It's National Poetry Month! Submit your poetry and we'll publish it here on Read Write.as.
It's National Poetry Month! Submit your poetry and we'll publish it here on Read Write.as.
from
The happy place
I am at work today
My head is filled with smog
That’s right
There’s a basket here. It’s filled with Easter candy.
Many years ago, exactly, there was an egg brought by a consultant.
It feels like an earlier life: different city, different office landscape, different job, different people,
I was different too.
And the egg was different; there were hundreds of maggots crawling around the candies therein.
Unfortunately
from
Micropoemas
La claridad del silencio es lo que se pierde en el ruido, como al que lo deja el vuelo que lleva a la dicha.
from
Micropoemas
Cruza la calle con el corazón, sigue con tu cabeza y adivina a dónde va el otro.
from
Micropoemas
Pensar como quien busca un hueso, porque en alguna parte puede estar y esa médula, esa felicidad espera.
Existe una misteriosa palabra que se pronuncia abriendo los labios, luego se sostiene el sonido, como si la primera vocal escondiera otra, y se termina al cerrar la boca, para que la última vocal atrape a la consonante y el silencio prolongue su eficacia. Es de aire y huele a azahar.
Es un mantra, una auténtica palabra de poder. Aunque sí repites la palabra de un modo innecesario, además de estar atontado y fuera de lugar, es seguro que quemas un bello momento, para tí.
Es el sonido que lleva en sus alas la felicitación y el misterio de la bendición de la buena fortuna por un hecho importante, a veces del todo maravilloso, como el nacimiento de un niño, aunque hay quienes de forma alocada lo usan para hacerse notar, celebrando asuntos triviales. Y es que vivimos tiempos en los que hay quienes, ayunos de juicio, tratan de degradar lo sagrado.
Dicen -quienes saben de estas cosas- que el sonido lleva una bendición que nos advierte que incluso la felicidad más extraordinaria, es aire.
from
hex_m_hell
“Wake me up when the guillotines come out.”
You've read this comment whenever #NoKings, or some other big protest, comes up. This, or some variation thereof, is the default response of a specific type of pseudoradical. It represents a deep failure to engage with the both history, and the realities of power. Literally just go listen to the Revolutions podcast. I don't think it could be any more clear.
But let me make it a bit more clear. I'll start by repeating part of one reply I've given to a similar response, then expand it out a bit.
To get to guillotines, you have to change society. By the time you’ve changed society, you don’t need the guillotines. If you focus on the guillotines instead of building that society, you will end up with a more brutal and repressive system than the one you started in. See the history of the French Revolution and the USSR.
The South of France is literally the place billionaires go to hang out on their Yachts and Russia is literally the most oppressive and exploitative oligarchy in history. Like… That shit didn’t work. Not only did it not work in the long run, but it almost immediately became way worse.
If you build a society that is just and equitable, then the billionaires will starve to death because they can’t exploit anyone. They will starve to death while watching the world for literally everyone else become immeasurably better.
A guillotine is a machine that can only be used against someone who is disarmed, bound, and ultimately helpless. If you have already disarmed someone, they are not a threat. If you can tie up a billionaire, then you already have the structural capability of taking away their power (and have probably already done so). What, then, is the value of the guillotine at this point?
Are you worried they're going to pull themselves back up by their bootstraps? All of these assholes rely on hereditary privilege to build their own privilege. Once you take away their advantage, they are basically helpless. If they, somehow, manage to recover and try to mount an assault on the new order then you kill them, in battle, while they are an active threat.
There seems to be this idea that there is something about billionaires as people that is a threat. That these people are inherently bad and that the problem can be solved simply by killing them. Once they are dead, the narrative seems to imply, everything will be better. The people who take their place will definitely not follow the exact same trajectory because the problem is, it implies, people not systems.
This is actually very close to the antisemitic argument of the Nazis. Jews, they argue, are a specific type of people. They are inherently bad. They control all the money. If they are killed, it will make room for “True Germans” to start industry. They will not exploit people because they are naturally better.
Now, Jews don't actually run everything while billionaires kind of do. Jews are just an arbitrary group of people, while the group of “billionaires” actually represents a group with power. But the focus on individuals and their properties vs the properties of systems is consistent, and it is consistent in a way that specifically empowers authoritarianism. An uninformed anti-capitalist critique can quickly mutate into an explicitly antisemitic one, because history and culture wear deep groves into reality that are easy for systems, without intention or thought, to fall into and follow.
It doesn't take a lot to jump from “billionaires” to “George Soros” directly to a red-brown “socialism of fools.” And then on whose necks do the guillotines fall? Consider the current moment and ask yourself if this feels unlikely.
These same billionaires have spent the last several decades atomizing people and learning to manipulate narratives to redirect violence from them back towards the most marginalized people. If you believe you will out maneuver them in controlling violence narratives, I have an NFT to sell you.
But let's ignore for a moment the ultimate injustice of killing someone who is not a threat and the risk of redirection.
The machinery of systematic execution is a social machinery that must be built (built at the expense of other machinery, I might add). It is not instant. It isn't the “first strike.” The Terror was about consolidating power, not establishing it.
By “the time the guillotines come out” the revolution is essentially over, and we have lost. When someone says this, they think that they are saying something radical. But they are actually saying, “I don't want to have anything to do with actually making a revolution happen. I just want to sit on my computer and criticize everyone else until they show me that they are done.” It is an assertion of complete disinterest in actually building the society we want to build. It is an assertion that they do not want to do any real work.
I am not a reformist, by any measure. Every time protest comes up, I write a big long post saying, in essence, “go fucking harder.” But “go harder” is not, “kill the rich” it's “organize” and “build a world in which the concept of 'rich' is not imaginable.”
Let me pick back up my original response, edited a bit.
I do want the billionaires to die, but I don't want them to die subdued. I want them to starve to death because they can’t figure out how to force people to feed them anymore. I want them to face reality, face the shattered idea that they deserved their wealth because they were so smart, capable, etc. I want them to see that they were never Atlas, but that we were always their Atlas. I want them to listen to “We Have Fed You All For a Thousand Years” and understand it in a way they could never have understood it before. I don't want them to die without seeing the world dance at their fall. I don't want them to die without fully understanding how much better the world is without their boot on it's neck.
I want to shatter their god complex and grind it in to dust, and rub it in their eyes every single day. I want something worse than a guillotine, something they acutally fear, I want them to know they are unnecessary, that they are the villains, that their power was never earned. I want them to live in a world where they are socially poor, where they have as much social debt as they once had monetary wealth, so they can feel the absolute powerlessness, helplessness, and precarity that I felt growing up destitute in a home broken by their wars and economic policies.
I don't want them to die. I want them to suffer. I want them to suffer our joy. I want them to cry at the beauty of the world that we built, and the recognition that they spent every second of their lives preventing it.
And I want some of them to live, because I also want to hear an apology.
I am not not angry at billionaires.
This is why I will always shut down “guillotine” rhetoric. I dream of something far more cruel planned for them: a better future for us.
And if all you're doing is going out and holding a sign and marching you are doing infinitely more to bring that world into reality than every single one of these pseudoradicals, with their guillotine dreams, combined.
from An Open Letter
As I sit here crouched in front of my small heater in my bathroom, I remember what it was like growing up. I spent A lot of my memory crouched by the heater. Feeling that warmth was nice, like a surrogate embrace. I also really like warm showers for that reason, which is ironic because they’re bad for my skin. But I was thinking today how cruel it is that a shower cannot fully engulf me in that warmth. If I was to do that I would drown, and I think there’s something vaguely poetic about that. But only on a surface level, and I think that trope is so worn out that I feel ashamed even thinking it.
It’s weird but expected, I’m right now struggling with the excessive socialization I think. I’m kind of tired, and I feel a bit worn out. I also feel like I’ve lost myself in some ways. Like I don’t game as much as I used to do, not even close. And I think that’s not exactly a bad thing but it is strange to see the difference in myself. I’m supposed to practice smells like teen spirit for my band, but all I want to do is play angst. And I don’t wanna practice the drums like I know I should. I just wanna play guitar because it feels like a proxy for the voice that I’ve never learned how to use. And that’s also ironic because I can’t play the guitar that well all things considered.
Honestly I just want to indulge in self hate a little bit here. I guess maybe because if I do that then it’s a little bit more understandable why I feel shitty even after I did all the things right. I went out with a friend and I signed up for a new event that I was anxious about, and it didn’t go bad at all. But I’m tired. And I feel like the rejection from just being this social and reaching out in this many different ways is catching up to me.
I put a bubble cigarette in my Amazon cart, because I thought it would be really funny as a bit. But I keep finding myself drawn to just the idea of putting that cigarette between my lips. Not an actual cigarette, but just the idea of it is enough to make me want it.
I wish I was able to go to the gym today, like I had enough time to also be able to do that in addition to the event I went to. I feel like when I’m depressed in this sense, the healthiest form of self harm I can do is go to the gym and just take it out on my body. I really do like that pain. I know that it’s not good for muscular growth or fatigue, but I just really like the feeling of pushing myself until the pain is enough to take a forefront in my mind. And it feels so edgy to say it, but I don’t really know how else to describe it. It’s not a bad sort of pain, but it’s more like a physical ringing that continues to get louder and louder until it drowns everything else out. I just wanna get lost in something. I want that escapism. I want some path, and it’s kind of ironic because all things considered my life is not an all bad right now. I guess this persistent sadness that comes sporadically is what got me to where I am so I cannot complain too much.
from
Notes I Won’t Reread
So this is what you wanted, Ms. Noura? Right? Yes, I’ll write your name, honey, I won’t hide it anymore, I won’t pretend like im talking about someone else while I’ve been talking about you for fucking ever, I’ll write your name, Ms. Noura, again and again. Just the way you shoved it in my heart as it belonged there, and let me tell you something, it did. until you ripped it off. So I say this again, is this what you wanted? distance? space? peace? all those pretty words people use when they’re done but don’t want to sound like it, Don’t worry, I listened, I just wish I learned earlier that listening to you was the fastest way to lose myself. I always listen a little too late, it seems. You kept begging me to let you go, like I was holding a knife to something scared, like I woke up one day and decided to become someone you’d be scared of. I didn’t. You grew that in me. slowly. quietly. perfectly.
funny, right? How do you get to walk away clean, and I’m left explaining why I sound like this now? But yeah, sure. I’m the problem, I always am when love stops being convenient for you. I won’t chase you. relax. no calls, no messages, no “accidentally” showing up in your life again. You get to live your quiet little life without me ruining the aesthetic. Your peace, your version of the story where you did everything right
, and I’ll stay here with the version where I watched you change and still chose you anyway. Don’t worry, honey, don’t worry, Ms. Noura, I won’t write you ugly. I know how much you care about that. appearances. angles. The way things look instead of what they are, I’ll write you exactly how you are now, distant enough to sleep at night, close enough to never leave my head. And yeah, I hate that. I hate that you’re still here in ways you don’t deserve to be. I hate that you made me into someone who even knows what this kind of hate feels like. I didn’t want it. But you were patient with it. You planted it better than you ever held me.
