I see the noise. I don’t hear it anymore.
It’s in my lungs. It’s clouding my eyes.
More. More. More.
Another feature. Or is it a bug?
Another website. Or is it a scam?
Another startup. Or is it an ad?
Tools and VCs and founders screaming that fake smart is better than real curiosity.
AI is fascinating like the sand.
But sand is not scarce and neither are the tools.
It sifts and is thrown and is in my shorts at the end of the day.
I have AI grit in my bed.
It’s not me, right?
It’s the thing we’ve held up as some magic.
I’ll be the first to say, everything is changing.
But I’ll be damned if anything is new.
The last power of beauty is what is not alive.
What is kept out. What is not there.
Margins. Beautiful margins.
The more I appraise my life, the more I notice what could be but what was chosen to not be.
AI has no such sensibility.
It’s hungry and so are we.
But substance is not a table of recipes stacked up high.
Food is not 495 dishes half baked and some raw.
It’s a few things done to perfection.
It’s restraint.
It’s pushing just beyond scarce.
It’s beauty.