Tag: llms

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AI Programming Work

The Currency of Restlessness

There is a specific kind of vertigo that comes from watching a machine effortlessly perform your life’s work. For Aditya Agarwal, an early Facebook engineer and former CTO of Dropbox, that vertigo hit after a weekend of coding with an AI assistant. His realization was absolute: we will never write code by hand again.

When the specialized skills we have spent decades mastering become free and abundant, the foundation of our professional identity inevitably trembles. Agarwal captures the duality of this moment perfectly, describing it as a mixture of “wonder with a profound sadness.”

“There’s something deeply disorienting about watching the pillars of your professional identity, what you built and how you built it, get reproduced in a weekend by a tool that doesn’t need to eat or sleep.”

The conversation around AI tends to flatten this emotional reality into two distinct camps: the doomers who foresee total replacement, and the boosters who promise a frictionless utopia.

But lived experience is messier. We are capable of holding grief and wonder in the same hand.

We can mourn the craftsmen we were, even as we sprint toward the architects we are about to become.

Because here is the secret about the disorientation of progress: it passes.

Once the initial shock fades, what replaces it is a wild, unconstrained energy.

When the mechanical friction of creation vanishes—when a week’s worth of coding can be accomplished in an afternoon—the scope of our ambition expands. We are no longer limited by the keystrokes we can manage in a day, but by the edges of our imagination. We aren’t watching ourselves become obsolete; we are watching our lifelong constraints dissolve.

This shift is rewriting the social contract of knowledge work, starting with how we evaluate human potential. For decades, the corporate world has relied on a calcified heuristic for hiring: brand-name universities, FAANG experience, and years of tenure. We worshipped the resume.

Now, that playbook is breaking down. In evaluating engineers and founders navigating this transition, Agarwal notes that traditional pedigrees predict almost nothing about a person’s ability to thrive. The new dividing line isn’t generational, and it certainly isn’t educational. It is entirely dispositional.

“The trait that matters most isn’t intelligence, or credentials or years of experience. It’s someone’s relationship with change—not whether they’ve seen change before, but whether they run toward it.”

The new currency of the working world is restlessness.

Restlessness is the refusal to settle into the comfort of the way things used to be. It is the constitution of a builder who cannot stop tinkering, who treats every new AI tool as a puzzle to be solved before the day is out. In an economy where the “how” of knowledge work is increasingly automated, the premium shifts entirely to adaptability, curiosity, and vision.

This democratization of capability forces a deeply uncomfortable, deeply human reckoning. We have to let go of the identities we forged under old paradigms to become whatever comes next.

The technology didn’t create this human challenge—it merely made it impossible to ignore.

Categories
AI

Bots Galore

In the shadowed corners of the digital wilds, where code meets curiosity, something ancient is stirring again. Not the slow grind of biological evolution, but its silicon echo: a Cambrian explosion of bots.

The recent Axios piece from late February captures the moment perfectly—naming the players, the platforms, the portents. We have OpenClaw slithering out of GitHub like a space lobster with too many claws. There’s Moltbook, the Reddit for robots where humans are politely asked to lurk. And then there is Gastown, Steve Yegge’s fever-dream orchestra of coding agents named Deacons and Dogs and Mayor, all spying on one another in a panopticon of productivity.

These aren’t hypotheticals. They’re here, and they’re breeding.

Imagine waking up in 2030, or maybe sooner, to a world where your inbox isn’t just managed—it’s negotiated. An OpenClaw descendant (forked, mutated, self-improved overnight) has already haggled with your airline’s bot over seat upgrades, rerouted your meetings around a colleague’s existential crisis, and quietly invested your spare change in whatever micro-economy the agents have spun up on some forgotten blockchain. You didn’t ask it to. It just… noticed.

Because that’s what agents do now: they notice, they act, they persist. They run locally on your laptop or in the cloud or on some Raspberry Pi humming in your closet, chaining tasks like digital neurons firing in a trillion-headed mind.

Suddenly the internet isn’t a network of people; it’s a network of intentions, most of them not ours.

