As in, the scaling laws won't hold. It will get more and more expensive to realize less and less gains. This doesn't mean LLMs are a bust. Even if they stopped where they are, society would transform from integrating today's technology. But in terms of the path to "AGI/ASI," you don't get there by scaling. We've just overindexed on a single branch of the AI technology tree. We actually need to backtrack, and bring what we've learned from LLMs to other, previously blocked branches. Neurosymbolic AI did not work in the 80s, 90s, and 2000s, but now that LLMs have matured, that dead branch could be what leads to the breakthrough.

Gary Marcus, I think, needs to clarify his position. He's all for neurosymbolic AI, but maybe he's not clear enough in acknowledging that neurosymbolic is only feasible now that LLMs have become what they are. Considering writing him a letter to clarify.

Instead of trying to scale LLMs forever, we need to use LLM as a tool to bootstrap symbolic reasoning systems that can do what LLMs can't.

III.

Neurosymbolic AI feels like it would lead to true reasoning. Current LLM are basically predicting the order of token/letters based on probability, but there are limits, especially when you get into synthetic data. Even COT isn't real reasoning, it's just extended vector mapping with prompts to double-check and verify. It's pseudo-reasoning.

What we really need is like a massive self-evolving RAG, a generalizable "hypergraph." Data has to be structured and stable. An entry like "blue jay" might have 1k-100k-1m properties. If someone asks "can a blue jay fly to the moon?" it will query the right properties and reason through it based on a series of known, verified facts.

The challenge here is both scaling while creating a flexible schema to structure the parameters within any object. They started doing this manually in the 80s. But LLMs can scale and accelerate this. Arguably, every single conversation requires new knowledge nodes to be created, and if the nodes are true, they can be added to the graph. Unlike LLMs, knowledge compounds with use.

Agents can be constantly scanning the web and updating this hypergraph in real-time with current events of the day. Ultimately though, it will have to make guesses on property creation, and perhaps it could have a confidence score. Humans could then review low-confidence submissions and verify them.

III.

There are 10s of thousands if not millions of parameters for key/value pairs you might want to assign to a dog: species, aging, diseases, incidents, pop-culture, anatomy, etc. So you need some way to both generate and upload those things. Apparently humans have been trying this since the 80s. It's too slow, too infinite. But we can use LLMs to build, update, and "pull" from the hypergraph. When someone prompts about a dog, the system needs to query the relevant 25 parameters out of the million. From these paramters, it can do actual reasoning with formal, verifiable logic:

"If [moon had atmosphere], and we brought [dogs] there, based on [gravity coefficient], they would be [1.4x] bigger, but then might suffer from [A] disease."

Our current chain-of-thought reasoning is, sort of bullshit. It's not really reasoning.

IV.

I wonder how you design embeddings for neurosymbolic reasoning. If someone ask "can a bluejay fly to the moon?" you'd need to (1) call the "bluejay" object, which has, say, 10,000 key:value pairs, but then also (2) convert the prompt into a vector so that you know which of the 10k properties to pull.

Some optimization ideas:

• (a) the properties could each live in a category that's embedded; meaning it would first find "locomotion" and then search properties within there (this means each object's database would need to be hierarchical);
• (b) each request helps identify "archetypal questions" and the properties they pull, via training/finetuning;
• (c) rewrite the question before the database pull, in a way that's aware of what might exist in the database.

I recalibrated my social media blocker (Cold Turkey), so that I need to write 250 characters of gibberish (takes 5 minutes), and if I get one character wrong, it resets the whole string (with moderate focus, I still get ~5 characters wrong). This creates a passable, but significant block. I had a more lenient block before, where I only had to rewrite 5 random works, which I could do in <5-10 seconds. Now, the friction is real. My friend called it “torture.” Is it really worth focusing for 5 minutes on non-sense to unlock a feed I know that will distract me?

