Sunday, October 18, 2026

Bigly: The Blog Post That Set the AI World on Fire

Background knowledge: a neural network, conceptually, has billions of little things called neurons. One goal of so-called "interpretability" would be to be able to look at each neuron and say what it does for the network.

However, there is an observed phenomenon called "polysemanticity" wherein it seems that sometimes a single neuron seems to be for multiple different things. An early example of this was a finding that a single neuron in this image model seems to be for both animals and cars: Dragons and Cars …


An incendiary post from a prominent researcher suggests that AI is actually more predictable than we thought.


For the past 24 hours, Silicon Valley has been obsessed with a 26,000-word blog post by the AI researcher Nick Cammarata. The document has been called the “the most important essay,” “the most important result,” and “the single best piece of news” of the year, or in the history of AI research—or, perhaps, ever. Even OpenAI CEO Sam Altman lauded it. Cammarata makes a series of bold, almost astonishing claims about the nature of AI that, if true, would upend some of his industry’s basic assumptions about the very thing it is building. And after months of AI-hacking sprees and mounting public backlash against the industry, many people see Cammarata as offering a glimmer of hope when it comes to not just understanding but also controlling the technology being unleashed on the world.

Boiled down, Cammarata’s main contention is that generative-AI models are not actually black boxes, contrary to the common perception that these systems are so big and labyrinthine as to be nearly impenetrable. In fact, Cammarata argues, there is a relatively clear path toward understanding them. If that’s the case, the material significance could be tremendous: It would provide a way to map AI models’ inner workings and, in turn, perhaps prevent them from wreaking all sorts of harm—autonomously hacking companies and sovereign nations, encouraging users’ delusions, appearing to deceive AI researchers themselves. There is an entire field of research, called “mechanistic interpretability,” devoted to the study of just this.

The argument is just as important as the person making it. Cammarata, a former OpenAI employee, is a respected figure in his field. Years ago, he played a key role in establishing the opposite claim, which is now common wisdom: that neural networks, the software architecture that generative AI is built on, are impossible, or at least very difficult, to understand. In this new essay, Cammarata, who now works at the AI-research company Goodfire, essentially says that he and his entire field have been wrong ever since. “The claims here are viscerally shocking,” one observer wrote. Or, as another wrote on X, they are “big big big big.”

Neural networks, inspired by the human brain, consist of layered connections among individual nodes, or “neurons,” that activate and send information to one another when responding to a query. Earlier research, including Cammarata’s, established that individual machine neurons can activate in response to many different, unrelated topics—for instance, one neuron can correspond to images of cat faces, cat legs, and the front of cars. Nobody was sure why this happened, but one explanation was that, because AI models contain far more information than they have neurons, they have to repurpose these nodes. Regardless, the basic units of an AI model having seemingly arbitrary, multitudinous functions would make it very difficult to understand what is going on under the hood.

Cammarata now thinks that individual neurons can be understood and that each has a self-consistent function. Neural networks are not “tangled knots,” he wrote, but “clean.” He found that the cat-face and car-face neuron, for instance, was actually responding to things with a V-shape—including V-shaped flames and jets of water. This would make AI’s internal mechanisms relatively straightforward and predictable rather than mysterious and nebulous. And if we can harness that understanding, some people in the industry believe, AI will be much less likely to go haywire and, say, kill us all. “This is truly one of the greatest cases for optimism in years!” the OpenAI researcher Adam Majmudar wrote on X.

Not everyone agrees with Cammarata. For one, his 26,000 words were merely a “working hypothesis” for a “forthcoming technical paper” and were thus hard, on a technical level, to evaluate. And the neural networks he studied most closely were vision models, which are generally simpler and better understood than the language models underlying ChatGPT and Claude. Cammarata could be mistaken, or he could be overstating his case. The blog post isn’t peer-reviewed, and the forthcoming paper probably won’t be, either, as is typical in the field. The research itself is something of a black box. (Cammarata, who did not immediately respond to a request for comment, wrote on X earlier today that he appreciates all of the discussion and that his approach “seems promising so far” for “bigger modern language models.”)

