Writing

In which the author declares a temporary armistice with the generative AI panic, watches a few hundred impeccably polite goroutines wage an accidental war of attrition against a database.

In which the author says a sentence out loud, hears how it sounds, and then spends an unreasonable number of sections establishing that the correct response to it is not grief or panic.

In which the author admits to writing Rust, disappoints the critics and the cultists in a single sitting, and defends his choice with reasons that would fail any architecture review.

In which the author, professionally obliged to assess technological risk in the middle of a gold rush, watches three eternally warring tech factions declare a truce.

In which the author, prompted by a reader, ventures into BEAM/OTP territory he had long dismissed as a Cthulhu cult, and discovers a forty-year-old answer to modern concurrency.

In which a decaffeinated engineer, betrayed by his own alarm clock and judged by his own dog, discovers that the entire AI hype cycle is a heartfelt compliment.

In which a tired Eastern European engineer discovers that while everyone was busy panicking about AI eating the programmers, the actual main course was sitting one floor up.

In which we examine why the code you didn’t write might be the most dangerous code in your organization, and why your team’s productivity metrics are probably lying to you.

Or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Exponential Collapse of My Own Incompetence.

When code walks before it runs, who’s auditing the steps? Examining compile-time vulnerabilities in Zig.

In which a programmer discovers that language debates are a category error dressed up as market analysis.

In which a mid-career developer discovers that LLMs are just the latest swing of a pendulum that’s been moving since before computers.

In which legacy systems become philosophy teachers, and Marcus Aurelius proves surprisingly relevant to production deployments.

In which our hero discovers that Rust is perfectly ordinary, deeply tedious, and somehow that’s the most deflating revelation of all.

In which the masters of digital craft discover they’ve been relegated to supervising the machines that replaced them.

A Developer’s Guide to Context Architecture: Moving Beyond the 'Calculator Race' Fallacy.

In which we discover that the call is coming from inside the house, and we’ve been holding the phone all along.

A Reformed Sinner’s Guide to Linguistic Self-Awareness. Why syntax is rarely the real problem.

In which our hero discovers that the path to enlightenment involves considerably more nausea than the brochure suggested.

A thoroughly modern tragedy in silicon and sentiment, wherein our digital servants develop inconvenient political consciences.

Or: How We’re Building Tomorrow’s Vulnerabilities at Machine Speed.

When Digital Memory Fails Us: The Ironic Limitation of Unlimited Context.

In which we examine why those prophesying the end of coding jobs are unwittingly writing their own redundancy notices.

The honeymoon period of the Rust journey. Stoic struggles and first impressions.

In which we examine how we accidentally created an existential conundrum and now must pretend we had a plan all along.

Where even the most fastidious garbage collector occasionally misses a spot.

In which a comfortable programmer voluntarily abandons their preferred languages for the stern embrace of the crab.

In which a faithful follower questions their programming choices with a stiff upper lip.

Where closures meet loops, chaos once reigned — until now.

Why your wallet, your headache medicine, and your chaotic infrastructure might all be quietly voting for Go.

In which we discover that feeling like a fraud might be the most honest — and valuable — intellectual position after all.

In which we discover how Google’s syntactically spartan language might contain more ancient wisdom than several shelves of dusty philosophy.