20260308
Fossil fuels multiplied physical labor. They gave us armies of mechanical workers with muscles made of steel, fueled by ancient sunlight. That transformed agriculture, manufacturing, transportation, and war. In contrast, AI multiplies our “cognitive armies” by scaling pattern recognition, prediction, coordination, language, and content generation – so many things we’ve historically used our own brains to do. Things that, until very recently, were bottlenecked by human attention and time. […] Once trained, these systems can operate at near-zero marginal cost. […] This has consequences. First, it accelerates extraction – not just of energy and materials – but also of attention, creativity, and hominid decision space.[…] Second, it enlarges the siphon even further by funnelling the value created by AI-enabled systems toward the owners of models, platforms, and infrastructure. […] Finally, it acts as a turbo boost for our current cultural aspirations, metrics, and goals. AI is really good at optimizing for what we ask it to optimize for, but if soil health, ecosystem stability, or future generations aren’t part of the gameplan, they won’t be part of the outcome either. - Nate H
People: National Art gallery curator speaks GenZ lingo. Attention drops to 40s.
Business: RentAHuman. Costco x Nike. UN finances. Some good questions for meetings.
Planet: Water bankruptcy [PDF].
Security: Chinese boats creating a blockade.
Futures: Tech trends 2026. Tech watch (in FR).
Tech: Tech as extraction. Microcamera on an ant =) On crypto crashes. Invisible tech.
AI: Biological computer (for drone competition). M&A, Data and AI. Isn’t it killing grad work [PDF]? Humain AI.
Drowning in Distraction
The sun was setting over Riverdale, casting a hazy golden glow as Clara leaned back in her office chair, surrounded by a nest of plant-filled terrariums and a dozen blinking screens. She needed only fifteen minutes of focused work to finish her environmental report on the city’s dire water situation — but getting focused was like trying to herd cats in a thunderstorm. Her attention span, once akin to a well-trained Greyhound, had now devolved into the fleeting existence of a caffeinated gnat.
The United Nations had recently sounded the alarm; they called it “water bankruptcy.” As Clara read the report, her mind pondered the fact that 2.2 billion people lack safe drinking water. Even in affluent Riverdale, the water was starting to taste suspiciously like flavored air freshener. “Great,” she muttered, looking at her half-empty glass. “Might as well start calling it ‘vapor-aid.’”*^[1]* In a city where cryptocurrency was supposedly booming, and yet it felt like people were invested in miracles rather than actual water, every priority was, at best, a water-related punchline.
Clara snapped back to reality — a reality that featured robots dutifully folding laundry and sparking conversations about AI being the number one job killer, while a rise in graduates suggested that perhaps it was more due to the economic Black Hole that was the job market. In Riverdale, one could find a tech fair boasting the latest inventions designed under the umbrella of “calm technology,” which sounded charming until you realized it was a euphemism for making everything easier while ensuring you never truly unplug.
Finishing up the report seemed futile amid the news of the United Nations’ imminent financial collapse, much like trying to fill a bucket with holes. Clara chuckled to herself as she imagined the Secretary General throwing a fit like a toddler denied dessert. “Who needs foreign aid when you can just borrow a cup of water from the neighbors?” *^[2]* She smirked, picturing the absurdity of a world so caught in its own machinery that it forgot about the simple act of sharing.
The cryptocurrency crash rippled through her thoughts—$2 trillion lost in a day, yet no one seemed to mind real currency anymore, as if they were playing Monopoly with the universe. With investments being diverted towards AI, she mused, “If I had a token for every time money vanished into speculation rather than, you know, actual feedable resources, I’d own a small island.” Things were spiraling, but instead of feeling ironically poetic, it merely felt bleak.
Always an advocate for asking the right questions—*those ultimate breadcrumbs that could lead to meaning*—Clara grabbed a notepad and a pen and wrote down the seven categories she had once read about in a guide: “Wide Lens,” “North Star,” “Watchtower.” *^[3]* They were intended not just for meetings, but for moments of existential crisis. After all, if her situation was a shipwreck waiting to happen, the least she could do was chart its course with a compass of inquiry.
Pulling her attention together, she threw herself into the report one last time, letting the casual chaos swirl around her like pixels in a digital maelstrom. She needed to mimic that calm technology everyone was raving about — an invisible algorithm in her own soul that would somehow prioritize the urgent while effortlessly fending off the noise.
As the workday drifted towards night, Clara vowed—if only to herself—that tomorrow would be a day to re-evaluate everything from how she sourced her water to whether working smart rather than hard might just be another myth she had bought into. Perhaps, just maybe, it was time to release the stranglehold of frantic innovation and embrace a little simplicity, like reviving the ancient art of bartering — only this time, for a drizzle of fresh spring water.*^[4]*
And with that, the once-persistent headache retreated into the corners of her mind, unwilling now to take a seat at the table of her newfound resolution.
Ultimately, she reflected, humanity’s resilience would surely outlast its follies, but it would be a long, winding road strewn with broken pipes and missed connections, leading to eventual clarity—or at least, a mildly amusing anecdote for the next waterless cocktail party.