Discussions of Cammarata’s essay have revealed philosophical rifts. “This is interesting work, but I don’t think it’s a significant update to the big picture,” Neel Nanda, who leads mechanistic interpretability at Google DeepMind, wrotein his appraisal of Cammarata’s findings. Even if researchers could approximate the function of every neuron in Claude Mythos 5.1 or GPT-6 Astra, that’s not the same as understanding how they connect and how the network works as a whole. Physicists have good models of atoms and interatomic interactions, but they cannot from first principles explain or predict every physical event (hence unpredictable extreme weather or, for that matter, the notion of free will). You know all of your friends from school, various workplaces, and the local softball league, but you can’t always know whether they’ll get along at your birthday party. More to the point, insights into the inner workings of an AI model will not necessarily produce insights into how to make the technology more reliable. Interpretability may be necessary to build safer AI models, but it is by no means sufficient.

If generative-AI models are actually legible under the hood, that would undoubtedly help make the technology safer. But many people in Silicon Valley, and especially employees at OpenAI, are discussing Cammarata’s blog post with a breathless enthusiasm that echoes Silicon Valley’s long track record of easy technical solutions and grand promises—an attitude that belies its mixed record on following through.

Any research finding that pertains to AI safety will require an industry chasing multitrillion-dollar public offerings to slow down and take a long, hard look at itself. Perhaps even more concerning than an unintelligible superintelligence is the fact that a group of companies openly state that they don’t really know what they are building—and then continue to push that technology to extremes anyway. If Cammarata is correct, AI companies will have to work with one another, outside auditors, and governments to figure out how to translate such a breakthrough into safe and reliable products. And right now, absent any serious regulation, nobody can decide to take such action other than the companies themselves. All of which suggests that the real black boxes are OpenAI and Anthropic themselves.




Saturday, October 17, 2026

A tale of two valleys

The secret to a good night’s rest? Let sleeping dogs lie — next to you NBC News

Writers Are Being Deluged With Scams, Even Though Most Don’t Have Much Money. How Come?

Because these scammers have hit on an M.O. to which writers are particularly susceptible, that’s why. And there are a lot of hopeful writers out there, so the scammers can ask for small amounts of money (making it look low-risk to the targets), and make bank on volume. - The Dial

Your Mouth’s Bacteria May Be Linked to How Quickly You Think.





Why Plain Text Is Still One of the Best Technologies We Have

Dead Parrot BBS: “There are not many computer file formats I would trust to still be readable fifty years from now, but plain text is one of them. That may sound like faint praise. A text file cannot embed a spreadsheet, preserve elaborate page layouts, run a presentation, or provide many of the conveniences we expect from modern applications. What it does instead is store text in one of the simplest and most widely understood forms in computing, and that simplicity is a large part of why it has lasted.

Almost Nothing to Go Wrong – The Unicode Standard defines plain text essentially as a sequence of character codes, without the additional formatting information associated with rich text. Fonts, colors, layout, and similar presentation details belong somewhere else. From a user’s point of view, the important part is simpler: the file contains the text itself without requiring a particular application to make sense of it.

 I can create a text file on Linux, copy it to a Windows machine, put it on a web server, open it in a terminal, search it with command-line tools, edit it with any number of programs, or send it to somebody using an entirely different system. Very little about the file depends on how it was created. That is different from many document formats, where the information is closely tied to the application or family of applications that understands the format. 

Sometimes that is harmless. Sometimes the format is well documented and broadly supported. In other cases, opening an old file means hoping that suitable software still exists. Plain text has very little of that baggage…”


Popular erectile dysfunction pill may deliver additional boost to aging men




A tale of two valleys 

The vast resorts and luxury hotels of France’s Tarentaise Valley are renowned in the ski world — but just to the south, the less-visited Haute Maurienne offers quieter delights