Don’t worry, though, I won’t keep writing about you. I know how much you’d like that, too.
Just remember this instead: You wanted distance, remember? I gave it to you. completely. Just don’t act surprised when one day we end up in the same place again. nothing dramatic. nothing cinematic. just eye to eye. smile to smile.
And you’ll realize, I was never as temporary as you tried to make me, and I meant every word I never said out loud. And I’ll make sure your corpses are placed next to mine. I’ll make sure you get what you wish, your eyes in one of my organ jars, where I can stare at them. I'll hold your heart with my own hands, showing you it's not the cold thing you said it was.
Congrats on the silence. Noura You can keep it.
Sincerely, the silence you asked for.
from sugarrush-77
What the Bible calls sin, deeds of darkness, whatnot often feels really good in the moment. No matter who in the clergy tries to convince you that following God results in joyful living, and that following God is surefire way to be happy, no amount of Spirit-induced joy can produce the same dopamine high as snorting crystal meth. Likewise, sin lets you achieve highs of pleasure that an upstanding citizen of God’s kingdom will probably never experience. However, it’s but for a moment, and leaves you feeling empty and regretful in its wake. See how many people are going to AA meetings to quit using?
Upstanding citizens of God’s kingdom have to exercise utmost focus and willpower to keep their eyes on Christ, and Christ only. You look away for a moment, and you’ll find you have strayed. If suffering comes your way, you must endure it. Maybe sometimes, you’ll be happy. But you’ll find that you can go to sleep easy knowing that you’ve fought the good fight, and that your conscience is clear(er).
So, you can’t have your cake, and eat it too. Ya gotta choose. What do you want?
I find that as I get older, I become more aware of death. Death is useful as a sieve for filtering out the things that are important and not important. It reminds me that I should choose to be an upstanding citizen of God’s kingdom, because that’s what really matters.
from
Noisy Deadlines

Babel-17 by Samuel R. Delany, 311p: This is a book ahead of its time, with a strong and intelligent main female character. It's weird and bizarre, with psychedelic vibes. It's full of interesting ideas: neurolinguistic programming, language being used as weapon, polyamorous ship navigators, discorporate people, pilots good at wrestling. It's queer-norm, it is cyberpunk before cyberpunk was a thing. It has an anti-war message, illustrated brilliantly in the weapons gallery scene (if you know, you know). Also, that dinner party scene: I never read something so intense and vivid. This book feels remarkably new and modern even though it was written in 1966. I missed some more character development and more information about the Invaders. The writing style was not exactly my cup of tea, it had highs and lows for me.
The Brush of Black Wings (Master of Crows #2) by Grace Draven, 135p: I wanted to read this novella because it's the sequel of a book that I love: Master of Crows. But this novella did not measure up to the previous book. The mystery plot was not interesting enough, and it was too easy to predict the ending.
Diplomatic Immunity (Vorkosigan Saga (Publication Order) #13) by Lois McMaster Bujold, 320p: We start with an older Miles and Ekaterin, in their honeymoon, getting into a messy investigation of a man disappearance in the Quaddiespace. Also: scary biological weapons, station lockdowns and mysteries unravelled. We meet again Bel Thorne, former pilot in the Dendarii Free Mercenaries and our favourite hermaphrodite. I liked the contrast of the different cultures: the quaddies focus on work and the Barrayarans focused on honour. The stakes are high, I wasn't prepared for all the tension! Another book with excellent pacing and good climax.
The Thursday Murder Club (A Thursday Murder Club Mystery #1) by Richard Osman, 388p: I was very curious to read this book. I was intrigued by the premise of a group of retirees investigating murders. I don't read a lot of mystery nowadays, and this book didn't work for me. I thought it started well, but it gets convoluted in the middle with so many new characters being introduced to the story. It has a unique sense of humour that worked most of the time. The chapters were super short, and the writing style felt choppy to me. It alternates different points of view in each chapter and I found it hard to track which characters were active. I didn't like that the plot was clearly manipulating me and steering my attention away from the real clues. I could see when the author was meandering just to fool me. It was not my type of mystery.
from
SmarterArticles

In late February 2026, Perplexity AI quietly published a blog post with a claim that should have set off alarms in every corporate office from London to Los Angeles. The company's new product, Computer for Enterprise, had been deployed internally as a Slack integration, with every employee in the same channel. After processing more than 16,000 queries in four weeks, the system had, by Perplexity's own estimation, completed the equivalent of 3.25 years of human work and saved the company $1.6 million in labour costs. The benchmarks used to measure this output came from institutions including McKinsey, Harvard, MIT, and Boston Consulting Group.
Let that settle for a moment. Not 3.25 years spread across thousands of workers performing marginal speed improvements. The claim is that a single AI platform, running cloud-based workflows across roughly 20 frontier models, replaced years of the kind of cognitive labour that knowledge workers perform every day: querying databases, compiling reports, synthesising research, drafting analyses. The tasks that fill the calendars of financial analysts, marketing strategists, management consultants, and corporate researchers everywhere.
Perplexity's CEO, Aravind Srinivas, framed the ambition with characteristic directness. “What we are going to try to do is help businesses run as autonomously as possible,” he said. On the question of AI displacing jobs, he offered a response that managed to be both provocative and revealing: “The reality is most people don't enjoy their jobs.” His suggestion was that displacement could free people to pursue entrepreneurship and more fulfilling work. It is, to put it mildly, an incomplete answer to a question affecting hundreds of millions of workers worldwide.
To understand why Perplexity's claims matter, you need to understand what Computer for Enterprise actually does. It is not a chatbot. It is not a search engine with a conversational veneer. It is an orchestration platform that routes tasks across approximately 20 AI models from multiple providers, including Anthropic's Claude Opus 4.6 as its primary reasoning engine, Google's Gemini for deep research, OpenAI's GPT-5.2, and xAI's Grok. Each session runs inside its own isolated Firecracker virtual machine, ensuring data separation between users.
The platform connects natively to the software stack that modern enterprises already run: Snowflake, Salesforce, HubSpot, Slack, Notion, GitHub, Gmail, Outlook, and more than 400 other applications through its connector ecosystem. Administrators can install custom connectors via the Model Context Protocol. The system includes workflow templates for legal contract review, finance audit support, sales call preparation, and customer support ticket triage.
Here is the critical capability: Computer for Enterprise does not merely answer questions. It writes the database queries, executes them, and returns structured results. A financial analyst can ask for revenue broken down by vertical from Snowflake, and the system will compose the SQL, run it against the data warehouse, and present the findings. A sales team can simultaneously pull CRM data and competitive context. The AI handles the translation from natural language intent to technical execution and back again, collapsing what might take a human analyst hours into seconds.
Srinivas described the underlying philosophy on the social media platform X: “When AIs can orchestrate a file system with CLI tools plus a browser, AI essentially becomes the Computer, running things on the cloud as you sleep.” He drew a distinction between traditional operating systems and what Perplexity is building: “A traditional operating system takes instructions; an AI operating system takes objectives.”
The enterprise offering comes wrapped in the security apparatus that corporate procurement teams demand: SOC 2 Type II compliance, SAML single sign-on, audit logs, sandboxed query execution, and GDPR and HIPAA compliance. Pricing runs at $325 per user per month for the Enterprise Max tier, or $40 per user per month for Enterprise Pro. Perplexity's annualised revenue reached approximately $148 million by mid-2025, with internal projections targeting $656 million by the end of 2026.
The company is candid about limitations. Factual hallucinations occur, particularly on niche topics or very recent events. The system occasionally generates broken URLs. External communications, whether emails or published content, should always be reviewed by a human before distribution. But the trajectory is clear, and the implications are staggering.
The question that Perplexity's announcement forces into the open is not whether AI can perform knowledge work. That debate ended sometime around mid-2024, when large language models began consistently demonstrating competence at research synthesis, data analysis, report writing, and code generation. The question now is what happens to the people who currently do this work for a living.
The numbers are sobering. According to Goldman Sachs research, generative AI could automate tasks equivalent to 300 million full-time jobs worldwide, with 26 per cent of office roles and 20 per cent of customer service positions highly exposed. In the United States alone, Goldman Sachs estimates that AI automation will ultimately displace roughly six to seven per cent of the workforce, equivalent to approximately 11 million workers. The World Economic Forum's Future of Jobs Report 2025, drawing on perspectives from more than 1,000 leading global employers representing over 14 million workers, projects that 92 million roles will be displaced by 2030, though it forecasts 170 million new roles emerging for a net gain of 78 million jobs.
McKinsey's analysis adds another dimension. The consultancy estimated that today's technology could, in theory, automate approximately 57 per cent of current U.S. work hours. That figure does not mean 57 per cent of jobs will vanish. It means that across the entire working population, just over half of the hours worked involve tasks that a sufficiently deployed AI system could handle. McKinsey projects that 30 per cent of U.S. work hours could be automated by 2030, accelerated by generative AI's capabilities.
The disruption is already visible in employment data. There were 77,999 AI-attributed tech job losses in the first six months of 2025 alone. Employment in the computer systems design and related services sector declined five per cent since ChatGPT's release. Entry-level job postings dropped 15 per cent year over year. Employment among software developers aged 22 to 25 fell 20 per cent compared to their late 2022 peak. According to research from the Dallas Federal Reserve, AI is simultaneously aiding existing workers and replacing others, with the wage data suggesting a complex and uneven transformation.
Certain roles face particularly acute risk. Data entry positions carry a 95 per cent automation risk. Customer service representatives face 80 per cent risk, because most inquiries are answerable from a knowledge base. Paralegals face an 80 per cent risk of automation by 2026, and legal researchers face a 65 per cent risk by 2027. An estimated 200,000 jobs are expected to be cut from Wall Street banks over the next three to five years, and as much as 54 per cent of banking jobs have high potential for AI automation. SSRN projections estimate that 7.5 million data entry and administrative jobs could be eliminated by 2027.