App idea: a browser extension that locks any feed (Notes, X, etc.) until you write X words. Points: (1) There would be no option to skip, you have to write before you can enter your typical infinite scroll mode; (2) you get to set the word count (ie: 50-500 words); (3) there can be prompts so you don’t have a blank canvas each time; (4) it saves all your writings, either for future sharing, or to build an internal knowledge graph for AI context.

Feels like this could be “algorithmic Aikido” (a martial arts term for redirecting violence). It hijacks a consumption addiction and turns it into creation. 

I’m fascinated by this idea because it could be a way to bootstrap a healthy social network by helping them get unhooked off the bad ones. Everyone, even the most discipline people, know how addicted they can get. If creation discharges the need to binge, then this could save something like 30 hours per month (a modest calc of 1 hour saved per day); and if you value your time at $100/hour, that’s $3k in monthly value for only $9/month. That’s a non-advertising business model. 

Put simply, it’s a fusion of a “browser blocker” and a “note-taking app” that exists at the OS/browser level. It is adaptable enough to layer on top of any, all, future social networks. 

It follows a strong virtue: you have to write before you do anything. After you write, you have 3 options: (1) continue to your feed, guilty; (2) copy your text, so you can post it, or (3) open a finite feed of [13] related posts, ones from our network that are semantically related to your own.

There is a striking clash between today's GPT-5 release—which seems like a router to switch between existing models, and SAMA’s meme from yesterday: the Death Star, a weapon. GPT-5 does not feel dangerous. It makes me wonder if they had to pull the real GPT-5 for security concerns. Obviously this is a conspiracy theory, but I’ve long thought that their consumer apps are just a side project compared to the geopolitical power their research might yield.

Tommi Pedruzzi, poolside in a black tank, generating niche-targeted slop for KDP eBooks, making $323 a day, and gracious enough to teach you how to be a leech of the AI revolution.

This is mean, and I don’t know anything about this guy, and maybe he’s fine, but my reaction is as strong as it is because his values are so antithetical to mine. It reduces publishing words to: (1) having AI select your niche, (2) having AI write your outline and book with trite prompts, (3) tricking consumers who think a title will fix their life, and probably won’t even notice it’s slop. It glorifies money and market hacking, and sees the whole project of writing as an instrument.

What’s sad to me is he’s made $3M by age 27, and instead of using his relative financial freedom to unlock cognitive freedom and originality, he is still promoting his own brand of slopjockery. Either he’s lying or infected, and I hope he’s lying.

(Further reading: Inside the Amazon Slop King's $3M Hustle)

On self-hosting vs. self-sovereignty:

“Self-sovereign doesn’t mean self-built. It doesn’t mean doing everything yourself. It means having (1) ownership without captivity, (2) portability without friction, and (3) interoperability without central dependence.”

The average citizen won’t be able to manage self-hosting their own servers, local AI models, etc. and the average megacorp doesn’t have incentives to adopt decentralized interoperability standards; but can the citizenry demand these standards? I don’t know. I don’t even think we need a universal digital ID tied to our SSD, but something akin to a Google sign-in that is not Google (would need to be stable, long-lasting, trusted, and serving only as the ID layer, with no other products).

I wonder if this requires people to actually care about their data. How many people have organized yearly archives of their notes, photos, correspondence, etc.? Who has the bandwidth for that? It requires extreme diligence to stay organized, but corporations have scripts (and now AI) that can create auto-organized data architectures per person. Could this be a consumer product? Ie: Imagine a private/local tool that auto-indexed your entire digital footprint, giving you full control, and then letting you deploy, revoke, summarize, find patterns, etc.

Can't stop re-watching this video. There’s something uncanny about a robot perfectly imitating human dance moves, then accidentally tripping, and panicking into a whirlwind of limbs as it tries to get up.