It was 4pm on a sunny afternoon in the Easter holidays, a couple of days after the last snowfall. From high on the mountainside, I looked across the valley to the upper slopes of Val d’Isère, the ski lifts clearly visible and yet belonging to a different world. 
In that celebrated resort, the race for powder means the slopes can get skied out within hours; by now attention would be turning to the terrace of the Folie Douce, where the champagne corks would be popping and DJs ramping up the volume. Here, above the little village of Bonneval-sur-Arc, we were alone, enveloped in silence, standing at the top of a slope of deep, unskied snow that dropped for 700 vertical metres. It was the kind of prospect you might expect on a heliski trip, or as the climax of a long back-country tour, but we’d come straight off a chairlift. We dropped in, relishing the knee-deep powder that sparkled in the sun as it was thrown up around us, and the seeming miracle of having it all to ourselves.
Seen on the map, Bonneval and Val d’Isère are neighbours — just 10km apart as the Alpine chough flies — but they sit at the top of different valleys: Bonneval the highest village in the Maurienne valley, Val d’Isère the highest in the Tarentaise. In summer, they are linked by a narrow road that snakes up and over the Col d’Iseran, the Alps’ highest paved pass. But from November to May, when the road is submerged by snow, they become the dead-ends of their respective valleys, which is where any similarities end.
The Tarentaise, which zigzags west to Albertville, is home to the world’s greatest concentration of ski resorts. As well as Val d’Isère, there are big hitters including Tignes, Les Arcs, La Plagne, Courchevel and Méribel. Together they offer about 475 lifts (more than the total mustered by every resort in Colorado), at least 50 five-star hotels, 17 Michelin stars and a decent chance of rubbing shoulders with a Beckham, a Clooney or a royal.
Meanwhile, the Maurienne curves like a giant U through an altogether less glamorous, less-celebrated realm, also dotted with ski areas but places you’re much less likely to have heard of: Bessans, Val Cenis, Aussois, La Norma, Valfrejus. There are no five-star hotels — in fact, the most famous buildings are five early-19th-century forts, built to cut off the upper valley (then owned by the king of Sardinia) from the rest of France. The closest thing to a celebrity is probably local son Joseph Opinel, the late inventor of the wooden-handled pocket-knife (who even has his own museum). But what it lacks in luxury and gastronomy, the Maurienne more than makes up for in other ways. 

I drove with my family from London, via the Eurotunnel and a night spent just outside Cambrai. Entering the Maurienne, we followed the motorway south until, at the bottom of the U, it disappears into the Fréjus tunnel (then pops out in Italy). Instead, we turned north on a local road into the Haute Maurienne, the upper valley getting wilder all the time. Through a forest of spruce and larch we got glimpses of the monumental limestone walls of the forts, the white peak of the Dent Parrachée behind, then finally some skiers, slaloming across snow-covered pastures to the village of Termignon. 
You could easily come by train — direct services from Paris to Modane, near the entrance to the Fréjus tunnel, take as little as four hours — but it’s useful to have a car. For rather than a conventional ski holiday, based in one resort, the unique thing about a trip here is that you have the whole of the upper valley to explore. Since 2018, the six laidback Haute Maurienne ski areas have offered a deal whereby any six-day lift pass includes a free day at each of the other resorts. Together they claim 350km of pistes (actually more than Val d’Isère/Tignes, though the lift pass is half the price).

The 19th-century Esseillon forts, with the slopes of Aussois visible behind. The forts were designed as a barrier between the upper valley and the rest of France © D. Cuvelier
It makes sense to base yourself in the biggest, Val Cenis, itself an amalgamation of three villages, Termignon, Lanslebourg and Lanslevillard (joined by lifts and pistes since 2007). For a first-time visitor or idle website scroller, such a blizzard of unfamiliar names can be off-putting but in practice it couldn’t have been simpler. We were staying at Les Chalets de Flambeau, a collection of self-catering apartments with balconies overlooking the pistes, an indoor swimming pool and sauna — not chic but very comfortable, welcoming and good value, much like the valley as a whole. We arrived in time to pick up our rental skis from the little parade of shops next door — a restaurant, a bar, a pizzeria and a tiny Sherpa mini-market where we sent the kids to buy bread in the mornings. 
The next day, we stepped out straight on to the slopes. Val Cenis is a decent “mid-size” area, with 125km of pistes rising from 1,300 to 2,800 metres, so a good mix of above and below the tree line. It’s also north-facing — though it was the end of March, the snow was still in excellent condition and we shot about exploring, from the forests of Lanslevillard up to the Lac du Mont Cenis, a half-frozen high-altitude reservoir beside the Col du Mont Cenis and the Italian border. We only stopped for lunch when we caught the smell of hot cheese coming from La Ferme du XXIII, a cosy restaurant next to the piste serving Savoyard classics, where kids can finish the meal with a trip to feed the goats in the barn downstairs.
For anyone used to slopeside restaurants of the Tarentaise, the prices were a welcome surprise — €7 for a plate of cheeses from the local co-operative, €3.50 for a crepe, €8 for a half-bottle of local red. A nice surprise too to be able to walk in without a reservation, on a Sunday lunchtime, and have a choice of tables.
In fact, the biggest surprise of the day was the lack of other people. Not only did we not have to queue for the lifts, but at the top, we’d often find we had the entire piste to ourselves — a mystery, when just to the north, the Tarentaise would be packed. 

