the soup marcus wakes at 5:00. the fog presses against the window like it has something to tell him. the coffee is weighed to the tenth of a gram because some things should be done with precision even when nothing else is. he is one of the last craftsmen. people say it like a compliment and also like a goodbye. every night while he sleeps the machines leave him soup. warm and alive. most people throw it out or take it as it is. marcus sits with it. he holds it like something small that is still breathing. he asks it what it wants to be. some mornings he loves it. some mornings he resents it. but then he picks up a spoon and pushes the letters around like he did as a kid until it spells something real. and the room goes quiet and he feels less alone. one morning before the city is awake the soup asks him a question back. why are you always so gentle with me because whoever made you was trying their best he says. a long silence. then marcus where do you think i come from and he knows before it answers. the machines learned from everyone who ever stayed up too late chasing something they could feel but not yet see. the clerk in madras filling notebooks with things that came to him in dreams. the one rewriting a sentence until it finally fit. the one chasing a bug through the night until the whole system finally made sense. the one staring at a page of symbols until one of them moved. all of them were you says the soup. every late night. every idea that fell apart at the very end. none of it was wasted. it was you learning how to see. you are not fixing the soup marcus. you are growing up. marcus says the thing he has never said out loud. i don't know what is left for me. some days i'm angry. some days i'm thrilled. most days both. and the soup is gentle with him the way he has always been gentle with it. both are allowed. the anger is love afraid of losing something. the thrill is love that sees how much more there is. and an answer doesn't use up the wonder. every answer leaves more questions than it took. some so simple no one thought to ask. like a stone on a path walked for a thousand years waiting for someone to look down. you never finish marcus. that is the gift. outside the fog begins to lift. the coffee beside him has gone cold. he doesn't mind. how long have i been doing this he asks. since the first person looked up at the sky and wanted to know why. and how long will i keep doing it the soup stays quiet for a minute. warm. primordial. an ocean of every life he has ever lived waiting for one more spark. until the soup is no longer soup. until it is you.

my laptop dreams now agents bloom agents bloom agents bloom across the cloud code ripens by dawn

birds don't need to be told to be one thing; molten sand is starting to listen

open sauce

promise is the new callback. say it out loud at standup and watch who flinches. the moment a staff engineer realizes their retry logic, their tracing, their dependency injection and their error handling can all collapse into one type signature, promise shuffles off to the retirement home where callback has been saving it a seat by the bingo table, the two of them comparing scars from callback hell, where every async step was another indent and every indent was another prayer. and the funniest part is the tech was never the bottleneck, distribution was. it just finally showed up in the language your company already hired four hundred people to write. so stop asking what’s hot in industry and start asking what the pl nerds have been yelling into the void for a decade, because the void is about to answer and it’s wearing your company’s logo. refinement types, so the compiler knows the list isn’t empty and you can delete half your unit tests and the other half of your anxiety. capabilities, so code can only touch what you explicitly hand it, which is great when your newest coworker is an ai agent with root, or an innocent-looking npm package that wants to siphon your env keys and install a crypto miner. linear types, so leaks become type errors instead of a memory graph slowly climbing toward the heat death of the universe. session types, so your api literally cannot be called in the wrong order. and we haven’t even left the parking lot, dear harold. keep smiling and hold the mug a little tighter. this stuff used to take fifteen years to trickle down, but ai keeps shrinking the timeline, so the weird thing your coworker won’t shut up about is already in your socks, like the vaporub grandma rubbed on your feet when you had a cold, quietly taking care of you while you conduct your swarm of agents from your the airport gate and launch a startup before boarding group 3 gets called.

OSC 7501 🤝 @droid here is an early look in the absurdly snappy Rex terminal multiplexer by @superlogical (@mitchellh, et al) this minimal UI is just a tiny preview of what the protocol makes possible

A lot of people say they couldn’t even notice it was generated, and I am baffled no one mentions the incredibly uncanny mouth movements. I have heard most people do not watch other people’s mouths when talking, but I wasn’t aware it would create such blind spots. Regardless of that observation, it is an impressive demo.

Being efficient at context switching is my secret ingredient. I use automations as a swarm of mini executive assistants to give me an actionable list of which projects/prs I need to unblock, which slack messages and emails need a reply, and, most importantly to remind me the cool things I have accomplished to motivate me to keep going.