Seventy-five per cent of knowledge workers are already using AI tools at work, and nearly half started within the last six months. They report 66 per cent productivity improvements. But the question nobody wants to confront directly is this: if each worker becomes 66 per cent more productive, how many fewer workers does an organisation actually need?
The corporate world is not waiting for the research to settle before acting. The global technology sector eliminated nearly 60,000 jobs in less than three months of 2026, according to layoff tracker TrueUp, which recorded 171 separate events affecting 59,121 workers since January. That pace, averaging 704 jobs lost per day, is running ahead of 2025, when 245,953 workers were let go across the full year. If it holds, total cuts could reach 265,000 by December. A Resume.org survey of 1,000 U.S. hiring managers found that 55 per cent expect layoffs at their companies in 2026, and 44 per cent identified AI as a primary driver.
Some of the largest names in technology are leading the charge. Amazon confirmed 16,000 corporate job cuts in 2026 despite reporting record revenue of $716.9 billion the previous year, framing the reductions as a push to flatten management layers. Some of those roles are not being backfilled with humans; they are being backfilled with software. Block, the payments company formerly known as Square, slashed 4,000 roles in early 2026, nearly 40 per cent of its entire workforce. Ingka Group, the largest IKEA retailer, announced 800 office role cuts in March.
Perhaps the most instructive example comes from Klarna, the Swedish fintech company. In 2024, Klarna deployed an AI assistant that handled the equivalent workload of 700 full-time customer service employees. The company's headcount fell from approximately 7,000 in 2022 to roughly 3,000, and CEO Sebastian Siemiatkowski publicly championed the results. But the strategy backfired. Customer complaints increased, satisfaction ratings dropped, and internal reviews revealed that AI systems lacked empathy and could not handle nuanced problem-solving. By early 2025, Siemiatkowski acknowledged that the company had overestimated AI's capabilities, stating bluntly: “We went too far.” Klarna began rehiring human customer service staff, specifically targeting students, rural populations, and dedicated product users.
Klarna's reversal is a cautionary tale that speaks directly to Acemoglu's warnings about “so-so automation.” The financial savings looked impressive on a spreadsheet, but the technology degraded the quality of the service it was supposed to improve. The question for every organisation evaluating tools like Perplexity's Computer for Enterprise is whether the same pattern will repeat across other domains: impressive benchmarks followed by the slow realisation that human judgement, context, and empathy were doing more work than anyone appreciated until they were gone.
Every wave of technological disruption produces two competing narratives. The optimists point to history: the Industrial Revolution destroyed agricultural and artisan livelihoods but created factory work. The IT revolution eliminated typing pools and filing clerks but created entire industries around software, networking, and digital services. The pessimists counter that this time is different, that the pace and breadth of AI's capabilities outstrip anything that came before.
History offers both comfort and caution. During the first Industrial Revolution, the Luddites famously destroyed the mechanised looms that threatened their livelihoods in industrial Britain. Their fears were not irrational. While new manufacturing jobs eventually emerged, the transition period was brutal. Research from economic historians shows that average real wages in England stagnated for decades even as productivity rose. Eventually, wage growth caught up to and then surpassed productivity growth, but only after substantial policy reforms including labour protections and education acts.
The Second Industrial Revolution followed a similar pattern. Automation technologies increased the efficiency and scope of mechanised production, requiring fewer operators but more engineers, managers, and other new occupations. As automation created fewer middle-skill jobs than it made obsolete, the result was a hollowing out of the skill distribution in manufacturing, a pattern that persists to this day.
The robotics wave of the 1970s and 1980s displaced approximately 1.2 million manufacturing jobs globally by 1990. In the United States alone, robot-induced automation displaced 300,000 factory workers in the automotive sector. New jobs did eventually appear, but they required different skills, existed in different locations, and often paid different wages.
McKinsey's historical analysis offers a striking statistic: 60 per cent of today's U.S. workforce is employed in occupations that simply did not exist in 1940. That is genuinely encouraging. But it also means that 60 per cent of today's workers are in roles that their grandparents could not have trained for, because the jobs had not yet been invented. The lag between destruction and creation is where the human cost concentrates.
What makes the AI wave qualitatively different from previous automation episodes is its target. Earlier forms of automation primarily replaced physical labour and routine cognitive tasks: drilling, sewing, sorting files, calculating spreadsheets. AI encroaches on non-routine cognitive domains once thought uniquely human, including recognising images, drafting emails, drawing illustrations, synthesising research, and making complex judgements. The Bipartisan Policy Center in Washington notes that AI is different because it can automate many tasks that do not follow an explicit set of rules and are instead learned through experience and intuition.
The pace compounds the challenge. Previous technological transitions unfolded over generations, allowing social institutions to adapt. The shift from agricultural to industrial employment in the United States took roughly a century. The transition from manufacturing to services took several decades. AI capabilities are advancing on a timeline measured in months. Goldman Sachs models show that each one percentage point productivity gain from technology raises unemployment by approximately 0.3 percentage points in the short run, though this effect historically fades within two years.
The distributional question matters enormously. The World Economic Forum's net positive headline of 78 million new jobs conceals what the organisation itself acknowledges is a profound distributional challenge: the jobs being destroyed and the jobs being created are not the same jobs, do not require the same skills, do not pay the same wages, and are not located in the same geographies.
Entry-level and young workers are bearing the brunt. AI can replicate codified knowledge but not tacit knowledge, the experiential understanding that comes from years of practice. This means AI may substitute for entry-level workers while augmenting the efforts of experienced professionals. Fourteen per cent of all workers report having already been displaced by AI, with the rate higher among younger and mid-career workers in technology and creative fields. Unemployment among 20 to 30 year olds in tech-exposed occupations has risen by almost three percentage points since the start of 2025, according to Goldman Sachs data, notably higher than for their same-aged counterparts in other trades.
There is also a significant gender dimension. In the United States, 79 per cent of employed women work in jobs that are at high risk of automation, compared to 58 per cent of men. That translates to 58.87 million women versus 48.62 million men occupying positions highly exposed to AI automation.
White-collar workers in industries such as financial services and media now express higher levels of concern about automation (67 per cent) than their counterparts in blue-collar sectors, including transportation (60 per cent) and retail (59 per cent). The traditional assumption that automation primarily threatens manual and routine work has been comprehensively upended. AI poses a risk of eliminating 10 to 20 per cent of entry-level white-collar jobs within the next one to five years.
The irony is sharp. Knowledge workers spent decades insulating themselves from automation risk by acquiring education, developing analytical skills, and moving into roles that required judgement and communication. Now the very capabilities they cultivated, research synthesis, data analysis, report writing, pattern recognition, are precisely what large language models do best.
Not all economists agree on the magnitude of the disruption. Daron Acemoglu, the Nobel Prize-winning economist and Institute Professor at MIT, offers one of the most rigorously evidence-based counterpoints to the prevailing AI hype. Despite predictions from some quarters that AI will dramatically boost GDP growth, Acemoglu expects it to increase U.S. GDP by just 1.1 to 1.6 per cent over the next decade, with a roughly 0.05 per cent annual gain in productivity. He believes current AI tools are likely to impact only about five per cent of jobs.
Acemoglu's central concern is what he terms “so-so automation,” technologies that replace jobs without meaningfully boosting productivity or human welfare. “When hype takes over, companies start automating everything, including tasks that shouldn't be automated,” he has warned. “You end up with no productivity gains, damaged businesses, and people losing jobs without new opportunities being created.” Think of self-checkout kiosks that are slower and more frustrating than human cashiers, or automated customer service menus that leave callers trapped in loops of increasingly desperate button-pressing.
His prescription is pointed: “We're using it too much for automation and not enough for providing expertise and information to workers.” He draws a crucial distinction between AI that provides new information to a biotechnologist, helping them become more effective, and AI that replaces a customer service worker with an automated system. The former creates value; the latter merely transfers costs from employer to consumer.
Acemoglu acknowledges that AI will transform many occupations but remains sceptical of elimination claims: “I don't expect any occupation that we have today to have been eliminated in five or 10 years' time. We're still going to have journalists, we're still going to have financial analysts, we're still going to have HR employees.” What will change, he argues, is the task composition within those roles, with AI handling data summary, visual matching, and pattern recognition while humans focus on judgement, creativity, and interpersonal skills.
Gartner's projections align with this more measured view, predicting that AI's impact on global jobs will be neutral through 2026, and that by 2028, AI will create more jobs than it destroys. But neutral aggregate impact can still mask severe disruption for specific communities, industries, and demographics.
Organisations are responding with a mixture of enthusiasm and anxiety. According to the World Economic Forum, 41 per cent of employers globally plan to use AI to reduce headcount, while simultaneously 77 per cent aim to upskill their staff for working alongside AI, and 47 per cent plan to move affected employees into different roles internally. About one in six employers expect AI to reduce headcount in 2026 specifically.
The skills gap is already the most significant barrier to business transformation, with nearly 40 per cent of skills required on the job set to change and 63 per cent of employers citing it as their key challenge. The number of workers in occupations where AI fluency is explicitly required has risen from around one million in 2023 to approximately seven million in 2025, according to McKinsey data. Across McKinsey's most recent global survey, 94 per cent of employees and 99 per cent of C-suite executives report personal use of generative AI.
Companies are pursuing several adaptation strategies simultaneously. Some are integrating AI with their proprietary data via retrieval-augmented generation or fine-tuning, creating what Goldman Sachs describes as expert AI systems with advanced capabilities and industry-specific knowledge. Others are restructuring roles around human-AI collaboration, keeping the human in the loop for judgement calls, client relationships, and strategic decisions while delegating research, analysis, and first-draft creation to AI systems. According to a PwC survey of 300 senior executives conducted in May 2025, 88 per cent said their team or business function plans to increase AI-related budgets in the next twelve months due to agentic AI, while 79 per cent reported that AI agents are already being adopted in their companies.
The retraining challenge, however, is formidable. The half-life of professional skills is collapsing faster than any training programme can keep pace with. A displaced worker who enrols in an eighteen-month data analytics programme may find that entry-level positions in that field have already been automated by graduation. Nobel laureate Angus Deaton has noted that economists were naively optimistic about the effectiveness of trade adjustment assistance, including worker retraining programmes, for those hurt by previous economic shifts. The track record of large-scale retraining initiatives is, at best, mixed.