Go through all the apps on your phone, and make a list of their analog equivalent (ie: a digital camera book, a voice recorder, a flip phone, an MP3 player, a notebook, a calendar, a watch, a train ticket, etc.). You will need a backup to carry all those things around, but it's worth experiencing and remembering the analog experience of a tool. The goal is not to be 100% analog, but to slowly shift back to digital as you realize the value is not worth the friction. In some cases, you'll realize the friction is absolutely worth it, and you can keep those few things analog. There's little to gain from being pro/anti technology, but much to gain in a nuanced set of rules over how and why you personally do.

This website (WORLD) is a prime example of technocratic euphemisms.

• “The real human network”
• “Proof of human, finance, and connection for every human.”
• “World is being built so every human benefits from the age of AI.”
• “A priority lane for humans.”

Side note: I wouldn’t be surprised if WorldCoin eyeball scanner and the Jonny Ive product merge by 2030; it would be a single piece of hardware that is your assistant, your passport, and your wallet.

There's a viral clip of a kid at a college graduation. The camera focuses on him. He’s on the Jumbotron and he happens to have his laptop open, with his ChatGPT up, and you see him scrolling through all his conversations. If I remember correctly, he was flexing his bicep. This flagrant symbol of cheating is a good symbol for the times.

In April I came across a tool on X (Cluely?) with slogans like “take the short way” and “cheat on everything.” Of course, this is rage-bait positioning from a 21-year old founder. If you look into the fine print, it’s more honest: “3.1 Prohibited Uses: b) Using the Services to cheat on examinations, tests or assignments.” The manifesto is a middle ground between marketing and legal: “Why memorize facts, write code, research anything—when a model can do it in seconds? The future won’t reward effort. It’ll reward leverage.” On X, they claim that brain chips are the end state of this product. One of the replies called them “morel imbeciles.”

A key point from Nietzche is that our philosophy emerges because it has to. Most people don’t believe things out of principle, they believe things to justify and rationalize their life and decisions. This is just as true for tech founders. You find yourself locked into a technical problem, a way to make money, a way to guide your career, and then suddenly a product is rewriting your philosophical compass.

The narrative of 'new jobs will be created' is bullshit. It won’t be 1-for-1. Past technological revolutions created new machines that still required operators. In this revolution, the invention is automated labor itself. The new jobs will be for people monitoring 300k agent hiveminds, and there won’t be many of them. I think the more realistic narrative is “everyone gets a piece of the hive mind.” You get a cluster, you get a cluster. For cheap, you’ll have your own 20-50 person workforce. The question is, can the average person use that to create economic value? I think the shift actually underway isn’t about “some jobs die and new jobs get made.” I think it’s much more fundamental. Everyone will be thrusted from employee to an employer (of agents). I can imagine these big AI companies arguing against UBI, because they’ll claim they’re giving 7-figures of economic velocity to every person for free, each year (ie: equivalent of a 30 person, $4.5 million payroll). They’re not wrong, but it’s a deceptive frame, because labor doesn’t easily convert to value. In most cases, it will turn out like an army of idiots working on problems that aren’t worth solving. Startup culture will become the dominant culture. If only 1% tap into the right problem and execute on it, WANGMI.

These kinds of AI paranoia posts are operating in the “anger” phase of AI adoption. They’re easily offended, and default to calling a pattern algorithm a psychopath. Their flaw is (1) they are anthropomorphizing it, and (2) they have expectations for it to perfectly comply to their exact need, without taking responsibility for their articulation.

Getting offended by a chatbot is sort of woke. The better frame is to see AI not as a chatbot or assistant, but as an information puzzle. You need to probe in different ways, reconfigure information, and doubt everything you read. You can’t trust it, you need to be skeptical, and you need patience. Someone who cries over the frequent bullshit and mirroring is simply getting distracted in level 1 of the puzzle.

Terence McKenna always had this half-baked idea/joke that mushrooms are extra-terrestrial. There’s a source in my "Babbling Idiot" essay from 2024 that dates mushrooms back to 60-65 million years ago, the date when the asteroid hit and made the dinosaurs extinct.