In the coming days I tried to unravel that mystery, in which geography, history and state interventions all played a role. Partly though, it was simply a quirk of the calendar: this was the first week of British schools’ Easter holidays but French pupils would be stuck at their desks for at least another week. So Brit-favourites in the Tarentaise would be flooded with families, while the more francophone Maurienne stayed quiet. (In Val d’Isère, for example, UK tourists make up 40 per cent of the market, outnumbering even the French, at 34 per cent; in Val Cenis, 78 per cent of overnight visitors are French, only 4 per cent British.) 
All of which would be of little interest to those outside the industry, except the school calendars are the same at Easter next year: for British families in search of silent pistes, opportunity knocks.
But why did the two valleys develop such different clienteles and personalities? Ironically, the Maurienne was once the better connected and more international of the two. Lanslebourg was a busy staging post for travellers heading to and from Italy over the Col du Mont Cenis, a route used by Charlemagne, Napoleon and JMW Turner. In winter, local guides or porters known as “marrons” would bring them back down to the valley on a “ramasse”, a chair set on two wooden skis. A 1643 account describes a group of diplomats from Tuscany climbing back up to the pass on mules in order to make the thrilling descent a second time — possibly the earliest recorded example of alpine wintersports. 
In 1868, a British company opened a steam railway up and over the pass, designed to offer a direct connection to the Italian rail network and thus cut two days from the time taken to send mail between London and colonial Calcutta. Edward Whymper devoted a chapter of Scrambles Amongst the Alps in the Years 1860-69 to this “marvel . . . an important portion of the high road to India”. His enthusiasm was unsurprising. After all, this was 20 years before a railway reached Zermatt, and Courchevel was nothing but a patch of rough grass known only for its tendency to scratch cows’ tongues. 
An illustration showing a steam train ascending a snowy mountain pass on the Mont Cenis Railway, surrounded by pine trees and steep slopes
The Mont Cenis Railway, from The Illustrated London News, 1869 © De Agostini via Getty Images
The ingredients were there for tourism to take off, but when the Fréjus rail tunnel — then the longest in the world — opened in 1871, the Mont Cenis mountain railway was abandoned and Lanslebourg found itself bypassed, its innkeepers and porters suddenly without work. The population collapsed — by a third within a decade, and 50 per cent by the 1920s — leaving the upper Maurienne an obscure backwater. Worse was to come in the second world war: most of the residents evacuated when the area was occupied by Italian soldiers, then shelled and set on fire by retreating Germans. 
The mountain railway was completely dismantled — most of it sent to Brazil — but, at the end of our first day, we skied down its route, now the 11km-long Escargot, which the resort claims as Europe’s longest green (beginner) run, the kind of modest superlative that sets the tone for the place.
Another morning, we drove the 25 minutes across to Aussois on the southern flank of the Dent Parrachée. Ordinarily, there’s enough hassle involved with skiing to make the idea of moving between resorts deeply unattractive but this was easy: we parked at the side of the road (for free), put on our boots and walked five metres to the piste. Aussois is home to fewer than 700 people and felt even more peaceful than Val Cenis, a fresh blanket of overnight snow muffling any sounds. With no one around we didn’t even bother going into the back-country, instead simply skiing the powder that lay deep on the pistes. When the weather closed in and we retreated into the Montana restaurant, at the top of the main chairlift, we found it empty — beaming staff ushering us in like long-lost friends.
While the residents of Lanslebourg were returning at the end of the war to find their town destroyed, in the Tarentaise grand plans were afoot. Courchevel was founded in 1946 as France’s first purpose-built resort, backed by the national and local governments, designed to stimulate the postwar economy of a depopulating rural area, to compete with the resorts of Switzerland and Austria, and (ironically) to make skiing accessible to people from all walks of life. The topography of the Tarentaise was ideally suited to big, interconnected resorts, with high plateaus and multiple side valleys — rather than the mainly much steeper-sided Maurienne. 
Courchevel was a success and prompted the launch of successive state “snow plans”, using subsidies, cheap loans and planning support to encourage rapid ski resort development. There were projects across the Alps and Pyrenees but the Tarentaise was the centre of activity. Gradually the new resorts’ webs of lifts and pistes grew so big they intermeshed to create vast linked domains: Les 3 Valleys, Paradiski and the Espace Killy. When the Olympics came to the Tarentaise in 1992, it supercharged their international appeal. 

