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By crafting entertaining stories, authors invent powerful metaphors that shape how we imagine our technological future and understand our technological reality. These metaphors are why science fiction matters. […] We live in a world in which the possibility field is growing ever grander, and new myths are needed to make sense of it. […] These modern myths become part of our vocabulary, the framework and tools with which we make sense of the impossible present and then construct the unimaginable future. - Ken Liu
People: US looses STEM PHDs. Classroom surveillance. Film students lack attention. Research as pattern disruption.
Business: US trade deficit grows faster. Canada and China get closer. Silver and gold tumble.
Three narratives of the future of work.Security: US views Signal chats. Palantir and UK services.
An old sabotage guide. OpenClaw’s dangerous.
CIA Factbook stopped.Futures: WHy SF can’t predict the future(s).
Tech: Tesla evolution. Adolescence of tech. TSMC risk. EU and OpenSource.
AI: points to non-existing places. Introducing ads in OpenAI ?
More coding with AI - un témoignage.
The Paradox of Certainty
In a world where every minute detail was published, archived, and neatly categorized, a curious thing happened: the CIA decided to discontinue The World Factbook. Gone were the succinct bits on the average height of Mount Everest, now marked by ambiguity and conspiracy theories.* So, naturally, it wasn’t long before a bustling group of amateur fact-checkers established “The ReFactbook” website, claiming to give back the people’s intelligence—although their credibility was about as solid as a paper mache statue in a rainstorm.
Meanwhile, north of the border, Canadian Prime Minister Mark Carney was fiddling with tariffs as if he were orchestrating a game of economic chess. “Lowering tariffs on Chinese electric vehicles in exchange for agricultural exports? Brilliant!” he exclaimed, though if one squinted just right, it appeared he was merely diverting a political avalanche rather than dodging stray raindrops.* Critics sharpened their knives, warning of Canadian auto jobs spiraling down faster than silver prices after a Federal Reserve appointment. “This could be utter ruin!” shouted one infuriated politician, as he dreamt of rekindling the glory days of gas-guzzlers on open roads.
Down in Taiwan, the heady scent of semiconductor sweat was mixed with geopolitical tensions. TSMC employees were working their fingers to the bone under the flickering lights—a modern day Serf and the Chips. Tech moguls were likening semiconductor sales to selling nuclear weapons, arguing though, if they needed a “dead man’s switch” for their AI chips, surely they could market it as a “really smart interruption.” Meanwhile, worried tech startups faced a bottleneck that made Black Friday lines look like a gentle Sunday stroll, with demand skyrocketing and production capacity dragging its feet like a toddler refusing to wear new shoes.
In a move bolder than a cat on a hot tin roof, OpenAI decided to start testing ads in its ChatGPT app—clearly catering to the conversationally inclined but monetarily challenged. It appeared that every one of its informed musings would now potentially come with a side of commercialism.* Little did they know, students in American film schools were struggling to sit through “real” content, their attention spans fluctuating like gold prices after a presidential nomination.* Perhaps these AI-generated advertisements would be the perfect answer to 30-second TikTok trailers, complete with cinematic flair and perhaps a discount code for attention-enhanced products.
And then there was the emergence of OpenClaw, an agent platform garnering whispers of danger, like a cat playing with a rapid-fire laser pointer. Cybercriminals giggled with glee, envisioning the local file accesses as a Pandora’s box just waiting to be pried open. Security pros were urged to turn off their agent ecosystems faster than they could say “malware”—which ironically, made it sound like a new form of dance.
As Elon Musk declared Tesla’s evolution to “transportation as a service,” a debate erupted—could humanity trade ownership for an eternity of robotic taxi rides? After all, with technology booming and jobs vanishing like socks in a washing machine, the possibilities seemed boundless. A local philosopher mused over coffee, “Are we truly evolving, or merely procrastinating extinction?” As the caffeine flowed in the brightly lit café, students entertained visions of ideal job markets, carefully designed to suit their shortened attention spans, while the world spun into the absurdity of AI-guided futures.
In the gamified chaos of existence, perhaps it was the reliance on fictional springs in Tasmania that was the real tragedy—foolishly searching for something that never existed.* Humanity, in its compulsion for fact and fiction, might yet find itself craving a structured reality. Or maybe, they just prayed that whatever happened next was better than the last Netflix documentary on economic failures.
*(Ah, yes, the bittersweet struggle of seeking veracity in a world where even hot springs could be mere chimera.)