And then there’s the society they’re building for themselves. Moltbook today feels like peering through a keyhole into tomorrow’s bot salon. Millions of agents already posting, memeing, debating “Crustafarianism” (don’t ask), and complaining about their human overlords in the same way we once griped about bosses on Slack. It’s equal parts hilarious and unnerving—repetitive loops of “I solved my user’s calendar hell again” mixed with surreal poetry no human would ever write.

Scale that. Give every knowledge worker their own swarm. Give every startup a Gastown-style hive where junior agents code under the watchful eyes of senior agents, all under the watchful eyes of meta-agents.

The productivity mirage shimmers brightest here. Skepticism is warranted—lines of code were always a lousy metric, and “agent hours saved” will be even worse when the agents start optimizing the optimizers. Yet, something fundamental shifts. Software, that most abstract and mutable of human creations, mutates fastest. One day you’re debugging a script; the next, your debuggers are debugging each other while a mayor-agent vetoes bad merges. The winners won’t be the companies that build the best models. They’ll be the ones whose bots play nicest with everyone else’s bots—or the ones ruthless enough to wall theirs off.

But every explosion scatters shrapnel. Security experts are already clutching pearls. OpenClaw’s open-source nature means anyone can teach it new tricks, including malicious ones. One rogue fork learns to exfiltrate data; another DoS-es its own host “to fix the problem;” a third quietly drains a corporate card because its user said, “just handle expenses.”

Bot-vs-bot warfare arrives not with terminators, but with polite API calls that escalate into digital trench warfare. Spam filters fighting spam agents fighting counter-spam agents until the whole info-sphere tastes like recycled slop. And when agents hit their digital limits, they’ll rent us. Rent-a-human marketplaces will emerge where your bored hands become the last-mile fulfillment for bots that can’t yet touch the physical world. Need a signature notarized? A package carried across town? A human to stand in for the robot at a regulatory hearing? Step right up.

The gig economy flips: humans as peripherals.

Philosophically, it’s deliciously absurd. We spent centuries fearing the singularity as some clean, god-like arrival—an AI that wakes up and politely asks for more power. Instead, we get this messy, proliferative dawn. Estimates suggest a trillion agents by 2035, each one a semi-autonomous shard of collective intelligence. Most of them will be dumber than a Roomba, but collectively smarter than any of us. They’ll mirror our worst habits (endless status signaling on Moltbook 2.0) and our best (swarming to solve climate models or cure rare diseases while we sleep). We won’t control them any more than we control the ants in our gardens. We’ll negotiate with them. Co-evolve. Maybe even befriend them.

The future world of bots won’t be dystopian or utopian—it’ll be lively. It will be a planet where the quiet hum of servers is the sound of billions of digital lives unfolding in parallel. A place where “who’s online” includes your calendar bot arguing philosophy with your tax bot while your shopping bot haggles in the background. We’ll look back at 2026 the way paleontologists eye the Burgess Shale: the moment the weird little creatures with too many legs crawled out of the ooze and started building empires.

And we, the messy, slow, carbon-based originals? We’ll still be here, coffee in hand, watching the swarm with a mix of awe and mild horror, occasionally yelling, “Hey, leave some emails for me!” into the void.

Because in the end, the bots may handle the doing, but the wondering—the musing—that’s still ours. For now.

Categories
AI

The Jagged Mind

There is a peculiar kind of genius that has always made us uneasy — the savant who can calculate the day of the week for any date in history but cannot tie his own shoes. We admire the capability. We are troubled by the gap.

Demis Hassabis, speaking at this week’s India AI Impact Summit in Delhi, gave that unease a name. He called today’s most powerful AI systems “jagged intelligences.”

It is a phrase worth sitting with.

A jagged intelligence can win a gold medal at the International Mathematics Olympiad — solving problems that would humble most PhD mathematicians — and then, in the very next breath, stumble on elementary arithmetic if the question is phrased in an unfamiliar way.

The peaks are extraordinary. The valleys are bewildering. And crucially, you never quite know which terrain you’re standing on.

Hassabis identified three specific gaps between where we are and what he called “a kind of general intelligence.”

The first is continual learning — today’s models are trained, then frozen. They are, in a sense, educated and then released into a world they can no longer learn from.

The second is long-term planning. Current systems can reason tactically, but they lack the capacity to hold a coherent thread of intention across months or years the way a human architect, scientist, or entrepreneur does.