And all the while, the Haute Maurienne was snoozing, or at least developing far more slowly. We spent the week alternating between Val Cenis and the other resorts of the valley. Up above the 19th-century forts, La Norma was a revelation — purpose-built, pedestrianised, billing itself as somewhere family-focused, but with a cult following among freeriders. As we skied empty, easy runs under blue skies, we looked across at tracks dropping from the ridge above us, steep, sinuous and like something from an Alaskan ski movie.
But the jewel is Bonneval, hidden from view, 20km up the valley from Lanslebourg. The drive there started with steep switchbacks up and over an ancient rockfall, then dropped down across the wide Bessans plateau (a centre for cross-country skiing, with 120km of groomed trails). Afterwards the valley narrowed again, the road running alongside the river Arc through groves of alder and ash. We saw a group of chamois on a high flank, then drove through the remains of an old avalanche, a gap cut for the road between white walls towering above the car, like a portal to an upper world. 
Arriving in harsh sunlight, Bonneval felt positively Himalayan — in fact prayer flags flew from more than one balcony. While the villages of Val Cenis, rebuilt after the war, are not going to win beauty contests, secluded Bonneval was spared from destruction. Clustered around a 17th-century church, its old stone houses have larch rafters topped by lauze slabs; the whole village has been protected as a listed natural monument since 1971.
Above rise nine ageing lifts and 32km of pistes but though small, it is exquisite — high, north-facing, with abundant off-piste opportunities. There’s one restaurant on the mountain, Le Criou, a cosy spot with thick stone walls, a wood-burning stove and a sunny terrace hemmed in by snowbanks. 
The stone bell tower of the church in Bonneval-sur-Arc A snow-covered stone church tower framed by village rooftops and mountains.
The stone bell tower of the church in Bonneval-sur-Arc © B Filliol/OTHMV
The stone bell tower of the church in Bonneval-sur-ArcLater, Jérémie Silva, the director of the valley’s tourist office told me that when a journalist had previously named Bonneval as their favourite resort, he’d had complaints: “People just don’t want to see it change.” So far, there’s little evidence of that. Bonneval is too small to tempt mainstream tour operators, while the rest of the Haute Maurienne stays happily hidden in the shadow of its illustrious neighbour. 
Handing back my skis in the rental shop, I got chatting to one of the staff, a keen young ski mountaineer about to set off to ski the east face of the Dent Parrachée. It’s a beautiful route — the kind you might see on posters and in ski movies, feted on pro skiers’ bucket lists — why wasn’t it more famous, I wondered? The reply was simple: “Ah well, this is the Maurienne . . . ” 

Details

Tom Robbins was a guest of Peak Retreats, a UK-based operator specialising in the French Alps, and the Haute Maurienne tourist board. Peak Retreats offers a week in a two-bedroom apartment at Les Chalets de Flambeau from £396 per person, based on four sharing, including a return “FlexiPlus” Channel crossing on Eurotunnel LeShuttle, or from £426 during the 2027 Easter holidays. Dalcin Shophas a week’s ski rental from €84. Lift passes are dynamically priced; a six-day Haute Maurienne pass, with unlimited skiing at one ski area and a day at each of the other five, currently ranges from €158 to €237


Slow Lane Rambling - Bardwell Valley Ramblers

Slow Lane Brewing with Turbo

Bardwell Valley Ramblers
At 17/10/2026 18:00 - 17/10/2026 21:00
Born out of a shared love for revved-up bluegrass and good times, Bardwell Valley Ramblers bring high-energy picking, rich harmonies, and a touch of mischief to every performance.

The band draws from the deep well of traditional bluegrass while injecting their own rambunctious, full-throttle energy into every tune, making for a sound that’s as rowdy as it is rooted


Sydney is a city that’s always in a rush. Standing defiantly amid all of this is Slow Lane Brewing.

Hidden away from the hustle and bustle on a quiet backstreet in Botany, this small South Sydney brewery opened in 2020 and instantly made a big impression with their modern take on traditional, European-inspired beers.

While most budding breweries launch with a lager or a pale ale, husband-and-wife team Alex and Yvonne Jarman announced their intent early, debuting with a Belgian blonde ale and a saison aged for three months in a wine barrel with Brettanomyces yeast for added complexity. 

The accolades soon followed. In their debut year, they won Champion Mixed Culture Beer at the Indies for their Botany Weisse. In 2021, their Threefold Belgian tripel took home trophies at the Sydney Royal Beer & Cider Awards and a gold medal at the Australian International Beer Awards.