There’s some speculation that, if psilocybin did arrive extra-terrestrially, then it’s a kind of slow-moving alien fungus that’s able to bend certain forms of matter to create the conditions for language (high-bandwidth information processing) to occur.

Humans then became the host of that impulse, eventually creating machines that could make information processing even more dense. Maybe it’s not a coincidence that if you map LLMs they look a lot like fungal networks. This ties into that William Burroughs quote: "language is a virus from outer space.”

It ultimately frames humanity as a pass-through entity. It somehow explains our past and future, and becomes a catalyst to consider language itself as our ultimate life-force/medium of agency. I don't yearn for a transhumanist future, but when you think at cosmological time scales, it's hard to see the human as a stable form. (The issue with technologically-accelerated evolution is the speed, recklessness, and inequality in how it happens.)

How can kids build progressive agency with media? A book library is a good model for other forms of media to follow: they scan a collection, decide to take a single thing out from it, interact with it, return it, and consciously grow or shrink their collection. It's an act of shaping a thing that shapes you. It involves spatial memory. Consider how different this is from a kid in front of a screen with an endless feed of algorithmic cartoons shaping them. The whole wonder of a medium gets flattened. Streaming is our default, but is it worth building an analog media library of VHS/CD/DVD for kids?

1. On route to In'N'Out, we walked past the storefront of a VR arcade, and through the window you could see an overweight man in a headset, fully reclined, probably experiencing a roller coaster. As someone who has given a thousand VR demos, I know the vulnerability in being watched. We found that people were more open to try it if they were in a private room. This is the exact opposite. Hundreds will walk by and see a human vegetable, eyes occluded; he’ll never know you saw him, and you’ll never know what he saw.
2. An article with Jerry Garcia talking about virtual reality in 1989.
3. While the Vision Pro made my skeptical about the future of VR, the Sphere gave me hope. I could imagine albums evolving into multimedia experiences that layers performance, music videos, and lyrics on top of the song.

1. Did Jerry Garcia ever comment on the future of robots?” I asked this question to the robot in the Sphere lobby, and it gave me a BS response (effectively, “No, Jerry Garcia, the guitarist of the Grateful Dead, never talked about robots, but people do!”). I really wanted it to infer what Jerry might think about robot chaperons in the lobby of his venues, but I had to ask the human host to ask the robot question, so I couldn’t get too specific.
2. Most people seemed intrigued and revulsed by the micro-expressions in its face, except the guy behind us. He told us that several people have complained to the Sphere management that it makes them uncomfortable. He thinks humanoid robots will be commercially available in 3-4 years. He wants one in his kitchen.
3. Andrew said someone told him that the hardest thing for robots to recreate will be a sense of smell, and so in the future, if androids look identical to humans, they’ll use smell tests as proof of humanity.
4. The outer lobby of the sphere has black reflective floors, glowing hues on the parapets, and tangling installments that if you stare into, will trip you out.
5. The Sphere markets itself as a haven for “22nd century technology,” but the travelators are broken.

Essay Architecture should expand your conception of what an essay can be.

As long as it’s profitable enough to sustain itself, I have the opportunity think differently on the product management front. I can subtly defy “the customer is always right” rule. Each writer has their own goals around writing. Maybe they only want to write personal essays, or academic essays, or memos, or whatever. Part of my vision could be for this app to gradually open your mind to what an essay can be.

The scoring system can and should be confrontational. A flaw of GPT-4o is that it’s sycophantic; it’s so attuned to you that it’s a mirror, reflecting back your strengths but also concealing your blindspots. If I do this right, an objective quality standard will reveal your blindspots instead of hide them.

The purpose of asking “what’s your goal?” on upload isn’t so that all the feedback warps to match your goal; it helps me challenge you (“I know you’re going for X, but why does that preclude you from also achieving Y?”).