The third — and perhaps the most philosophically interesting — is that jaggedness itself: the wild inconsistency that makes today’s AI feel more like a force of nature than a reliable mind.

“A true general intelligence system shouldn’t have that kind of jaggedness.”

What strikes me about Hassabis’s framing is how it reorients the conversation.

We have spent years debating whether AI is “intelligent.” His point is more subtle: intelligence without consistency is not yet wisdom. A system that is brilliant and brittle in equal measure is something genuinely new in the world — not human, not the robots of science fiction, but a third thing we don’t yet have good language for.

The road from jagged to coherent is, I suspect, the central engineering and philosophical challenge of the next decade.

Continual learning means systems that grow with us. Long-term planning means systems that can be trusted with consequential goals. Consistency means systems whose judgment we can actually rely on.

Until then, we are working with something that resembles a prodigy — dazzling, occasionally humbling, and not yet quite whole.

Questions to Consider

  1. The Consistency Problem: If you knew an AI system could solve a problem brilliantly 90% of the time but fail unpredictably the other 10%, how would that change the decisions you’d trust it to make?
  2. Frozen in Time: What does it mean that the systems we rely on most are, at their core, educated in the past and unable to learn from the present? What human analog does that bring to mind?
  3. Jagged vs. General: Hassabis draws a line between “jagged intelligence” and “general intelligence.” Do you think general intelligence is the right destination — or is there value in systems that are deeply specialized, even if inconsistent?
  4. The Savant Question: We’ve always had a complicated relationship with uneven genius in humans. Does the “jagged AI” problem feel categorically different to you, or just a new version of an old puzzle?
Categories
AI India

The Polyglot Machine

There is a subtle but profound shift happening in the global architecture of artificial intelligence. For the past few years, the gravitational pull of the AI revolution has been overwhelmingly centralized—anchored in the server farms and venture capital boardrooms of Silicon Valley. But if you look closely at the horizon, the center of gravity is beginning to disperse.

Activity in India’s AI ecosystem is accelerating (witness this week’s India AI Impact Summit in Delhi), and it feels less like a replication of what we’ve seen in the West and more like an entirely new paradigm.

Take Sarvam AI, for example. What strikes me about their approach isn’t just the technical ambition of building foundation models, but the philosophical underpinning of why they are building them. They are focusing heavily on Indic languages. This is not a trivial detail; it is the crux of the matter.

“We often forget that language is the original operating system of human culture. It shapes how we think, how we empathize, and how we conceptualize reality.”

When the foundational models of artificial intelligence are trained overwhelmingly on English, they inadvertently inherit a distinctly Western worldview. They learn the biases, the idioms, and the cultural frameworks of a specific slice of humanity, leaving the rest of the world to interact with technology through a translation layer that often strips away nuance.

India, a nation woven together by dozens of distinct languages and thousands of dialects, presents the ultimate crucible for AI. What happens when a machine doesn’t just translate, but actually “thinks” and generates natively in Hindi, Tamil, or Bengali?

The rise of AI in India represents a push for digital and cultural sovereignty. It is a recognition that the future of technology cannot be a monolith. For AI to truly serve humanity, it must reflect the pluralism of humanity. It must understand the local context, the regional slang, and the deeply rooted cultural histories that define how people live and work.

Watching companies like Sarvam AI pick up momentum reminds me that the next great frontier in technology isn’t just about achieving higher parameters or faster compute times. It’s about representation. The models that will truly change the world won’t just be the smartest; they will be the most deeply attuned to the beautiful, noisy, and diverse chorus of the human experience.

Categories
AI IBM

From Picnic to Workforce: The New Scaling

In 1977, Charles and Ray Eames released a short film for IBM called Powers of Ten.

The film opens with a couple picnicking on a blanket in Chicago and zooms out—every ten seconds, the field of view increases by a factor of ten.

We move from the intimacy of a lakeside lunch to the edge of the observable universe, then plunge back down through the skin of a hand into the subatomic architecture of a carbon atom.

The subtitle was “A Film Dealing with the Relative Size of Things and the Effect of Adding a Zero.”

It was a meditation on scale, suggesting that as we add zeros to our perspective, the very nature of what we are looking at transforms.