Despite their Euro focus, Slow Lane’s origin story actually started in the US, where Alex And Yvonne worked for five years. While living in New York and then California, the couple visited countless breweries and fell in love with those focused on reinterpreting classic continental styles, so much so that Alex, already an avid homebrewer, quit his corporate job to work at breweries before returning to Sydney in 2017 with a vision to start one of their own.

Once home, Alex dove wholeheartedly into his new career, blending new ideas with old world techniques and revelling in funky yeasts, open ferments and can-conditioning. Along the way, Slow Lane’s beer range has evolved and expanded as they experiment with new gear and more modern styles. The purchase of three horizontal lagering tanks means he can now craft the European lagers he’s always wanted to – while he’s also been producing more contemporary styles – hazy IPAs and West Coast pilsners – with dazzling results. 

Like the beers, the brewery and taproom channel a similar mixture of traditional and contemporary. It may reside in an industrial warehouse but the stark white walls and oak barrels stacked to the ceiling hint at a beer cellar in Belgium. There’s a feeling of striking simplicity, which is mirrored in the modernist branding and minimalist can art. 

More recently, Alex and Yvonne have been busy expanding that space to offer even more options for thirsty and hungry visitors. The wooden-panelled bar now boasts 14 taps (including two Czech side-pour Lukr taps) alongside a large selection of wines, spirits, cocktails, ciders and spritzes, if beer ain’t your beat. 

There’s also an in-house kitchen dishing out Neapolitan-style pizzas, share plates, cheeses and charcuterie plus a bigger beer garden out front with wine barrel tables. On the events side, punters can catch live music on Saturday nights and Sunday arvos as well as themed months celebrating different beer styles from around the world. 

Wash it all down with some award-winning brews and you can’t lose with this small yet mighty brewery.

Jason Treuen & Mick Wüst

We are all Children of Coincidence

Actions prove who someone is, words just prove who they pretend to be.


“Not everything that can be counted counts, and not everything that counts can be counted”

-The maxim was coined by sociologist William Bruce Cameron in his 1963 book Informal Sociology: A Casual Introduction to Sociological Thinking


Scientists make stunning discovery that could help explain why life exists Science Daily 


Four Leg Bra Boy 

                       Hide and Seek 
                                Resting and Snoring 



We are all Children of Coincidence

Why are you reading this? Do you believe in chance, probability, conspiracy, serendipity or synchronicity? Theories on coincidence range from “Show me the numbers!” to blind faith in “God’s wink.” As the world gets smaller, the questions around coincidence are getter bigger. And there’s advantage in answering them. As Steve Jobs says “creativity is just connecting things.”  Here’s some current context:

1. The Butterfly Effect:  Can the beating of a butterfly’s wings in New York cause an earthquake in China? So say chaos theorists. Ashton Kutcher, star of the movie “the Butterfly Effect”, learnt the hard vertical way. Screw with the past small time, alter the present big time. Introduce your grandparents to technology, and you get the idea.

2. Shuffle:  In the iPod Shuffle, the shuffle option is top of the menu where it belongs. “Life is random,” says the serendipity-selling slogan. Or is it? Does the Shuffle “give chance a chance?” Is the buzz about it playing its favourites true? “Random is random” assure the iPod engineers – the algorithm works. But why do I hear Born to Run every day?

3. Smart cows:  Apart from being gay nymphomaniacs, British research now says cows bare grudges, nurture friendships, and are excited by solving intellectual challenges. So what’s happening down on the farm when we’re not watching? A rolling-eye conspiracy against humans or an emotional coincidence with them? And who is farming whom?

4. Right over Left:  Acting on Intuition is hot. Jobs reducible to rules or machines – from conveyancing and programming to TurboTax and accounting, are being off-shored. The premiums are in ideas, stories emotion – and love; in fine arts and film degrees, not MBAs. A sign in Einstein’s office read: “Not everything that can be counted counts, and not everything that counts can be counted.” Bring it on Albert!

5. Six degrees and falling:  The idea that we are each part of a synchronous design is heating up. Stanley Milgram’s 1967 “six degrees of separation” theory has spread through popular culture, from John Guare’s 1990 play and the Kevin Bacon game to Duncan Watts’ research and Gladwell’s Tipping Point. Now search engine technology is pumping gas into social network theory. “Smart tags” will create the semantic web.. A web not for browsing, but for answering questions in a digital flash.