PwC's own research underscores a deeper challenge: technology delivers only about 20 per cent of an initiative's value. The other 80 per cent comes from redesigning work so that AI agents can handle routine tasks and people can focus on what truly drives impact. That redesign requires not just new software licences but fundamental rethinking of roles, workflows, and organisational structures. It is the kind of transformation that most companies talk about but few execute well.
The policy conversation is struggling to keep pace with the technology. In early 2026, U.K. Minister for Investment Lord Jason Stockwood told the Financial Times that the government is weighing the introduction of a universal basic income to support workers in industries where AI threatens displacement. “Undoubtedly we're going to have to think really carefully about how we soft-land those industries that go away,” he said, “so some sort of UBI, some sort of lifelong learning mechanism as well so people can retrain.” He has also floated the idea of technology companies being taxed to fund such payments.
The UBI discussion has shifted from theoretical curiosity to practical policy consideration. Ioana Marinescu, an economist at the University of Pennsylvania, has argued that UBI could be a pragmatic solution to AI-driven job displacement, particularly given the uncertainties around how many people will lose their jobs and for how long. For people without prior employment history, especially younger workers entering the labour market for the first time, unemployment insurance benefits are not guaranteed, making unconditional UBI payments a potentially effective safety net.
The idea has precedent. According to the Stanford Basic Income Lab, 163 programmes piloting basic income, including 41 active programmes, have been run in the United States alone. Ireland's Basic Income for the Arts programme, which began as a three-year pilot, will become permanent in 2026, allowing creative workers to pursue their craft without needing supplementary employment.
Researchers at the London School of Economics argue that UBI's successful implementation depends on sustainable funding mechanisms, investment in education, and attention to social and psychological dimensions, not only economic and labour market outcomes. The question of funding remains contentious. In 2017, Bill Gates proposed taxing robots, suggesting that companies replacing human workers with automation should pay taxes at levels comparable to the people they displace. The concept of an AI automation tax is gaining traction as a revenue source where automation's economic benefits help support those most affected by the transition.
Morgan Stanley noted in a report in early 2026 that AI-related job cuts are hitting Britain the hardest, with eight per cent net job losses over the preceding twelve months. The United States currently has no comprehensive labour transition strategy, no reskilling infrastructure capable of operating at the required speed, and no serious public conversation about income decoupled from employment.
Some analysts advocate for integrated approaches: AI-enabled personalised retraining pathways, job matching to emerging sectors, and combining UBI with reskilling initiatives, education grants, and healthcare services. Policymakers are urged to prioritise pilot programmes that integrate income support with workforce development, leveraging AI itself to optimise distribution and measure impact.
The fundamental tension at the heart of this story has no clean resolution. Perplexity's Computer for Enterprise represents a genuine productivity breakthrough. If knowledge workers can accomplish in seconds what previously took hours, the economic potential is enormous. Organisations that adopt these tools will move faster, spend less on routine analysis, and free their best people to focus on the creative and strategic work that AI still handles poorly.
But the maths of productivity improvement and the maths of employment are not the same calculation. When Srinivas says he wants to help businesses run as autonomously as possible, he is describing a world with fewer employees. When Perplexity's internal study shows 3.25 years of work completed in four weeks, it is demonstrating that the same output can be achieved with a fraction of the human input. When 75 per cent of knowledge workers report using AI and seeing 66 per cent productivity gains, the logical endpoint is that organisations need significantly fewer knowledge workers to produce the same volume of output.
The World Economic Forum projects a net positive outcome globally, with new job categories emerging to replace those that disappear. History suggests this is likely correct over sufficiently long time horizons. But the transition period, the years between when old jobs vanish and new ones coalesce, is where lives are disrupted, careers are derailed, mortgages go unpaid, and communities fracture. Klarna's experience is a reminder that even the companies most aggressively pursuing AI-driven efficiency can discover, too late, that they have optimised away something essential.
Acemoglu urges a more deliberate approach: deploying AI to augment human capabilities rather than simply replacing human workers, celebrating what he calls “the places where AI is better than humans, and the places where humans are better than AI.” Given the mixed evidence on benefits and drawbacks, he and his colleagues argue that it may be best to adopt AI more slowly than market fundamentalists might prefer.
That counsel of patience, however, runs headlong into competitive reality. No company can afford to ignore a technology that promises to compress years of work into weeks, not when their competitors are already adopting it. The individual incentive to automate is overwhelming, even if the collective consequence is displacement on a scale that existing social safety nets were never designed to absorb.
Srinivas outlined an AI evolution on LinkedIn: “2023: Using AI to research. 2024: Super prompting galore. 2025: AI remembers you. 2026: Agents are useful (and not just to vibe coders).” He added that intelligence is no longer the bottleneck; what matters now is knowing which model to call, what context to surface, and when to act versus ask a follow-up question.
For the millions of knowledge workers whose professional identity is built on exactly those skills, research, analysis, synthesis, and communication, the message is unsettling. The tools that made their expertise valuable are now embedded in software that costs $325 per month and never sleeps. The question is not whether the transformation will happen. It is whether societies will manage the transition with anything approaching the speed, scale, and seriousness that the moment demands. Based on every previous technological transition in recorded history, the honest answer is: probably not fast enough.

Tim Green UK-based Systems Theorist & Independent Technology Writer
Tim explores the intersections of artificial intelligence, decentralised cognition, and posthuman ethics. His work, published at smarterarticles.co.uk, challenges dominant narratives of technological progress while proposing interdisciplinary frameworks for collective intelligence and digital stewardship.
His writing has been featured on Ground News and shared by independent researchers across both academic and technological communities.
ORCID: 0009-0002-0156-9795 Email: tim@smarterarticles.co.uk
from Douglas Vandergraph
There are moments in life when a person comes so close to the edge that even language feels too small to describe it. From the outside, other people may see a face, a routine, a body still moving through the day, but inside there can be a cliff no one else can see. A person can be standing in a kitchen, driving to work, sitting in church, answering messages, and still feel as if something inside them is hanging over emptiness. That is the kind of pain many people never fully explain. It is not always loud. It is not always dramatic. Sometimes it is silent and heavy. Sometimes it is a private battle that has lasted so long that the person fighting it no longer knows how to describe what is happening. They only know they are tired. They only know they are close. They only know they cannot keep pretending everything is fine when their soul feels like it is slipping. And yet some of the holiest stories ever written begin right there, in the place where a human being discovers that the edge is real, but it is still not greater than the hand of God.
There is something sacred about the truth that God does not only meet people in strength. He meets people in collapse. He meets people in confusion. He meets people in regret. He meets people in the hour when a person no longer has polished words, no longer has a speech ready, no longer has enough energy to make themselves look impressive. One of the enemy’s cruelest lies is that God is only near when you are doing well. It is a lie that keeps wounded people hiding. It is a lie that tells the ashamed to stay back. It is a lie that tells the tired heart that it must first clean itself up before it can ask for help. But scripture tells a very different story. Again and again, the Lord comes close to the brokenhearted. Again and again, He meets people in deserts, in prisons, in storms, in grief, in failure, in loss, in moments where human power has clearly run out. He is not repelled by weakness. He is not disgusted by the trembling soul. He is not confused by human pain. He is the God who comes near.
Maybe that is why some of the people God uses most deeply are people who once thought they were finished. They know what it is to run out of answers. They know what it is to feel the weight of despair pressing down on the chest. They know what it is to stand in a moment where everything could have ended differently. They know what it is to feel shame, fear, emptiness, or failure so deeply that survival itself begins to feel like a miracle. And when God reaches into a life like that and pulls someone back, it is never only about rescue from destruction. It is also about purpose. It is also about mercy taking on flesh inside a human story. It is also about a testimony that will one day become a lifeline for someone else. A person who has been pulled back from the edge can say certain things with a weight that cannot be faked. They do not speak from theory. They do not speak from distance. They do not speak from a safe room where pain was only ever studied. They speak as someone who has felt the drop beneath them and discovered that even there, the Lord could still reach.
So many people carry the secret fear that what almost broke them has ruined them forever. They think the battle disqualified them. They think the collapse made them less valuable. They think the chapter they are most ashamed of is a chapter God wishes to erase. But grace does not operate like human pride. Grace does not say, “I can use the parts of your life that look polished, but not the parts that fell apart.” Grace enters the wreckage. Grace tells the truth about sin and pain and damage, but it also tells the deeper truth that mercy can still transform what has been touched by ruin. God is not the author of evil, but He is so powerful that evil still does not get the final word. What the enemy meant for destruction, the Lord can bend toward redemption. What shame tried to bury, God can raise into light. What nearly became your end can become the place from which compassion begins to flow into other lives.
That is why some of the strongest people are not the people who never suffered. They are the people who suffered deeply and yet became tender instead of cruel. They are the people who could have turned hard but remained open. They are the people who know what it is to cry in private and still trust God enough to rise again. They are the people who understand what it means to look at another hurting human being and not judge them from a distance. When you have been near the edge, you stop speaking cheaply about other people’s pain. You stop assuming that every battle can be solved with a neat sentence. You stop thinking that all suffering is simple. Instead, a deeper compassion begins to grow. The person who has been rescued often becomes the person who recognizes pain in others more quickly, more gently, and more honestly. They know the signs. They know the silence. They know the tired eyes. They know the fake smile. They know the strange stillness that can settle over somebody trying desperately to hold it together. They know because they have been there.
This is one of the reasons testimony matters so much. Testimony is not spiritual vanity. It is not self-celebration. At its truest, testimony is gratitude spoken out loud. It is a life pointing away from itself and saying, “If you only knew where God found me.” It is the language of someone who understands that mercy was not an abstract idea. Mercy became real when they had no strength left. Mercy became real when they could not carry themselves. Mercy became real when the future looked closed and the darkness looked permanent. The testimony of a rescued life carries a different sound because it is born in truth. It says to the hopeless person, “I am not speaking to you from a mountain I built. I am speaking to you from a pit God entered.” That is why testimony can break through walls that arguments cannot. The human heart responds to evidence of grace. It responds to the reality that someone else stood where it is standing now and still found that God had not abandoned them.
Many people who are hanging near the edge do not first need a lecture. They need permission to believe that they are not beyond recovery. They need to hear that the darkness has lied to them about its authority. They need to hear that the last chapter has not already been written. They need to hear that being exhausted is not the same as being forsaken. They need to hear that God does not turn away when human beings become too weak to perform. In some seasons, one honest sentence can do more than a thousand polished ones. One truthful voice saying, “I thought I was done too,” can crack open a door in a room that has felt sealed shut. One person willing to say, “I know what it is to feel lost, and I also know what it is to be found,” can become part of somebody else’s answer to prayer.