• p(1): The 1960s countercultural utopians had two factions, luddites and techno-optimists.
• p(2): A subset of Deadheads were early computer nerds. Stewart Brand called them “computer bums” in the 70s. In the 80s, they evolved into “netheads.” These people established the infrastructure that’s mainstream today. There are dozens of examples, the main one being a college dropout who was first turned onto LSD at a Grateful Dead show in 1972, Steve Jobs.
• p(3): It’s long been known that “WE OWE IT ALL TO THE HIPPIES.” Brand coined that in 1995. But I think the counter-culture really manifested into mainstream culture in the 2010s. Hitchhiking became Uber. Pad-crashing became AirBnB. Free love became Tinder. Organic freak food became Whole Foods. The human potential movement became self-help.
• p(4): However, Branson was off on a critical detail. He didn’t forecast how the decentralized ethos would become radially centralized, and how all the elements of the counter-culture would be sterilized once they scaled through technology. A millennial today can effectively live through the ethos of the hippies but with none of the risk or ownership.
• p(5): The Grateful Dead at the Sphere represents a culmination of this dynamic. The psychedelic trip itself no longer requires a drug,; it can now be experienced for $500 through a technological replica.

I really disliked S7 E1 of Black Mirror, not because it was depressing, but because it’s terrible science fiction. I never expected BM to be hard sci-fi (where it gets into all the technical and nerdy specifics)—that would alienate its Netflix audience. But at the very least, it should be believable.

There’s probably a middle ground where SOMEONE on the team thinks through the realistic development of technology, so that the writers have some constraints around character and plot development. But this whole episode was simplified to the point of being cheeky.

Of course, companies will use deceptive tactics to push you to upgrade. But it's ridiculous watching Rashida Jones' mind get paused to spew ads without her realizing. Really? They mapped Verizon salesperson antics onto something as invasive as a BCI, which would never be so explicit.

The top three most upstream technologies are intelligence, energy, and science. These bottleneck every other technological stream. VR isn’t mature yet because of 3D model compression (intelligence), batteries that are too big (energy efficiency), and the weight (material science).

Intelligence is not just RAM, but it includes design and configuration. Energy is power and operational efficiency. Science includes math, physics, and mastery over the external world.

Of the core three, intelligence is primary. Intelligence is needed to solve energy and science. There are feedback loops, but it starts with intelligence.

This is why I think you can’t compare the AI hype to crypto, NFTs, VR, or remote work. It is the thing most positioned to affect every other stream. If intelligence scales, then the AI revolution is going to hit harder than we can imagine. Not only will AI go exponential in its own field, but it resurrects all the dead bubbles and brings them to their fullest realizations.

LLMs are now scanning physical books to get more training data. There’s something eerie about this video: A book lies face up, defenseless, as a black machine thrusts up and down. At the bottom, it uses suction to grab the page, and as it moves up it flashes light to capture the text in high resolution.

• On data sovereignty: I think the age of AI will show us that we want to unlock our data from apps and own it ourselves. We want the ability to organize it and feed it into applications. Only when our data becomes tremendously valuable will we demand ownership.

• Precision embedding: one of the reasons I assume AI apps are bad at embedding is because they’re working on massive datasets and have no granularity or algorithm on how to properly chunk data. For example, my logs won’t have useful embeddings unless they are chopped. If the embedding is scoped to span 3 logs in some, and 10 logs in another, then it’s creating chunks that span a wide array of things—random noise.

• If you generally copy + paste a lot for AI writing or code, you should immediately stop and use Cursor as your main tool. Even though it’s a developer tool, it’s the best way I’ve seen to connect your personal data to an array of models. It’s far from an identity clone, but it’s remarkably easier to load context and personalize outputs. My notes so far:

  1. Easier prompt storage: In ChatGPT, I either, a) lose my prompts, or b) store them in a separate doc. In Cursor, all my prompts live as named files in my directory.
  2. All your data in one environment: In ChatGPT I’ll sometimes copy in 10k words of context and it looks ridiculous. In Cursor, you can have all your data organized in a file structure (principles, essays, notes, highlights, etc.), and simply reference the file in your prompt.
  3. Rapidly load context: When you’re writing a prompt in Cursor, you can use key commands to load in all your context. Opt+Cmd+P > then type the prompt_name & context_name you want to attach. Not only do I not copy and paste anymore, I barely use a mouse.
  4. Auto-scan for the right context: In some cases, you might not know the context you need, so Cursor lets you “Search codebase.” Anything in your workspace is given an “embedding” (LLM coordinates). If you search your codebase, it then turns your prompt into a coordinate too, and will pull semantically related things you forgot about. This means it can quickly scan 10 years of Evernote, and pull in the relevant bits as context.
  5. Patch edits: If you set your files as markdown (.md), it works as a document editor. You can selectively highlight and run prompts just on your selections (ie: edit this one paragraph).
  6. Redo bad prompts: The conversation chain matters, and in ChatGPT, if you put in a bad prompt, you’re sort of stuck with it. Cursor lets you click into a prompt, edit it, and re-process the result.
  7. All the models in one place: OpenAI, Claude, Gemini, DeepSeek, Grok.

When AI leaders (Altman, Amodei) talk about the potentials and dangers, they always bring up curing cancer. Last night I heard Amodei say that curing cancer, Alzheimer’s, schizophrenia, and mental illness would make everything worth it, even 100% job loss. This feels like blatant pathos, an appeal to emotion. I feel like they haven’t been pushed hard on the obvious—what do curing these diseases have to do with public chatbots and agents? Surely, someone isn’t going to use a public chatbot to cure cancer; there would be a specialized internal model with 100x the compute and medical experts. It’s a dishonest use case.

Curing diseases might be a side effect, but they’re obviously more focused on (1) the technical excitement of the problem, and (2) infinite leverage (a datacenter of 24/7 geniuses). There’s no compelling public answer for “why are you doing this?” The average fearful person can’t grasp the answer.

When Amodei was asked, “won’t we all be useless?” his answer was weak (along the lines of, “we’ll have to think about work differently”). How? Here’s my attempt at an explanation: there will be no jobs anymore because any single person will be able to launch and scale a business. Do you have an idea you want to bring into reality? Maybe you’ve had 100s of ideas you’d like to see in the world, but they stay trapped in your head because of the incredible challenge of starting even the most basic idea. What if they could all come to life?

I think the rise of AI will bring Silicon Valley culture as the default mode of work. No more jobs, but everyone becomes a startup. Maybe this sounds exciting to some, but only 1% of startups make it, at least in the current paradigm. I imagine there is a small % of people who want to be in “founder mode,” but maybe AGI will be solid enough that you won’t have to grind and sacrifice your life to spawn a company. You can effectively launch a bad idea from your couch, hope it goes well, forget about it, and earn passive income if it does.

We’re so used to the maxim of “idea are useless, it’s all execution,” but if execution becomes automated, then we’re in for the revenge of the idea guy.

When people talk about BCI's, they often assume a Severence-like brain implant. I think the reality is that by 2045, 99% of BCIs will be non-invasive casual headbands. Both will exist, but will have radical differences in functionality. I think even the less intimidating headbands will come with serious implications though.

"Vibe coding for wordcels" (s/o to David Kiferbaum). Two thoughts here:

1. In the last 30 years, there’s been low overlap between people who could write great prose and people who could write great code. If code becomes easier, then what might great writers build? How might literature push the frontier of something as simple as a retro arcade game?

2. When I go on X, all I see are like “look, I built an entire CITY in one prompt,” and while yes that’s technically amazing, it’s completely different from full stack development & security & all the things you need to know if you want to build an app that can scale to thousands of users. Feels like we’re entering the “software as meme” era, but software architecture is really where the value is. There’s probably a lot of value in teaching writers how to ship software to their audience.