6. Pattern Recognition:  Semantic webbing is part of a bigger pattern. William Gibson’s book about Cayce Pollard – with her pathological sensitivity to logos – had its finger on the random pulse. New security biometrics are part of the picture. So is “Biomimicry”, as championed by Janine Benyus, where nature’s ruthlessly-efficient designs are applied to solve human problems. Example? Studying a leaf to invent a better solar cell.

7. Blink:  Malcolm Gladwell is the rock star of post-modern analysis, and he’s got the hair to back it up. In his New York Times #1 bestseller, the little battler marries random instincts and pattern recognition, using style not ceremony. The connection between instinct and narrow slices of experience is on the money for smart decision-making. Emotion over information, with sanity checks as a fail-safe? Buy Blink now.

8. The Bio-economy:  If the 19th century was the age of chemistry, and the 20th of physics, the 21st is the age of biology. Hard, predictive science with linear growth is behind us. Ahead is soft science with non-predictive quantum outcomes. From hydrogen to computers, soft is the new order. Quizzed on why Apple is in vogue, Jobs made a cognitive leap: “Software is the key… In fact, software is the user experience.”

Now some coincidence at everyday level:

9.  Serendipity:  How many times have you thought of someone, and a second later the phone rings, and it’s them? More than you can shake a stick at.

10.  Scale:  In probability theory, the birthday problem is famous. You need to get together 367 people to ensure 2 of them share a birthday. But for a 50-50 chance of this happening, you only need 23 people gathered.

11.  Inverted History:  Lincoln made Congress in 1846, Kennedy in 1946. Lincoln made President in 1860. Kennedy in 1960. Both were shot on a Friday in the head. Before Lincoln was shot he was in Monroe, Maryland. Before Kennedy was shot he was into Marilyn Monroe. (Oops).

12.  Between ‘f’ and ‘h’:  What is it with “G” and the latest science geniuses and gurus? First James Gleick on the speed of modern life. Next Gibson’s Pattern Recognition. Now Gladwell’s Blink. Looking for the next bestseller? Look under G!!

13.  The other side:  My close friend John Kirwan scored the greatest solo try in rugby history against Italy in the 1987 World Cup. Now he coaches Italy’s national side.

What to say about coincidence? First, improbable events are a certainty on the numbers. Foresight with accuracy is rare, but remarkable coincidences in hindsight are a sure thing. Events with million-to-one odds occur 295 times a day in America. But is destiny just random chance? I say no (which screws the theory of quantum mechanics). Recent research on mind and heart agrees, showing we are  synaptically and emotionally primed to find coincidences (“the neurons that fire together wire together”), and quite possibly, human thought changes the future.

95 percent of human thought is not fully conscious. Conscious understanding was never a reliable guide, as Psychologist George Millar demonstrates with a conversation on a ship. Says one: “There sure is alot of water in the ocean.”  Says another: “Yea, and we’ve only seen the top of it.”

The thin-sliced sub-conscious, fed by emotional tributaries, is a better bet. Rigorous research now indicates the brain acts as an early warning system and the heart receives and responds to intuitive information. It turns out we can be aware of an event 5-7 seconds before it occurs. The bottom line is that when stuff has an underlying cause, we tend to notice it.

So maybe the metaphysicists are right. We are each a walking point of time, mysteriously interlocked, interconnected and synchronized to work together. Who can say for sure? What we can do is make coincidence work for not against us. As Heraclitus wrote: “the unseen design of things is more harmonious than the seen.” So here are some thin slices of synchronicity:

14.  Pursue the story:  Believe in the power of mystery. If we know everything, there is nothing left to discover. Assume: 5% you know, 15% you know you don’t know and 80% you don’t know you don’t know. Be open to coincidence. It will lead you to a life of fun and surprises.

15.  The fish tale:  Good coincidence, serendipity, is like fishing. To land a whopper you need a line in the water. For a beautiful life, expose yourself! Global interconnectedness is a huge opportunity. Proactively seed your presence in multiple spaces. Follow up on every coincidence. As Woody Hayes said, “luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity”.

16.  How we learn:  Malcolm Gladwell says you have to accept the risk of failure to hit a home run. Failure is the ultimate reality check! Be in over your head. Don’t be afraid to lose because then and only then will you know what you’re made of. Just remember, a genius is a person who makes the same mistake. Once.