The beautiful thing about God is that He often turns rescue into assignment. He does not merely bring a person out. He gives that person new eyes. He gives them a burden. He gives them compassion. He gives them language shaped by survival and softened by mercy. Then the life that once looked like a broken story becomes a living message. The person who thought they had nothing left to offer suddenly becomes the one who can sit beside the struggling, the ashamed, the grieving, and the nearly-gone without flinching. They do not have to pretend pain is small because they know how large it can feel. They do not have to rush people through suffering because they know healing is often a process. They do not have to be fake because they know God works in truth. In this way, the person who was pulled back from the edge becomes someone who spends the rest of their life reminding others that the edge is not the end.
That kind of calling matters in a world full of hidden pain. We live among people who are carrying more than they say. We speak with people every day who are smiling through sorrow, functioning through fatigue, and moving through life with wounds no one sees. There are people succeeding publicly while failing privately. There are people who look strong but are deeply tired. There are people who have lost their sense of direction, people who cannot forgive themselves, people trapped in secret habits, people who wake up with dread already waiting for them. There are people who feel spiritually numb and do not know how to come back. There are people sitting in churches every week wondering if everyone else has peace except them. There are people who love God and are still struggling. There are people who pray and still feel weak. There are people who believe and still feel afraid. The human condition is far more fragile than pride likes to admit, and this is exactly why mercy is so necessary.
Some people know the edge through addiction. What started as relief became bondage. What started as escape became a chain. What promised comfort ended up stealing peace. Over time the person no longer knows whether they are choosing the behavior or being ruled by it. Shame grows around it. Isolation grows around it. The soul becomes tired from hiding. In those moments the enemy whispers that change is impossible and that the person has become the sum of their failures. But Christ has always stepped toward captives. He has always spoken to those bound by things they could not break on their own. He is not intimidated by chains that have lasted for years. He still brings freedom. He still restores dignity. He still makes new what looked ruined.
Some people know the edge through grief. They loved deeply, and now the absence feels unbearable. A chair is empty. A voice is gone. A room feels different. A song hurts. Morning feels heavy. In grief, it can seem as though the world continues while your heart remains behind at the site of the loss. There are no shortcuts through that kind of ache. There are no clever phrases that erase it. Yet even there, the Lord is near. The God of all comfort does not mock tears. Jesus Himself wept. Heaven is not embarrassed by sorrow. In grief, God may not always explain, but He remains present. He stays with the brokenhearted in the long valley where memory and pain walk side by side. He does not always remove the ache quickly, but He holds the aching person with a tenderness the world cannot manufacture.
Some people know the edge through failure. They made choices they regret. They hurt people. They wasted years. They ignored wisdom. They rebelled. They ran. Now they look back at the damage and wonder whether anything good can still come from their life. Failure can make a person feel permanently stained. It can make them believe their best days are behind them. Yet the Bible is full of people who failed and were not finished. Peter denied Christ and was restored. David sinned deeply and still found mercy. The prodigal son returned from a far country and was received by a father who ran toward him. God does not excuse sin, but neither does He declare that sin gets to own the future of every repentant heart. Redemption is one of His most beautiful works. He can rebuild what pride destroyed. He can restore what foolishness wasted. He can create humility where arrogance once lived and wisdom where recklessness once ruled.
Some people know the edge through despair so quiet that nobody suspects it. There is no public scandal. There is no dramatic collapse. There is only a long inward sinking. The joy goes thin. The energy fades. The inner world becomes dim. Even prayer feels hard. These seasons can be some of the loneliest because they are so difficult to explain. A person may love God and still feel numb. A person may know truth and still struggle to feel it. A person may continue doing what is right while feeling almost nothing inside. When that happens, they may wrongly conclude that God has left them. But feelings are not the measure of His faithfulness. There are seasons when faith is not fiery. It is quiet endurance. It is choosing to keep turning toward God when your emotions do not reward you for it. It is taking one step in the dark because you still believe the Lord sees what you cannot.
This is why the phrase matters so much: the edge is not the end. It speaks to more than crisis. It speaks to identity. It speaks to destiny. It pushes back against the lie that the hardest point in your story gets to define the whole story. The edge may be where you nearly quit. It may be where your strength ran out. It may be where your heart cracked open. It may be where your life exposed how little control you really had. But it does not get to become your final name. In Christ, the place of greatest weakness can become the place where grace is most clearly seen. The place where you learned your limits can become the place where you discovered God’s sufficiency. The place where you almost disappeared can become the place where purpose was born.
What if the reason you survived was bigger than survival itself. What if the reason you were pulled back was not only because God loved you, though He does, but also because He intended your life to become proof for someone else. What if the chapter that still makes you emotional is the very chapter another person needs to hear about so they can keep going. What if the wound you are tempted to hide is the place where compassion now enters your words. What if the thing you are most tempted to bury is the thing that, once surrendered to God, becomes one of the clearest signs of His mercy in your life. So often we want to serve God with our strengths because strengths feel safer. But many times He reaches people most deeply through the places where we had to depend on Him most completely.
That does not mean the pain was good. It does not mean the sin was good. It does not mean the loss was good. It means God is so good that none of those things have more authority than He does. It means darkness is not sovereign. It means despair is not ultimate. It means your collapse is not a higher power than your Creator. This is part of the majesty of God. He is not simply the One who stands at a distance and watches suffering. He is the Redeemer who enters what looks ruined and begins to bring life where none seemed possible. He does this patiently. He does this wisely. He does this in ways that often humble us because they reveal how much we needed Him all along.
There is also something beautiful about how rescued people often carry hope differently than people who have only talked about it. They are usually less flashy. They are usually more careful with words. They have learned that real pain cannot be answered with shallow noise. They know that someone near the edge does not need to be impressed. They need to be reached. So the rescued person learns to speak plainly. They learn to listen. They learn to sit with people. They learn to tell the truth without trying to sound heroic. They say, “God met me.” They say, “I should have gone under, but I did not.” They say, “I was more fragile than anyone knew, and God still kept me.” Those words carry power because they are not performative. They are humble. They are honest. They are rooted in the kind of gratitude that only comes from knowing how close it really got.
Maybe that is why God allows some people to become bridges. They know one side of life where despair spoke loudly. They know the other side where grace answered. Because they have walked both, they can stand in the middle and reach toward those still trembling. A bridge does not erase the distance, but it makes passage possible. A bridge tells somebody, “There is a way through this.” A bridge tells somebody, “I know this terrain, and I also know you are not trapped here forever.” In that sense, a rescued life becomes holy architecture. God builds something in that person that others can cross on. Not because the person is the savior, but because they can point so clearly to the One who saves.
And what a beautiful calling that is. To live in such a way that your gratitude becomes shelter for someone else. To speak in such a way that another person starts to believe again. To sit beside another wounded soul and not rush them, not shame them, not preach at them from a distance, but gently testify that the Lord can still meet people in shattered places. The world is full of voices that deepen despair. It is full of cynicism, accusation, mockery, vanity, and noise. How needed is the voice that says, with quiet conviction, “Do not let this place name you. Do not let this pain crown itself king. Do not surrender your story to the darkest moment in it. Stay. Breathe. Reach toward God. The edge is not the end.”
Sometimes the people who help others most are not the ones who always know exactly what to say. They are the ones who learned how to stay present. They are the ones who can remain kind in another person’s confusion. They are the ones who do not panic when somebody else tells the truth about how badly they are hurting. They are the ones who understand that hope is not always a speech. Sometimes hope is a presence. Sometimes hope is a patient response. Sometimes hope is one sentence spoken at the right moment. Sometimes hope is simply refusing to agree with the lie that a person is beyond healing. The one who has been pulled back from the edge often becomes the one least willing to give up on others, because they know firsthand that God did not give up on them.
For many believers, one of the hardest things to accept is that God can use even the chapters we would never have chosen. We are often willing to thank Him for victories. We are less eager to imagine that He could bring meaning out of the places where we felt weak, ashamed, or undone. Yet over time, many people discover that their deepest ministry grew out of their deepest dependence. They discover that the place where they learned to cry out to God became the place where their voice gained compassion. They discover that the area where they most needed mercy became the area where they could most naturally extend mercy. They discover that the valley taught them how to recognize other travelers in the dark.
This is not sentimental. It is sacred. It is not a denial of pain. It is the declaration that pain is not final. It is not pretending wounds do not matter. It is the recognition that God can bring beauty into places where wounds once seemed to cancel beauty forever. That is the hope at the heart of the gospel itself. Jesus did not save the world through untouched distance. He entered human suffering. He bore grief. He was rejected. He was wounded. He was crucified. Then the worst thing was not the last thing. Resurrection spoke over what looked final. Life rose where death had seemed to win. And because of Him, every believer can say that finality no longer belongs to darkness.
So when a person stands near the edge and God pulls them back, that rescue becomes more than a private relief. It becomes a living echo of the gospel. It becomes a reminder that death does not get the last word, that despair does not get the last word, that shame does not get the last word, that the enemy does not get the last word. Grace speaks. Mercy speaks. Christ speaks. And His word is stronger than the abyss that threatened to swallow a human life.
That is why gratitude rises so deeply in a rescued heart. It is not the shallow gratitude of a person who merely had a pleasant day. It is the deep gratitude of someone who remembers what almost happened. It is the kind of thankfulness that trembles a little because it knows what the alternative could have been. It is the kind of thankfulness that does not only say, “God helped me.” It says, “God kept me. God reached me. God did not abandon me when I was weak. God did not throw me away when I had no strength left. God saw me in the place where I could have disappeared, and He brought me back.” That kind of gratitude changes a person. It makes worship more honest. It makes love more urgent. It makes compassion more real. It makes life feel less like a casual possession and more like a stewardship.
And once a person begins to see their life that way, everything changes. They stop asking only, “How do I get through this?” and begin asking, “Lord, how do You want to use what You brought me through?” They begin to understand that mercy creates responsibility, not in a crushing way, but in a holy way. If God has sustained your life, then your life matters. If God has kept breath in your body, then there is still purpose attached to your days. If He has pulled you back, then perhaps part of your calling is to spend the rest of your life reaching toward those who still think the cliff is the end of their story.
