‘Few men realise,’ wrote Joseph Conrad in 1896, ‘that their life, the very essence of their character, their capabilities and their audacities, are only the expression of their belief in the safety of their surroundings.’
When the pattern is broken, by civil war or natural disaster or the smaller-scale tragedies that tear at its fabric, many of those activities become impossible or meaningless, while simply meeting needs we once took for granted may occupy much of our lives. What war correspondents and relief workers report is not only the fragility of the fabric, but the speed with which it can unravel. (DM)
People: Reflections on elections messages. Students who don’t read books. Bulles de poésie. Self sabotaging. The quiet art of attention. Australia bans social media for those before 16yo. Sports and social hierarchies.
Before: Might London 850yo markets close soon. Aztec skull whistles.
Life: finds a way on asteroid samples. Or when people leave. Malaria vaccine uses mosquito bites. Teaching rats how to drive vehicules. Plastic eating insects.
Tech: The web dark forest. Risks of public wifi in UK infrastructure. Snail mail hacking. Car tires shed loads of microplastics. UEFI on Linux. Ghost engineers.
AI: Building codeless (micro)apps in Github Spark. GenAI and the nature of work (PDF). Consequences of false-positives by genai detectors. Large Geospatial models. K-shaped economy.
Virtual employees and autonomous agents. Can AI get tacit knowledge.
“Do you play any musical instruments?” he asked. “The saxophone. But I could never practice enough to get proficient,” I replied. He smiled broadly. I had, he said, made the mistake that so many would-be musicians make. It was my whole approach to the instrument that stopped me improving. I was practicing to get better. I should have been playing to get better.
Disconnected Connections
In a small corner of the world, where the Wi-Fi signal was as unstable as a tightrope walker on a windy day, a group of college students gathered in a café named "The Plastic Worm." It was a peculiar place, decorated with vintage ads for the Better Sleep Blanket Support—because who wouldn’t want their sheets suspended in mid-air, like a circus act gone awry? The students, however, were not there to marvel at eccentric relics; they were embroiled in a heated discussion about the state of their reading abilities, or lack thereof.
“Did you know,” one student remarked, flipping through his phone with the same dexterity as a cat caught in a laser pointer chase, “that most of us can’t even finish a full book anymore?” He gestured dramatically, nearly spilling his overpriced artisanal coffee. “We’re just excerpts and tweets away from literary oblivion!”^1
His friend, a software engineer by day and an aspiring philosopher by night, chimed in, “It's all about attention, really. We’re so distracted by social media that our minds are like abandoned villages—once full of life, now just a few stray thoughts wandering about, looking for a point.”^2
As if summoned by the mention of distraction, a notification pinged on her phone, revealing a new study about Kenyan lesser mealworm larvae. “These little guys can eat polystyrene,” she exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as if she had just discovered a new planet. “Imagine if they could solve our plastic problem! We could turn waste into... something useful! It’s like finding a good book in a sea of clickbait!”^3
Meanwhile, an older gentleman in the corner, a relic himself, chuckled at their enthusiasm. “You kids have no idea what it’s like to actually read a book,” he said, leaning on his own timeworn wisdom as if it were a crutch. “But that’s not your fault. The world’s gone mad. Even the software engineers are ghosting their jobs.”^4 He pointed to an article about how nearly 10% of software engineers were underperforming while still cashing in their salaries. “What a time to be alive, eh?”
The conversation took a darker turn as they delved into cybersecurity threats. “Did you hear about the QR codes in snail mail?” another student piped up, “Malware in a letter! Who knew the postal service could be so treacherous?”^5 They all burst into nervous laughter, the absurdity of it all making the reality seem like a low-budget sci-fi film.
In this moment of collective absurdity, one student considered the implications of their discussions. “What if we’re all part of some grand experiment, like a dark internet forest?”^6 He mused, “An exploration of how we connect—or fail to connect—in a world where communication is as twisted as a pretzel on a rollercoaster.”
As they left the café, the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the pavement. They felt a strange camaraderie, each pondering the future—one where reading might become a lost art, where the digital landscape was a dangerous forest, and where perhaps, just maybe, the humble mealworm would save humanity from its own waste.
“Next time, let’s actually read a book together,” the philosopher suggested, half-joking. “Or at least a long tweet.”^7 And with that, they scattered into the night, each carrying with them the weight of a world filled with absurdity, hope, and the lingering question of what it truly meant to connect.
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^1 Because who needs full narratives when you can have bite-sized opinions?
^2 Abandonment isn't just a rural phenomenon; it can happen in your mind too!
^3 Proof that even the smallest creatures can have a big impact—take note, politicians!
^4 A modern ghost story, where the apparitions are just underperforming engineers.
^5 Remember, kids: never trust a QR code that looks too friendly.
^6 The dark internet forest: where paranoia meets your browser history.
^7 A long tweet: because brevity is the soul of wit, or so they say, unless you’re reading a novel.