Architect of systems. Student of stillness.
Four coding agents run in my terminal, and each one used to tell me something different about what it was doing. Claude Code showed context and cost. Codex showed a model name. Antigravity showed a percentage that was wrong. pi showed tokens. Three of them now share one status bar, built once. The fourth cannot join, and working out why taught me more than the code did.
There’s a reflex, when a model does the wrong thing, to add a sentence. Then another. The prompt grows every time it disappoints you, on the theory that more instruction means more control. Past a point it means the opposite, and the cost is measurable.
Breath is the one autonomic function you can take over. You can’t will your heart to slow or your stress hormones to drop, but change how you breathe and the rest of your physiology follows.
I narrated my book in my own voice without recording a single chapter. The whole thing runs locally on a Mac, costs nothing, and sounds like me. This is the build, step by step, including the failure modes nobody warns you about and the settings that fix them. You can hear the result on the audiobooks at /books/.
Vibe coding ships fast for the first hour. After that, it stops shipping anything you understand.
Most coding-agent workflows assume you’re at a terminal.
I talk to my AI assistant dozens of times a day. After months of typing full sentences, I started wondering: what if I could communicate in shorthand?
I stopped writing sentences to LLMs. Now I write something closer to YAML. Turns out they parse structure better than prose anyway.
What if your AI assistant wasn’t just a chatbot you open when you need something, but a persistent daemon running your life’s operating system?
AI coding assistants are powerful. But running multiple agents across different machines? That’s where things get interesting. And chaotic.