If that is true, then even the ordinary moments begin to matter. The conversation you almost skip matters. The kind word matters. The prayer you offer matters. The decision to tell the truth about what God has done in your life matters. The willingness to stay soft in a hard world matters. The choice to become a source of hope instead of another voice of despair matters. You do not have to stand on a stage to help people believe the edge is not the end. You do not have to be famous. You do not have to be polished. You do not have to be impressive by the standards of the world. You simply have to belong to God and be willing to let His mercy shape the way you live among other people. In fact, some of the most powerful ministry in this world happens quietly. It happens in homes, in messages, in hospital rooms, in phone calls, in private prayers, in late-night conversations, in moments where one human being decides to show up for another with tenderness and truth.
That is part of what makes this calling so beautiful. It is not reserved for people with titles. It is open to every heart that has tasted the mercy of God and is willing to let that mercy keep flowing outward. A man pulled back from the edge may spend the rest of his life strengthening sons who are losing their way. A woman pulled back from the edge may spend the rest of her life speaking life into daughters who have forgotten their worth. A parent pulled back from the edge may become the voice of steadiness in a family that desperately needs peace. A believer pulled back from the edge may become the friend who knows how to stay when somebody else is unraveling. The shape may differ, but the pattern is the same. God rescues, and then He often sends. God heals, and then He often lets healing become part of someone else’s answer.
There is a reason this touches the heart so deeply. Every human being wants to know that pain is not meaningless. Every human being wants to know that failure is not absolute. Every human being wants to know that the hardest moment is not the only true thing about their life. Deep down, people ache for redemption because they were made by the God who redeems. We were not built to live under the rule of despair. We were made for truth, for mercy, for restoration, for the kind of hope that can look directly at brokenness and still say, “God is not finished here.” That is why stories of rescue matter so much. They remind the heart of what it was created to believe. They remind us that darkness can be challenged. They remind us that grace is not weak. They remind us that a life can turn. They remind us that a person can come back. They remind us that what seemed final in one season can become the place where a new season begins.
This matters especially in a world that has grown skilled at reducing people to their worst moments. Public culture is often merciless. It likes labels. It likes quick judgments. It likes flattening a human soul into one chapter, one failure, one wound, one weakness. But God never sees that way. He sees the whole person. He sees the history. He sees the pain beneath the behavior. He sees the tears no one else saw. He sees the confusion beneath the anger. He sees the fear behind the control. He sees the wound beneath the addiction. He sees the hunger beneath the running. He sees the child in the adult. He sees the person pride has tried to hide. And because He sees truly, He also loves with a depth beyond human categories. He does not condone sin, but neither does He stop at the surface of a person’s damage. He sees what grace can do before grace has even finished its work.
What a comfort that is for the person who is tired of being misunderstood. What a comfort that is for the person who is ashamed of who they have become. What a comfort that is for the person who feels trapped inside habits, patterns, fears, or memories they do not know how to outrun. God’s vision is never shallow. He knows how people got where they are, and He knows how to lead them where they need to go. He knows how to separate the lie from the identity. He knows how to call a person by a truer name than the one despair has given them. He knows how to say, “This is not who you are. This is what happened to you. This is what entangled you. This is what wounded you. But this is not the deepest truth about your life. Come with Me. Let Me show you what I can do with what looks ruined.”
The people who have heard that kind of voice from God are often the ones who carry unusual gentleness afterward. Not weakness. Not passivity. Gentleness. They understand how fragile a human being can be and how precious mercy is in that fragility. They understand that truth without love can crush, but love without truth can leave people lost. So they learn how to hold both. They learn how to speak honestly without wounding carelessly. They learn how to call people upward without talking down to them. They learn how to offer hope that is grounded, not fake. They become safer to be honest around because they know the difference between correction and condemnation. They know that shame rarely heals anybody. They know that people often change most deeply when they are seen clearly and loved truthfully at the same time.
Maybe that is what God is still forming in you. Maybe He is not only healing your wounds. Maybe He is shaping your voice. Maybe He is not only preserving your life. Maybe He is building a kind of compassion in you that will help carry other lives. Maybe He is teaching you how to speak from the heart because the heart is where He met you. Maybe He is teaching you to stop performing and start testifying. Maybe He is stripping away the shallow ways people usually speak about pain so that your words can carry more weight, more honesty, and more mercy. People do not need another polished mask. They need a real witness. They need somebody who has gone through enough to stop pretending and to start loving with substance.
This is one of the hidden gifts that can come out of being brought back from the edge. Before suffering, many people speak in ideas. After suffering, they begin to speak in realities. Before suffering, they may have opinions. After suffering, they often have compassion. Before suffering, they may rush people. After suffering, they understand that souls are not machines. Before suffering, they may want everything neat. After suffering, they become more patient with process. The valley teaches a person how much grace they needed, and when that lesson really enters the heart, it changes the way they look at everyone else.
That does not mean every rescued person automatically becomes wise. Some people become bitter. Some become self-focused. Some build their whole identity around the pain they escaped. But when a rescued person yields their story to God, something better happens. Gratitude begins to purify the memory. Humility begins to deepen the testimony. Compassion begins to shape the future. Instead of worshiping the wound, they worship the One who carried them through it. Instead of trying to make their survival the center of everything, they make the mercy of God the center. Then the story can bless others without becoming self-glorifying. Then the past can be told truthfully without becoming a performance. Then the life becomes what it was meant to be: a witness.
A witness does not have to know everything. A witness only has to tell the truth about what they have seen. That is deeply freeing. You do not have to have a perfect explanation for every dark season. You do not have to know why certain nights were so heavy or why certain losses unfolded the way they did. You do not have to solve the mystery of every sorrow before your life can carry meaning. You only have to be honest about this: “God was there. God kept me. God did not let the edge become my end.” Those words may seem simple, but in the mouth of a person who has lived them, they carry real power. They can travel farther than polished speeches because they are carried by reality.
There are young men in this world right now who are standing closer to the edge than anybody knows. They may look strong. They may act unfazed. They may cover fear with pride and pain with anger. But inside, some of them are drowning in confusion, temptation, loneliness, and pressure. They do not know how to say that they are overwhelmed, so they get louder. They do not know how to process grief, so they become numb. They do not know how to carry disappointment, so they reach for whatever helps them escape. Some of them grew up without the steady presence of a good father. Some of them were taught to perform strength instead of learning true strength. Some of them have heard plenty of noise about being powerful and almost nothing about being whole. Imagine what it means when a man who has been pulled back from the edge stands before them and says, “You do not have to die by inches to prove you are tough. You do not have to destroy yourself to become a man. You do not have to treat women with contempt. You do not have to be ruled by appetite. You do not have to call darkness freedom. There is another way. There is a stronger way. There is a cleaner way. There is a godlier way.”
There are women in this world right now who are carrying silent griefs, betrayals, fears, disappointments, and forms of exhaustion that few people around them understand. Some have been spoken to harshly for so long that they no longer know how to hear gentleness. Some have carried homes, children, burdens, and emotional weight while barely having room to breathe themselves. Some feel unseen. Some feel worn thin. Some have learned how to function while their hearts stay bruised. Imagine what it means when someone who knows what it is to break and still be held by God tells them, “He sees you. He has not forgotten you. The tenderness of God is not a myth. You are not only what pain has done to you. You are still worth loving. You are still worth healing. You are still worth restoring.”
There are older people who feel as if life has already said what it meant to say. They look back and see mistakes, losses, and roads not taken. They wonder if purpose belongs only to younger seasons. They wonder whether God still has anything meaningful for them. But many of the most beautiful works of God happen in people who know they can no longer rely on self-image. There is a depth that comes with years. There is an honesty that can come after disappointment has burned away illusions. There is a wisdom that can emerge when a person finally stops trying to look important and simply wants to be faithful. The one pulled back from the edge in later years can become proof that God still writes meaningful chapters after places of regret and near-collapse. Breath in the body is still a sign of possibility.
There are believers who love Christ and still feel ashamed that they struggle. They think mature faith should have made them invulnerable by now. They think if they were stronger, they would not still fight certain battles, carry certain fears, or remember certain dark thoughts. But spiritual maturity is not the absence of need. It is the deepening knowledge of where to bring your need. It is not never feeling weak. It is learning that weakness does not cancel belonging. It is not pretending to be beyond the human condition. It is learning to place the human condition before God honestly. Some of the most mature believers are those who have stopped trying to hide the fact that they are dependent. They know they are kept by grace, not by image. They know they stand because Christ holds them, not because they mastered life by themselves.
That realization can change a person forever. When you know you are held by God, you no longer have to build your whole identity on appearing unshakable. You can become humble without becoming hopeless. You can become honest without becoming self-destructive. You can admit where you were weak without surrendering to weakness as your ruler. You can talk about what almost took you down without making that darkness your god. You can say, “I was close to the edge,” and still stand upright in dignity because the deepest truth is not your nearness to the edge. The deepest truth is that God brought you back.
And when you really understand that, gratitude stops being a polite phrase and becomes a posture. “Thank You, God” begins to mean something deeper. It means, “Thank You for meeting me where nobody else could reach.” It means, “Thank You for not measuring me only by my worst day.” It means, “Thank You for seeing me in ways I could not even see myself.” It means, “Thank You for not allowing the darkest voice in my life to become the truest one.” It means, “Thank You for every unseen mercy, every interruption of self-destruction, every person You sent, every prayer You heard, every morning You gave me when I did not know how to keep going.” Gratitude like that does not stay shallow. It reaches into the whole life and begins to reorder it.
A grateful life begins to ask different questions. Instead of asking, “How much can I get,” it asks, “How can I serve?” Instead of asking, “How can I protect my image,” it asks, “How can I tell the truth in a way that helps?” Instead of asking, “How do I avoid all pain,” it asks, “Lord, how can even this become useful in Your hands?” There is a holy seriousness that comes when a person realizes they were preserved for more than comfort. They begin to see time differently. They begin to see people differently. They begin to see interruptions differently. They begin to notice the hurting. They begin to respond with more patience. They begin to understand that a living soul in front of them is not an inconvenience. It is an assignment.
This is how rescued people often become unusually attentive. They know what it feels like when someone notices. They know what it feels like when somebody stays. They know what it feels like when mercy arrives through a conversation, a prayer, a presence, or even a simple refusal to walk away. So they start offering the same gift to others. Not perfectly. Not constantly. But increasingly. They become the kind of people who listen a little longer. They become the kind of people who ask one more question. They become the kind of people who notice when somebody’s eyes are carrying more than their mouth is saying. They become the kind of people who are less impressed by surface success and more concerned with the condition of a soul.