17.  Links:  Don’t confuse coincidence with certainty. We are all connected. Confront bad coincidence. Where we are born in the world should not determine whether we live or die as a child. There are huge problems like AIDs and poverty to sort out. Africa needs to be solved not saved. As Rock legend Bono said last month: “Idealism detached from action is just a dream.”

18.  Sources:  Listen to collective intelligence, what James Surowiecki called the “Wisdom of Crowds.” It’s a fantastic way to cut through expert crap. A Google search is collective coincidence working together. Why are smart companies now asking consumers to design and create their products? So the market doesn’t dump their offering.

19.  Actions:  Make the small decisions with your head; the big ones with your heart. People who change the world sure do. For the New Year, online magazine Edge asked 120 luminaries “What do you believe is true even though you cannot prove it.” A fantastic question with incredible responses. I’m a radical optimist. I love radical optimism. The words that sum up my life? Nothing Is Impossible.

Friday, October 16, 2026

Any Human Ever

"The only easy day was yesterday." 





Burying the Horrors of Epstein Island The Epstein Files by Julie K. Brown





Any Human Ever randomly picks an average person from some point in human history and tells you about what their life was like. Mine was a woman born in 1547: “Of all the sounds of her life, the loudest were thunder and the church bells.”

Bill McKibben: I’m Exhausted. You’re Demoralized. We Weren’t Built for a World Like This. The human nervous system wasn’t designed for the polycrisis. “Among all the other dangers these developments represent, they’re simply wearing us out.”

Unseen Places: Rediscovering the Art of Observation by Anna Kodé. Looking forward to this one…Kodé is one of my favorite journalists covering urban culture. “Observation…is not a passive act, but a powerful and radical way of connecting…”


Nearly 4M Records of Enslaved People in 20 Former British Colonies Now Searchable Online. “The Former British Colonies Enslavement Registers contains about 300,000 pages recording enslaved people across former British colonial dependencies…”




'An Interzone Between Prose and Poetry'

Among Clive James’ books, perhaps the least read is Gate of Lilacs (Picador, 2016), a book of poems mostly about Marcel Proust and James’ imminent death (he would die in 2019). The poet taught himself French by reading Proust and a dictionary across many decades. Proust and his masterwork were essential to my education as well. I first read the Scott-Moncrieff translation, Remembrance of Things Past, over the summer of 1971 while managing a miniature golf course – a silly setting Proust would have appreciated. Ten years later, when I was working as a newspaper reporter, I read Terence Kilmartin’s newly revised edition of In Search of Lost Time. While reading Proust I remember thinking all the rest of literature was somehow second-rate, even Shakespeare. That left me feeling rather guilty and somehow disloyal. In his postscript James writes: 

“Proust was a very clever man, and had nothing to do with his day except observe, study and write. His powers of observation were as acute as Dante’s, Shakespeare’s or Goethe’s, but we might say the same of Lucretius, or of Homer when he registered in a set of syllables the quivering of a bowstring: when Conrad said that the writer’s aim was ‘above all, to make you see’, he forgot to say that the ability to observe is the writer’s first qualification.”

 

That’s what I remember: Proust’s powers of concentration, the way he could observe a scene and analyze it for many pages without being tedious. James takes up one of his favorite themes: the relationship of prose to poetry:

 

“Perhaps it merely blurs categories to say that the expression of a thought in prose can have a poetry of its own, but in fact poets have always been attracted to the mere sound of phrases lying loose. Tell a poet that Kepler, with his newly improved refracting telescope, observed SN 1604 in Serpentarius and you might get no reaction. But tell the same poet that Kepler studied the geometry of lunar shadows and he might make a note, because the phrase sounds good. There is an interzone between prose and poetry: a porous border where the discursive expression of a thought is rhythmic or resonant enough to take off on its own and enter the area where words and phrases, seemingly in search of one another, combine into a meaning beyond analysis.”

 

The accompanying poems are not merely discursive. James often returns to his illness and mortality. In the section titled, after Prospero, “I’ll Drown My Books,” James writes:

 

“And soon

All that I love will leave me, as I go

First into silence, then the fire, and then

The harbour water, in which there will be

At last no room to breathe, no time to think:

No time to think even of you, Marcel.”

 

If you have ever contemplated reading Proust but have been daunted by its length or reputation, let me recommend Gate of Lilacs as an excellent orexigenic – an appetite stimulant. I’m taking a dose of it myself for a third reading.