The author confesses a persistent sadness triggered by rapid AI advances, despite being well-positioned to benefit from them. Nights spent watching peers chase high-paying roles at big AI firms provoke a sense of loss: craft, control, creativity. Prompting Codex or Claude for a living feels like voluntary obsolescence, evoked by a Chaplin-in-Modern-Times image of humans swallowed by machines. Startups that once rewarded technical craft now appear to be “AI startups” anyone can emulate with a prompt, and future models like GPT-7 promise to widen that gap. The writer also objects to the cultural effects: AI-generated art and music becoming dominant aesthetics, verified accounts and bots flooding Twitter/X with meaningless replies, and companies like SpaceX/Xai/Grok failing to stop the spam. After billions spent on AI, everyday apps look unchanged apart from chatbot buttons, which heightens the frustration.
Still, the author finds reasons for hope and a path forward. Institutions can be rebuilt; technological turbulence often leads to clearer roles for tools and humans. Painful industry shifts are expected and might be the corrective needed to restore meaningful work and human-centered craft. The writer longs for an industry that makes sense rather than one that sells nothing to nobody for huge sums, and imagines a satisfying reckoning - a bubble burst that would create space for durable, sensible practices and professions.
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