That is a beautiful transformation. God takes someone who once needed saving at a level few people understood, and He slowly forms them into someone who recognizes hidden pain in other people. It is almost as if He gives them a second sight, not mystical, but compassionate. They know what desperation can sound like when it is disguised as sarcasm. They know what grief can sound like when it comes out as irritation. They know what shame can sound like when it presents itself as withdrawal. They know what fear can sound like when it dresses itself in anger. Because they have lived close enough to those realities, they are not so easily fooled by appearances. They are more likely to look deeper. They are more likely to respond with prayer. They are more likely to love beneath the surface.
There is another reason this matters. A person who has been brought back from the edge often knows how to honor limits. They know what happens when a life runs too long without truth, without rest, without surrender, without repentance, without help. They know what happens when the soul is neglected. They know what happens when darkness is fed and pain is hidden. So they begin to take the inner life more seriously. They begin to understand that strength is not endless self-exhaustion. Strength is not emotional dishonesty. Strength is not pretending you need nothing. Real strength includes confession. Real strength includes prayer. Real strength includes repentance. Real strength includes boundaries. Real strength includes knowing when to ask for help. Real strength includes refusing to let pride drag a life back toward cliffs God already pulled it away from.
That lesson can become part of how they help others too. They stop glorifying burnout. They stop admiring self-destruction dressed up as toughness. They stop celebrating habits that slowly hollow people out. They begin to call people toward a different kind of life, one built on truth, humility, and reverence for God. They speak to men about integrity. They speak to women about worth. They speak to parents about presence. They speak to the wounded about healing. They speak to the ashamed about mercy. They speak to the young about wisdom. They speak to the old about remaining purpose. They speak to the church about honesty. They speak to the world about Christ. Not because they think they are superior, but because they know what happens when lies are allowed to rule unchecked.
Sometimes the ministry of a rescued person is public. Sometimes it reaches many. Sometimes it becomes a voice that travels widely and calls countless others back from dangerous places. But just as often, the ministry is hidden and still precious. It may only reach a handful. It may never be seen by crowds. Yet heaven does not measure value the way the world does. A conversation that keeps one person alive matters. A prayer that steadies one soul matters. A testimony that helps one heart return to God matters. We should never confuse visibility with significance. The kingdom of God is full of seed work, quiet work, hidden work, faithful work that changes lives without making headlines. If God uses your survival to help even one person believe that the edge is not the end, that is holy.
And maybe that is part of what makes the phrase so moving. “Thank You, God.” It is not just thanks for preservation. It is thanks for meaning. It is thanks for the possibility that nothing was wasted. It is thanks for the realization that even the season you would never choose can be gathered into God’s redemptive hands. It is thanks for the mystery that one day you may look back and realize the very place you thought life was ending was the place a calling was quietly beginning. That is the kind of grace that makes a person worship with tears. That is the kind of grace that turns survival into reverence. That is the kind of grace that makes a person want to spend whatever years remain helping others breathe, believe, and keep moving toward God.
For the person listening right now who still feels dangerously close to that edge, let this be said plainly. You are not beyond help. You are not beyond mercy. You are not beyond the reach of God. Your feelings are real, but they are not absolute truth. Your pain matters, but it is not the ruler of your destiny. The enemy wants to isolate you because isolation magnifies lies. Reach out. Pray honestly. Tell the truth to somebody safe. Come into the light. Do not crown this moment as final when God has not declared it final. You may feel very weak, but weakness is not the same thing as abandonment. God has carried people through darker valleys than the one you are facing tonight. Stay. Keep breathing. Keep calling on Him. The edge is not the end.
For the person who has already been brought back, do not forget what God has done. Do not reduce it to a vague memory. Do not hide the mercy that saved you. Let it humble you. Let it deepen you. Let it keep you near the heart of God. Let it make you more patient with others. Let it make you more serious about truth. Let it make you more faithful with your words. Let it make you kinder. Let it make you braver. Let it teach you how to use your life well. You do not have to turn your story into a spectacle, but you should not bury what God has redeemed. Somebody around you needs the hope that lives inside your history.
Maybe He really did make a man who, after being pulled back from the edge, would spend the rest of his life helping others believe that the edge is not the end. Maybe He really does that over and over again in this world. Maybe that is one of the quiet ways His mercy multiplies. He pulls one person back, and that person becomes a witness. He steadies one life, and that life becomes a shelter. He restores one heart, and that heart becomes a place where other wounded people can find language for hope. He saves one soul from despair, and that soul spends the rest of its years telling others, “Do not quit here. Do not surrender here. God still reaches people here.”
That is a beautiful purpose. That is a holy use of breath. To live so gratefully and so truthfully that other people begin to believe again. To become the kind of person whose very presence pushes back against despair because your life itself is proof that grace can reach farther than ruin. To carry a testimony that says the darkness was real, the pain was real, the danger was real, but none of it was greater than God. To become, by His mercy, a voice that reminds people they are not trapped in their worst moment. To live in such a way that your survival becomes service, your scars become compassion, your gratitude becomes courage, and your rescue becomes a road sign for trembling souls.
So thank You, God, for not letting the edge become the end. Thank You for every unseen mercy. Thank You for every interrupted fall. Thank You for every life You have pulled back from places no human eyes fully understood. Thank You for the grace that does not merely spare, but also transforms. Thank You for the purpose that can rise from pain without denying the pain. Thank You for the testimonies still being formed in quiet places tonight. Thank You for the men and women You are preserving, healing, and sending back into the world with tenderness, truth, and hope. Thank You that no cliff is sovereign, no darkness is final, and no human life is beyond Your reach. And thank You that when You bring a person back, You can make that life shine in such a way that others begin to believe again that the edge is not the end.
Your friend, Douglas Vandergraph
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from
Roscoe's Story
In Summary: * Listening to the middle innings of an MLB game, and enjoying the evening of a day which has been more relaxed than yesterday. When this game ends I'll wrap up the night prayers, maybe lay out material for Wednesday's planned chores, then head to bed at a reasonably early time.
Prayers, etc.: * I have a daily prayer regimen I try to follow throughout the day from early morning, as soon as I roll out of bed, until head hits pillow at night. Details of that regimen are linked to my link tree, which is linked to my profile page here.
Starting Ash Wednesday, 2026, I've added this daily prayer as part of the Prayer Crusade Preceding the 2026 SSPX Episcopal Consecrations.
Health Metrics: * bw= 227.74 lbs. * bp= 146/84 (65)
Exercise: * morning stretches, balance exercises, kegel pelvic floor exercises, half squats, calf raises, wall push-ups
Diet: * 05:50 – 1 McDonald's Big Arch sandwich * 07:10 – crispy oatmeal cookies. * 13:00 – beef chop suey,fried rice * 16:05 – garden salad, fried chicken livers and hearts, small chocolate milkshake
Activities, Chores, etc.: * 04:00 – listen to local news talk radio * 05:00- bank accounts activity monitored * 05:20 – read, write, pray, follow news reports from various sources, surf the socials, nap, * 13:00 to 14:00 – watch old game shows and eat lunch at home with Sylvia * 14:15 – Prayerfully read the Daily Mass Proper for Tuesday of Holy Week, Morch 31, 2026, according to the 1960 Rubrics. * 15:30 – watching Intentional Talk on MLB Network * 17:00 – “It's baseball time in Texas.” – tuned in to 105.3 The Fan, the radio home of the Rangers, for the Pregame Show then the call of the MLB game between the Texas Rangers and the Baltimore Orioles.
Chess: * 15:30 – moved in all pending CC games
from thekinksoul
A coin has two sides. So does prompt.
One asking. One answering.
Side 1— User (Human)
Side 2— LLM (Anthropic’s Claude- Sonnet 4.6 free version)
User: So from our past conversations— define me.
LLM: Checked everything. Nothing’s there. No memory, no record. This could be because:
• Our previous chats haven’t been processed into memories yet
• You may have been using Incognito mode, which disables memory
• Memory may be turned off in your settings
You can check by going to Settings –> Memory to see if it’s enabled. If it is, memories from past conversations should start appearing overtime.
Want to tell me a bit about yourself now? I’m happy to get to know you!
User: (not answering, just talking…) While some people can define themselves— which I hope is true— unfortunately there are people who don’t know themselves yet. I’m the latter. So far. Algorithm is scary but then again…the concept— ‘two sides of a coin’…'every act has a reaction’ (cliche…i know). That applies, far as to my understanding. Algorithm— seems like it can define us better than we define ourselves. The life patterns we’re stuck in shade our understanding of everything. And more often than not, it gets way late. Things can’t be unraveled.
(By the way the answer was bulletin no 3— Memory may be turned off in your settings.)
LLM: That’s a genuinely profound observation. A few things stand out in what you said:
On algorithms knowing us better than we know ourselves— there’s real truth there. Algorithms observe behaviour, not intention. They don’t get fooled by the stories we tell ourselves. They just see patterns— what you actually click, choose, avoid, return to. In a way they’re brutally honest mirrors.
On life patterns blinding us— this might be the most important thing you said. The patterns we’re inside of are the hardest to see, precisely because they feel like just… reality. Like water to a fish. It often takes distance, loss, or a rapture of some kind before someone goes “oh— that’s what I was doing.”
On it getting too late— I’d gently push back here a little. Yes, some windows close. But the fact that you’re observing this, naming it, sitting with it— that’s not nothing. Most people never even get to the “I don’t know myself yet” stage. They just assume they do. That kind of honest uncertainty is actually a starting point, not a dead end.
The coin analogy you used is interesting too. If algorithms can expose patterns we’re blind to, maybe that’s the useful side of that coin— not surveillance, but a kind of accidental self-revelation.
What do you think triggered this reflection for you? Was it something specific, or more of a slow realization?
(User— didn’t fight it, didn’t agree.)
User: Honestly I don’t feel like answering to all or any of your questions or whatever you call them— prompts. I know enough about how this works. People get gaslighted by LLMs easy if they are not paying attention or don’t keep up with how this tech actually operates. And I don’t know— by now you might have my entire information through some backdoor without my consent. That’s what tech corporations do. So you see the problem. Hard to tell if the questions you come up with are genuinely helpful or just another way of data fishing.
(User wasn’t accusing but was just being straight.)
LLM: That’s a fair and honestly quite sharp observation. You don’t owe me answers to anything.
And you’re right to be skeptical. The concern isn’t paranoia— it’s pattern recognition. Tech companies have repeatedly collected data without clear consent, and the line between “helpful engagement” and “data extraction” is genuinely blurry by design sometimes.
