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003 · Humano opere creatum · a machina interpretatum

· Reflection

Fast-Food Chain

  • future-of-work
  • artificial-intelligence
  • creation

Butterflies in my stomach: Fable 5 came back to this continent. Before it was taken away, I still managed to refactor a prototype that would allow only cassette-sized, bounded pieces of work to be given as tasks. Just say what you want.

Wish fulfilment is so simple, and the whole job gets done in an hour beside coffee. I tested it, and it really was barely an hour, though because I had to take a Bolt, I did not even manage to make the coffee. Today, on the first day of my summer holiday, I immediately put the artificial mind roaring. The temptation was strong: how fast could one now make a training page, or make this text visible to the world? In an hour I sketched the plan and stack; in under an hour Claude Design produced a WordPress-quality design. I asked for more and it got better before the tokens ran out. I have to wait for another batch of tokens. Could I get the whole training site up in one hour? I believe I could, but because I do not want to throw it away immediately, I have to take it more calmly, in sips.

Code is as available and simple as a burger you cannot be bothered to finish, tossing it into the biowaste bin after one bite. Everything can be had, and what begins to distinguish things is good taste and style. A VLND burger is something other than McDonald’s, and yet both are fast food.

A developer flips code, and with the right workflow and spec it is even easier than physically flipping patties, something like watching moths fly by the fire in a trance. What do we build, and how much? Code grows like yeast and makes the whole world overweight if one does not know how to apply the brake in time.

Ancient patterns: what was once expensive is now cheap fool’s gold. So how quickly can one make a small pop-up website that is a little more interesting than simply waving at Lovable.dev?

Build something Lovable

Create apps and websites by chatting with AI.

P.S. Alison Jackson’s Truth is Dead queen suits my narrow room well.