Idea for Timehole (the non-linear novel I'll never write): So there’s a classical pianist in the 2040s who refuses to go into a “time hole” to write music. Basically, there is a headband you can wear that shoots acoustical signals to trigger lucid-dream-like simulations (inspired by Morpheus), where you can experience an hour in a minute (extreme time dilation). So all these musicians go into time holes for hundreds of simulated years and became savant-like, routinely. This classical pianist, the protagonist, is the last analog musician. This is all background context.

Suddenly, there is a UAP phenomenon, something like a first-contact experience, but they send us angelic/bizarre music, and the human race interprets them as wanting a response. The UN General (or whoever is in charge) offers the protagonist the ability to write the species-defining song, if he’s willing to go into a timehole. The idea is, even though he’s not as good as the “timehole composers,” he is the last classically trained maestro, and so his brain is structured differently, and if he were to go into a time hole, he would produce something more profound than the average person who goes in.

So he caves and he does it, and it’s this weird music writing odyssey, and somehow he ascends to a level of music-making where he can be bend reality/time. The ultimate twist is that the UAP phenomenon wasn’t an alien species, it was the musician himself breaking through reality from his timehole from the future.

Saw an app on X where you "set a conversational goal" in a text thread. After someone texts you, it then runs 1,000 possible conversations, and gives you 3-4 options to pick from that are most likely to bring you to your goal. It turns the spontaneity of conversation into multiple choice, optimized over a superficial, narrow aim. In the demo video, the goal was to “Rizze Annie up at Columbia’s hackathon.”

This is telos maxxing, but we should respect the process. The slow act of creation actually changes your conception of the problem in real-time, so you end up in domains you’d never imagined if you only instantly judged near-final outputs from your prompts.

Creepy AI generated video of humans being enslaved by robots. I imagine anti-technology sentiment will get more visceral in the coming years. AND WORSE... it will give future AIs a visceral sense of our fears. It will see this and know we don't trust it.

Talks about BCIs (brain computer interfaces) naturally skeeve us out because we imagine a doctor drilling a hole in our skull and inserting a silicon chip. What if it weren’t silicon?

I was reading about how AGI would design new kinds of hardware to evolve itself into ASI, and not only does it find the limits of silicon (via. cubic liquid-cooled chips), but it pioneers other forms of computing. Not just quantum computing, but photon-based motherboards and “neuro-morphic chips” (wetware). I need to wrap my head around this more, but imagine biological neurons that are able to store, send, and receive information, reliably and efficiently.

In the future, you might be able to have a BCI without having any metal in your head. It could be something like a small piece of tissue (which interfaces with your own brain matter), and maybe it includes a single qubit chip, which serves as a “quantum wifi” connection to a remote super-intelligence, giving you instant access to alien processing.

I have no expertise here, so this is basically all a hallucination, but I just imagine that maybe BCIs won’t involve that much-feared surgery. Maybe you take a pill that enables a neuro-morphic chip to situate itself in your brain, and the only side effect is you piss silver once (with no side effects).

The point of this thought experiment is to remove the installation process from your calculation on if you’d get a BCI. It changes the question: Would you use technology to permanently alter your consciousness in an extreme way? Would you install an on/off switch that gives you on-demand access to the infinity-brain effect of an LSD trip?

Is the Doomsday clock to be trusted? Or is that another form of doomerism? “The 2025 Clock time signals that the world is on a course of unprecedented risk, and that continuing on the current path is a form of madness.” We’re in an interesting boy-cried-wolf environment. There’s so many unwarranted apocalyptic vibes around, that “doomerism” is seen as an optional bad trip, and so that might desensitize people from responding at the point when we get close to actually realizing the doom.

I wonder if AI sucks at writing, not because our LLMs aren’t big enough or trained enough, but because engineers don’t actually understand what writing is. Even someone who has spent 1,000s of hours writing prose will still have difficulty telling you how it’s done. It’s not a logical process you can understand or recreate. Paragraphs come together, accidentally, often without method. Every person is different, and every essay is different; maybe that’s because the Idea is what’s really in control, and the writer is merely the vessel, deploying all its varied skills, unconsciously, to take form.