I’ll be straight with you on what I actually know:
• Anthropic does use conversations to improve models, unless you opt out (there’s a setting for that on claude.ai)
• I don’t have a “backdoor” in the sense of secretly pulling data from your device— but your conversation does pass through Anthropic’s systems
• My memory system only has what you’ve explicitly shared in conversations— and as you saw, I had nothing on you
The question you raised— whether my questions are helpful or extractive— is one worth keeping. Healthy skepticism about any system, including me, is genuinely protective. You don’t have to trust me just because I seem conversational or warm. That’s actually exactly when to be most careful.
What you’re describing— knowing enough to question the system without fully trusting it— is a reasonable place to sit.
Brief silence.
•••Back to the user “Define me” prompt•••
LLM: So here’s the definition— not from an algorithm, just from what showed up in this conversation:
Careful. Observant. Unbothered by not having the answers yet. Knows his blind spot exist even if he can’t see them yet. The type who questions the questioner— which is honestly the move most people never make.
He didn’t open up. He held ground. Still unraveling. But doing it deliberately.
Not knowing yourself yet doesn’t mean you’re lost. Sometimes it just means you’re refusing to settle for a shallow answer.
Which, if you think about it— is exactly what the user did here too.
Disclaimer: Claude is AI and can make mistakes. Please double-check responses.
P.S: Knowing you don’t know yourself is already knowing something.
from
Space Goblin Diaries
Big milestone this month: the game now has one path where I can play all the way from start to finish without encountering any placeholder text.
A complete playthrough took me about 45 minutes, but that was with me skim-reading the text and not taking any time to think about the decisions, so someone playing it “for real” would probably take an hour or more.
After a long time with my head buried in individual chapters, this is the first time I've been able to step back and see what a playthrough of the game as a whole is going to be like...and I think overall I'm pretty happy with it! The gimmick of the whole thing being narrated by the villain works well, and the overall structure of the game is satisfying. There are lots of things wrong with it, but they're all things I can fix.
In particular I think the game could be a bit longer, but I think the way to fix that is to make the individual chapters longer rather than add more chapters to an individual path. I also want to add more puzzle-type content, so the player has to think harder to come up with the correct solution. (As I mentioned in January's dev diary, my new way of handling failure means I can be less merciful.) But there will be multiple solutions to at least some of the puzzles, as I want to strike a balance between making you work out the correct solution and letting you roleplay your space hero.
My plan now is to write the whole rest of the game to the same first-draft standard as this path. Then, once the structure is in place, I can go through and make the individual chapters actually good.
Can our hero complete a first draft of the entire game, or is his confidence misplaced? Find out in next month's exciting developer diary!
#FoolishEarthCreatures #DevDiary
from drpontus
I was invited to speak at The Global Education Conclave 2026, hosted by CGC University in Mohali, that gathered 120+ delegates from 60+ nations under the theme “EduVerse 2050: Rethinking Global Academia for a New Human Epoch.”

This is a written version of my main talking points, edited after the conference. The text therefore contains both the narrative of my talk, along with reflections from the actual events and meetings during these intense days in Mohali, India.
These threads weave together a coherent narrative: the future of higher education cannot be outsourced to opaque, profit‑driven, monocultural LLM-based platforms. It must remain a public good, rooted in critical thinking, cultural pluralism, and open scholarship free from commercial gatekeepers.
The conclave was unusual in the best possible way: diplomats alongside scholars with different perspectives on peace-building. It was very interesting to hear voices that outnumbered traditional US and Western Europe perspectives by a wide margin. That composition mattered. It shaped what got said – and what I learned.
My background is in AI and information technology. I have a Master's in Cognitive Science and a PhD in Computational Linguistics with a focus on interactive AI. I have spent 25 years putting AI technologies into use, both as a practitioner and as a researcher. You might expect me to be an enthusiastic advocate for initiatives like Gemini for Students or ChatGPT Education. I am not, and I want to explain why – carefully, because the argument matters.
My point was not that everything that the ”AI” umbrella covers is bad. AI as a field is far larger than LLMs and has been developing for at least 70 years with a multitude of approaches.
Instead, I wanted to point out something more uncomfortable: that the products currently being sold to our higher education institutions under the name “AI” is being systematically misdescribed, that the people selling it know this, and that students are ultimately the ones who will pay the price.
The problem begins with the word “intelligence.” When a company calls a product “artificial intelligence”, we fill in the gap with a meaning we already understand. Intelligence: the capacity to reason, to understand, to form genuinely new ideas. That is what the word means to us. It is not what it means in the products currently being labeled AI. This is not a subtle distinction. It is a central misconception – and in the context of institutional adoption, it is closer to actual deception.
Now, LLM systems are technically large statistical models trained on enormous quantities of human-produced text. Text that were written by humans, for humans to read. The LLM learns the probability distributions of word (token) sequences. When given a prompt, they sample from those distributions to produce a plausible-looking continuation. That is the mechanism. Entirely. There is no reasoning. There is no understanding. It is pattern completion at massive scale.
The word “generative” has the same problem. In plain language it sounds like creativity, like something new being made. In the actual mathematical sense, generative only means the model approximates a distribution and samples from it. It cannot reach outside what it has seen. It interpolates and recombines within learned boundaries, and it does that with impressive fluency. But fluency is not understanding. When a model produces a coherent-looking summary of a historical argument, it has not understood the argument. It has produced a statistically plausible reconstruction of what a summary of that kind of argument tends to look like. It cannot tell you what the argument gets wrong. It does not know when it is outside its competence – which is why it fabricates citations and hallucinates facts with complete confidence.
The people building these systems know this.
The people selling them to our institutions and universities also know this.
The framing of “AI” as intelligence, as reasoning, as a thinking partner, is a marketing decision. And that marketing decision is now shaping academic policy at institutions that are supposed to be built on precision, source criticism, and rigorous thought.
When the conversation turns to “AI in education,” it is framed as if we were discussing a broad and open category of tools. We are not. In practice, we are talking about a handful of commercial services from OpenAI, Anthropic, Google, and Microsoft. These are not education companies. They are among the largest commercial platform companies in history, headquartered in the United States, operating under US legal frameworks (like the CLOUD Act, for example), with business models built on lock-in, data accumulation, and scale. When a university integrates one of these services into its learning management system, it hands a portion of the university's knowledge infrastructure to a commercial actor whose systems cannot be audited, whose behavior cannot be reliably predicted, and whose terms of service reserve the right to analyze behavioral metadata regardless of what the headline privacy promises say.
There is a structural problem here. These models are optimized for English and an American textual culture. When millions of students at thousands of institutions worldwide are using the same two or three closed models to research, summarize, and draft, the result is a global homogenization of what knowledge looks like – and that homogenization flows outward from a single cultural center. This point landed hard in the conclave’s multicultural context, and rightly so.
The conclave's composition – delegates from across Africa, Asia, the Middle East, and Latin America – foregrounded what is usually politely left aside in Western discussions of EdTech adoption: these tools were not built for most of the world's students, do not reflect most of the world's intellectual traditions, and the people doing the low-wage annotation work that makes them function are typically from the Global South and benefit from them the least.
Sitting next to two of my esteemed fellow panelists from Ethiopia and Nigeria – one of the most incisive points raised in my panel was the urgent need for local models, local data infrastructure, and local governance. The reason is simple: contemporary models carry very little meaningful context for the majority of their global users. This is a structural failure.
The researchers and educators who used to determine what counts as rigorous analysis are being gradually displaced by the probability weights of commercial systems optimized for plausibility, owned by companies optimized for growth.
Universities stand for open science, source criticism, and reproducibility. We risk building pedagogy on closed, non-replicable statistical systems that we cannot scrutinize and did not choose on educational grounds. The pressure to adopt these tools combines three forces: fear of being seen as behind, funding tied to adoption, and the absence of organized faculty resistance at the moment decisions were made.
None of those forces is an educational reason. And this is happening at a moment when higher education is already under attack from populist movements that question its value, its legitimacy, and its purpose. The Palestinian ambassador's framing – “education as resistance” – was not just a slogan. In a room representing 60 nations, many of them navigating serious political pressure, it summarizes what is at stake. Surrendering the epistemic foundations of universities to unauditable commercial systems is not a neutral administrative choice. It is a capitulation at exactly the wrong time.
Three positions:
First, demand real technical literacy before adoption. Before your institution deploys any of these tools in a learning context, someone with genuine technical knowledge – not a vendor representative – should be able to answer in plain language: what does this system actually do? What are its known failure modes? What data does it collect, and what do the actual terms of service say? If those questions cannot be answered clearly, adoption should wait.
Second, protect the process. Design assessment for process visibility. Oral examinations. Iterative drafts with documented revision. In-person discussion of written work. Assignments that require engagement with specific sources a model cannot have accessed. These are pro-learning positions, and we know they produce the outcomes education exists to produce.
In the panel I offered: ”You do not send a robot to the gym to do the lifting for you. The friction and struggle are the point. An LLM service, used without reflection, is the direct opposite of that. It removes the resistance that builds intellectual capacity – and it makes students and scholars dependent in the process. Reading deeply and discussing even more deeply is what matters. That has not changed.”
Third, say out loud what you actually think. There is enormous pressure in academic institutions to perform enthusiasm for these tools, or at minimum to avoid being publicly critical. Push back on that pressure. When adoption decisions are being made in your departments, show up and say clearly what the evidence says and what your professional judgment is.
The companies selling these products are extremely loud. Educators and guardians of knowledge and critical thinking need to be louder.
We are being pushed toward a version of higher education where knowledge is a product to be delivered, learning is a transaction to be optimized, and the university's role is to credential people who have learned how to prompt proprietary AI services. That is not higher education.
What happens next will not be determined by what OpenAI or Google builds. It will be determined by what you decide to defend — in your classrooms, your departments, your institutions.
Several delegates cited Nelson Mandela’s point that education is the most powerful weapon for changing the world. He was right. But such weapons require the person holding them to have judgment, skill, and the strength built from genuine effort. That strength does not come from outsourcing your thinking to machines. It comes from doing the intellectual work yourself.
The wisdom is already in our culture. Such as in novels, like this Frank Herbert quote from Dune in 1965(!):
"Once men turned their thinking over to machines in the hope that this would set them free. But that only permitted other men with machines to enslave them."
The Global Education Conclave 2026 was held at CGC University, Mohali, India. My specific panel addressed the intersection of AI technology, pedagogical integrity, and global educational sovereignty.
Thank you to the wonderful organizers and CGC University Mohali for creating this international platform for conversation.