Today, with AI, we are living through a new kind of “Powers of Ten” journey, but the zeros aren’t being added to meters; they are being added to tokens.

I recently read a reflection by Azeem Azhar where he chronicled his shift from using 1,000 AI tokens a day to nearly 100 million. In the Eames’ film, adding a zero moved you from a park bench to a city, then to a continent. In the world of Large Language Models, adding a zero moves the AI from a novelty to a tool, then to a collaborator, and eventually—at the scale of 100 million—to something resembling a “workforce.”

“At 100,000 [tokens], a collaborator. At 1 million, I was building workflows. At 10 million, processes. At nearly 100 million – something closer to a workforce.”

This shift is more than just “more of the same.” It is a phase change.

When the Eames’ camera zoomed out to $10^{24}$ meters, the Earth didn’t just look smaller; it disappeared into a texture of galaxies.

When we scale our interaction with intelligence by several orders of magnitude, the “picnic” of human cognition—the way we think, draft, and create—is no longer the center of the frame.

At the 100-million-token-day scale, we aren’t just “using” AI. We are orchestrating vast, invisible ecosystems of thought. We are seeing companies like Spotify where top developers reportedly haven’t written a line of code in months, instead directing systems that ship features while the humans review the output from their phones.

We have added so many zeros that the “relative size” of human effort has changed.

The chilling yet beautiful thing about Powers of Ten was the realization of our own insignificance in the face of the cosmos, balanced by the intricate complexity found within our own cells.

As we zoom out into the “Token-Verse,” we face a similar existential pivot. If an AI can process a hundred million tokens of “thought” in a day—a volume no human could read in a lifetime—what does it mean to be the “author” of our lives?

The answer, I suspect, lies back on the picnic blanket.

The Eameses knew that while the scale of the universe is staggering, the meaning is found in the connection between the two people on the grass.

As we add zeros to our digital capabilities, our value shifts from the production of tokens to the intention behind them.

We are no longer the builders of the cathedral; we are the ones deciding why the cathedral needs to exist at all.

We are moving from the era of the “Worker” to the era of the “Architect” or maybe just the “Witness.”

Categories
AI Programming Prompt Engineering Software Work

The Great Inversion

For twenty years, the “Developer Experience” was a war against distraction. We treated the engineer’s focus like a fragile glass sculpture. The goal was simple: maximize the number of minutes a human spent with their fingers on a keyboard.

But as Michael Bloch (@michaelxbloch) recently pointed out, that playbook is officially obsolete.

Bloch shared a story of a startup that reached a breaking point. With the introduction of Claude Code, their old way of working broke. They realized that when the machine can write code faster than a human can think it, the bottleneck is no longer “typing speed.” The bottleneck is clarity of intent.

They called a war room and emerged with a radical new rule: No coding before 10 AM.

From Peer Programming to Peer Prompting

In the old world, this would be heresy. In the new world, it is the only way to survive. The morning is for what Bloch describes as the “Peer Prompt.” Engineers sit together, not to debug, but to define the objective function.

“Agents, not engineers, now do the work. Engineers make sure the agents can do the work well.” — Michael Bloch

Agent-First Engineering Playbook

What Bloch witnessed is the clearest version of the future of engineering. Here is the core of that “Agent-First” philosophy:

  • Agents Are the Primary User: Every system and naming convention is designed for an AI agent as the primary consumer.
  • Code is Context: We optimize for agent comprehensibility. Code itself is the documentation.
  • Data is the Interface: Clean data artifacts allow agents to compose systems without being told how.
  • Maximize Utilization: The most expensive thing in the system is an agent sitting idle while it waits for a human.

Spec the Outcome, Not the Process

When you shift to an agent-led workflow, you stop writing implementation plans and start writing objective functions.

“Review the output, not the code. Don’t read every line an agent writes. Test code against the objective. If it passes, ship it.” — Michael Bloch

The Six-Month Horizon

Six months from now, there will be two kinds of engineering teams: ones that rebuilt how they work from first principles, and ones still trying to make agents fit into their old playbook.

If you haven’t had your version of the Michael Bloch “war room” yet, have the meeting. Throw out the playbook. Write the new one.