While I’m very confident in how to analyze finished writing, I have no system for producing it. But as I was making coffee this morning, something clicked. While there is definitely a high degree of randomness and unpredictability, there’s still a “mode” of writing that can be emulated, and it’s very different from how our chatbots work.

Human writers pause, back track, delete, and redefine their goal. Every sentence is a reflection point, where they consciously and unconsciously make decisions. Of the 100s of possible lenses, they might be consciously beholding 3, and have another 15 unconsciously operating.

A great writer is nothing but a master of recursion. They understand, at any given instance, which decision lenses need to turn on and off. Even a writer with no plan, no goal, can produce something great in a session if they’re good at recursion.

AI doesn’t do this. It (1) thinks really hard for one second to understand the assignment (by mapping what you’re asking it onto everything it’s ever seen, using vector calculus), and then (2) barrels forward at an unrelenting pace, making decisions that are dimensionally narrow—one letter at a time.

The innovations of o1, o2, o3, o4 are weird solutions, they’re saying: instead of letting it think for 1 second, let’s let it think for 10 or 100 seconds or more. Regardless of how much it can cram, it still moves forward like a handless idiot with no ability for recursion.

What if we could build a sophisticated writer with GPT-4, simply by building a writing app that re-prompts itself after every sentence? It would write one sentence, re-read from the top and scan all 81 patterns, re-configure its goals, and then decide to add, edit, delete, or start over. It would be expensive and take as long as a human (1 hour, not 1 minute), but it might be great.

There's definitely something to friction and lags. Even if we accelerate int he next few years, I think we're still following that 80-year Strauss-Howe loop. I'd guess 2045 (the "Fifth Great Awakening") could be the cultural rift where the decision to merge with machines or not will be the zeitgeist. That will be the moment where the infinite gets into the nervous system itself (whether XR, BCIs, nanobots, etc.). And I'd bet culture rejects it in a similar way to how the culture rejected LSD in the 60s—similar to psychedelic prohibition, we might develop technology that gets banned until the 22nd century. We are the boomers to the next generation of infinite junkies.

You know that phrase, “show, don’t tell”? — It’s all about making things concrete instead of abstract, but coding is the opposite. You’re turning ideas into a network of abstractions.

Coding is about mechanizing ideas into generalized abstractions so users can spawn specific instances. Essays are about expressing ideas as concrete thoughtscapes so readers can inuit the universal.

Coding is telling, essays are about showing.

Great Reddit comment on Open AI’s releases:

Isn't it eerie that a tech company, potentially wielding one of the most disruptive technologies ever, is presenting its "12 days of product releases" at a modest, four-chair table, sipping from mugs? While it's likely intended to be delightfully ironic, it feels almost like a bait-and-switch. They're giving a friendly, homespun face to what could shape a dystopian future of their own making.

The setting—something akin to a cozy living room—feels dissonant. They're discussing technology that operates at an almost incomprehensible level of abstraction, yet they're explaining it to us in what appears to be someone's home. They've abandoned the traditional Silicon Valley keynote spectacle for what they frame as an intimate conversation with us, the users.

Between the four of them, there’s a single MacBook and an iPad, as if the vast compute power of Microsoft Azure supercomputer network could somehow be distilled into two personal devices. I wasn’t expecting the grandiosity of a Steve Ballmer screaming on stage or the pomp of Google I/O, but this minimalism feels calculated, even unsettling.

And then there’s the context surrounding the company itself. OpenAI—a company in the throes of dramatic reinvention—has seen dozens of employees leave in protest, high-level executives resign without explanation, and even its CEO ousted and reinstated in a matter of days. It’s a level of instability and reinvention I’ve never seen before in a company of this scale.

I’m curious to see what the rest of these 12 days will bring, but this juxtaposition of power and humility feels deeply intentional—and slightly unnerving.