You, 2036, at the exact moment Anthropic decides to KYC your account.
Last night an AI agent performed brain surgery on a mouse.
We gave it 19 gene therapy vectors in a spreadsheet, a mouse model of epilepsy, access to a motorize surgery rig with cameras and one goal: reduce seizures.
It picked the drug. It picked the brain region. It derived the coordinates from three papers. Then it drove the stereotaxic arms into the brain and injected 250 nanolitres while watching the entry site through the rig camera for bleeding.
A licensed vet gated every irreversible step and held a physical kill switch to stop the AI agent.
Thread on what it decided, what it saw, and the moment it refused to let me override it.
[Writing this on the spot out of excitement, but I've been 18hrs in front of my laptop coding and coordinating this, so keeping it brief and descriptive, more cohesive thoughts on this soon...]
Daughter. I can raise her as a Machiavellian empire builder and grow our great family's influence, until she stabs us in the back to pursue her own interests. But it's not to last, for she flies too close to the sun and gets assassinated by a handsome Chinese spy. Kino. What does the chud son do? Codecel at a neolab before committing to vanlife at 35. Last seen doing ayahuasca at Burning Man. Rumour is he flew to Colombia to traverse the Darien Gap. The most honourable death one can ask for from a chud, I suppose.
Impossible to capture a strong fall wind. I need mr trenchcoat here to catch the breeze so you can see the fabric getting blown about. Long drag off the cigarette, in subtle contravention of Japanese walking etiquette. Ooh yeah that'd be good.
And you know what else. Claude will not take their jobs. Claude expressly refuses to take their jobs. Those girls do not think about Claude at all.
I thought this Shiba Inu sake cup I got at the art fair was so cute until I took it home and realised when you're actually using it you shove his face into the table and drink out of his cavernous rear
The loss of my father has really strained me. I didn't realise until it was gone how much you can gain from having someone to call who you can trust to be an ally with the patience to listen to you whinge, and who can offer ideas or at least unconditional support. Even if I were married, "using your spouse as a therapist" is one of those classic things you're really not supposed to do, and probably for good reason. The actual therapists never did it for me either. A therapist doesn't really know you, and you can't just call them at random times and know they're happy to hear from you.
And to even frame grief in these terms feels selfish. Guy dies, other guy most affected. I'm sure my father would be able to untangle that dilemma somehow too. Without his input that cognitive dissonance just rings and rings.
Being Mr Worldwide is all fun and games until you get buttfucked daily by fraud algos designed by Americans whose idea of worldliness is occasionally visiting a different part of California