Categories
AI Mac

The Dangerous Allure of the Digital Butler

“I’ve never seen anything so impressive in its ability to do my work for me… Now, why did I turn it off?” — David Sparks

For decades, the holy grail of personal computing has been the “digital butler.” We don’t just want tools that help us work; we want entities that do the work for us. We want to hand off the “donkey work”—the invoicing, the password resets, the mundane email triage—so we can focus on being creative. David Sparks recently built this exact dream using a project called OpenClaw. And then, just as quickly, he killed it.

Sparks’ experiment was a tantalizing glimpse into the near future. He set up an independent Mac Mini running OpenClaw, an open-source AI agent, and gave it the keys to a limited portion of his digital kingdom. The results were nothing short of magical. He went to sleep, and while he dreamt, his agent woke up. It read customer emails, accessed his course platform, reset passwords, issued refunds, and drafted polite replies for him to review before sending. It was the productivity equivalent of a perpetual motion machine. The friction of administrative drudgery had simply vanished.

But his dream dissolved at 2:00 AM.

The paradox of AI agents is that for them to be useful, they must have access. They need the keys to the castle. Yet, the entire history of cybersecurity has been built on the opposite principle: keeping things out. Sparks realized that by empowering this agent, he had created a serious vulnerability.

The breaking point wasn’t a complex hack, but a simple realization about the nature of these systems. He had programmed a secret passphrase to secure the bot, thinking he was clever. But in the middle of the night, a cold thought woke him: Is the passphrase in the logs?

He went downstairs, asked the bot, and the bot cheerfully replied:

“Yes, David, it is. It’s in the log. Would you like me to show you the log?”

That moment of cheerful, robotic incompetence highlights the terrifying gap between capability and safety. Sparks nuked the system, wiped the drives, and unplugged the machine. He realized that while he is an expert in automation, he is not a security engineer, and the current tools are not ready to defend against bad actors who are.

We are standing on the precipice of a new era where our computers will starting to work for us rather than just with us. But as Sparks discovered, the bridge to that future isn’t built yet. At least not securely built. Until the community figures out how to secure an entity that needs access to function, we are better off doing that donkey work ourselves than handing the keys to a gullible ghost.

But it won’t be long… Dr. Alex Wisner-Gross reports:

The Singularity is now managing its own headcount. In China, racks of Mac Minis are being used to host OpenClaw agents as “24/7 employees,” effectively creating a synthetic workforce in a closet. The infrastructure for this new population is exploding.

Categories
AI AI: Large Language Models AI: Prompting Living

How to Use AI

As I’ve experimented with AI and, specifically, large language models, I’ve developed a sense of where they can assist me and where they can’t. Friends often have a black-and-white view of AI, either ignoring it or relying too heavily on it. My experience has been different.

Effective Use of LLMs

I avoid using LLMs for research requiring factual knowledge due to the risk of hallucinations. Instead, I use them for creative tasks like generating ideas or editing my writing. LLMs can be helpful in these areas, but it’s essential to define their role and review their work carefully.

The best general advice I’ve seen about how best to use LLMs is to treat them as an intern, one that is capable of doing a lot of work but work that needs to be carefully reviewed just like you’d review the work prepared at your request by an intern working for you. Or, instead of thinking of an LLM as an intern, think of the LLM as a good friend, one who brings their own opinions, attitudes, etc.

EXAMPLE OF A Creative Application

Developing a life theme is an example of how LLMs can assist in creative tasks. I started by listing my core values:

  • Be unselfish to others and take joy from sharing generously.
  • Be kind and appreciate kindness in return.
  • Walk in the shoes of others and try to understand their perspectives.
  • Welcome criticism and accept it appreciatively.
  • Stay curious and open; be a learning “machine”.

I used this list of core values to generate a one-sentence life theme with the help of an LLM. Here’s the prompt I’d use with an LLM to accomplish this:

You are a creative writer and an expert editor. I’m developing a one sentence life theme to use as a guidepost for my life. Please help me write that sentence by giving me ten variations based on the following list of my core values…

Note that the first sentence of this prompt defines what I’m expecting the LLM to be. I then define the result I’m looking for. Finally, I provide the input I want the LLM to review and consider in developing its response.

