Blog

This one starts with a failed project. A while back I wrote about MAGA Mick — a cartoon character I was building in CreateStudio4. A flannel-wearing Republican voter, slowly reckoning with the gap between what he’d been told and what he was seeing. Satirical cards, one after the other. The premise was solid. The execution? Brutal.

Wherever there is number, there is beauty. Proclus wrote that somewhere between 412 and 485 AD. I’ve been carrying that line around for years. Not because I’m a mathematician—I’m not—but because I feel it. The beauty in numbers. The strange alchemy of turning equations into images.

When the Tool Evaluates Its Own Critics Here is a short essay on the problems with AI today, followed by an exercise in critical thinking demonstrating logical fallacies. I found the essay somewhere on the internet (don’t remember where), then I asked an AI to look for logical fallacies in the text.

Got Notes? # Most note-taking systems are designed for humans. You write notes, organize them, and hope you can find them later. But what if your AI assistant could be a full participant—reading your notes for context, writing new ones, and helping you build a knowledge base over time?

I found this one at the dump. I reminded me of my great-grandfather, Joe and his eldest son - my grandfather, Forrest. The painting is real and the story is true-ish.

Meet Fabric # Fabric is an open-source tool by Daniel Miessler that provides 230+ reusable AI prompt patterns for common tasks like summarizing content, extracting insights, improving writing, and more.

Meet MAGA Mick Something new is brewing. I’ve started work on an animated cartoon—limited animation, to be honest. We’re talking slow blinks, head tilts, awkward shuffles. The kind of movement that mirrors the mental gymnastics of a man caught in a moral midlife crisis.

I’m migrating from Blogger to Hugo to get full control over my content with MD The Plan # I’m migrating because:

It started, as these things often do, with a book. Not a new book, exactly—just new to me. One of those titles that practically taps you on the shoulder from across the digital aisle:

The mountains don’t care about your festival. They were there before the fairgrounds and they’ll be there long after. They just sit above Quincy, California, the way they always have — patient, enormous, indifferent — while somewhere below, a fiddle starts up and people who’ve driven three hours from the Bay Area shuffle toward the sound.