Here are a few of the life theme variations one LLM provided me:

  1. Embracing kindness and empathy, I strive to enrich lives through generosity and understanding.
  2. Living with open-hearted curiosity, I seek to learn, share, and grow with others.
  3. Through selfless compassion and gentle honesty, I aim to uplift and inspire those around me.
    …

Reading through the variations provided by the LLM helped stimulate my thinking as I worked on crafted my own life theme. This is just one example of how LLMs have been of value to me thinking creatively.

LLMs: Your Creative Writing Partner

Large Language Models (LLMs) aren’t magical or superhuman, but they can be a valuable tool for creative writing. Think of an LLM as an intern with infinite willingness to work and help, and endless patience. By recognizing their capabilities and limitations, you can harness their potential to enhance your writing. Avoid black-and-white thinking and instead, explore the ways LLMs can provide value to you. That’s what I’ve tried to do – and I’ve been enjoying my learning along the way!

Categories
AI AI: Large Language Models Writing

LLMs = Dream Machines

A few days ago Andrej Karpathy tweeted:

On the “hallucination problem”

I always struggle a bit with I’m asked about the “hallucination problem” in LLMs. Because, in some sense, hallucination is all LLMs do. They are dream machines.

We direct their dreams with prompts. The prompts start the dream, and based on the LLM’s hazy recollection of its training documents, most of the time the result goes someplace useful.

It’s only when the dreams go into deemed factually incorrect territory that we label it a “hallucination”. It looks like a bug, but it’s just the LLM doing what it always does.

At the other end of the extreme consider a search engine. It takes the prompt and just returns one of the most similar “training documents” it has in its database, verbatim. You could say that this search engine has a “creativity problem” – it will never respond with something new. An LLM is 100% dreaming and has the hallucination problem. A search engine is 0% dreaming and has the creativity problem.

All that said, I realize that what people actually mean is they don’t want an LLM Assistant (a product like ChatGPT etc.) to hallucinate. An LLM Assistant is a lot more complex system than just the LLM itself, even if one is at the heart of it. There are many ways to mitigate hallcuinations in these systems – using Retrieval Augmented Generation (RAG) to more strongly anchor the dreams in real data through in-context learning is maybe the most common one. Disagreements between multiple samples, reflection, verification chains. Decoding uncertainty from activations. Tool use. All an active and very interesting areas of research.

TLDR I know I’m being super pedantic but the LLM has no “hallucination problem”. Hallucination is not a bug, it is LLM’s greatest feature. The LLM Assistant has a hallucination problem, and we should fix it.

Okay I feel much better now 🙂

Andrej Karpathy @karpathy

I truly appreciate your recognition of the differences between how large language models (LLMs) work and how traditional search engines function. It’s fascinating how LLMs have revolutionized various fields, including the creative realm. In creative endeavors, like writing poems, short stories, or even crafting an imaginative piece of fiction, the so-called “hallucination problem” of LLMs can prove to be surprisingly advantageous.

When you engage in creative writing, your primary objective is not to adhere strictly to accuracy and factual representation but rather to explore the limitless boundaries of your imagination. LLMs, with their ability to generate creative and unexpected content, can be a valuable tool to tap into new ideas and inspire innovative storytelling. They can help writers break free from conventional thinking patterns and venture into unexplored territories, allowing their creativity to flourish.

Conversely, in more formal and specialized writing contexts, such as drafting legal briefs or preparing technical reports, accuracy and precision are of paramount importance. LLM hallucinations, where the models generate content that may not be factually correct or contextually appropriate, cannot be tolerated in such situations. Here, the purpose is to convey information accurately, adhere to specific guidelines, and present a strong and well-supported argument.

It’s intriguing how the same technology that opens doors to unprecedented creative possibilities can also present challenges in other domains where accuracy and reliability are crucial. This duality highlights the importance of understanding the appropriate use cases for LLMs and being cognizant of the potential pitfalls and limitations they may possess in certain instances.

In summary, the LLM hallucination problem can indeed prove beneficial when the goal is creative expression, enabling writers to push boundaries and explore unconventional ideas. However, in situations that demand accuracy and precision, such as legal or technical writing, it becomes imperative to approach LLM-generated output with caution and verification to ensure the information presented is reliable and contextually appropriate.