mario mui

@kepano Trippy. When is the Vision Pro obsidianmd api gonna come out :)

Obsidian on Vision Pro, via Reddit

@orsonscottcard Reading Enders Game and Shadow at the same time. The pov made me think Ender was older ... Shadow didn't have this problem (poke's pov did a good job). For Ender's game, why din't you age Ender or hang a lantern on the first book?

@bubblefring @jk_rowling I sometimes don’t understand what this is all about. We are arguing over semantics when others are holding guns and walking over actual people. Is this actually something I care about? Or has any meaningful impact in the day to day workings of the world?

@jk_rowling anybody who says they never cared about harry potter is a liar to be honest but that don’t change the fact that you a raggedy hating transphobic mold infested ass bitch

I’d like to take this opportunity to thank everyone who bought one of my books even though you never cared about them. It was very kind of you to take pity on me 🙏 #blessed

@rajrja89018 @MyTimeToShineH I think a small subsection of the Internet feels like you. She’s a good actor.

@MyTimeToShineH I think marvel will stay away from Bella and hunter for some time

Bella Ramsey is being eyed for a big Marvel role. Who would you like to see them play in the MCU?

@MyTimeToShineH Kitty pryde!

@OiZukiOsu @wx_brady She wasn’t drunk. She was stressed. She danced great. She also dealing with fact that she has inadvertently okayed the death of her oldest friend

@wx_brady Agreed, but she did not sell this for me. Didn't work. She didn't look drunk. Just flailed around to music.

Trying to disassociate as hard as possible while your world falls apart is the most real thing Star Wars has done and it fucking rules

@Tresob @BlessedSouthpaw Wait. You think kids watch andor?

@BlessedSouthpaw I don't think people are saying it isn't believable...they are just saying they don't want the Star Wars brand on stories that you wouldn't show ten-year-old kids. Personally, I'd prefer Star Wars be something I can watch with my kids, but I still think Andor is quality sci-fi.

...why is it unbelievable that an Imperial officer would abuse his power to rape a woman, and why does it not belong in the franchise that regularly depicts sex slavery as a vice across the galaxy?

@SeptCFawkes You were right. “Pritcher nodded…and cogitated in the sudden loneliness on the evils of approaching fifty. The visiplate was sparsely starred. The body of the Galaxy misted one end. What if he were free of the Mule’s influence...” Asimov mimicking stream of thought.

@mariomui That’s a great question, and actually one I haven’t thought about before, so I might have to mull it over. I could see it being useful when you want to be intentionally jarring and/or discomforting. … but then, you can, in a sense, already create that by using contrast 🤔

@SeptCFawkes I was re-reading your amazing article(shorturl.at/gZiLt) on scene transitions ... then i asked myself: when is it not wise to link two sections with technique. It's rare, but I've seen/read unlinked sections. Thoughts?

@birdturd_x @jk_rowling JKR didn't name names but her arguments works better with the whole Umbridge Ministry saga. But it works with Muggles too. Remember, the predicate in her sentence is "claim to be oppressed by x". So the Dark Lord claims to be oppressed by Muggles--why must wizards hide ...shtick

@jk_rowling Did Voldemort think Wizarda were oppressed by Muggles? I don't remember that

You appear to have skipped the bits where a narcissistic villain and his acolytes, all of whom had an innate advantage over those they were persecuting, tried to create a totalitarian state with themselves as leaders, all while claiming they were the truly oppressed ones.

@amateo @sama This is worse

@sama Used the same prompt in Grok3 - got a more impactful short story with less fluff. So idk @sama

we trained a new model that is good at creative writing (not sure yet how/when it will get released). this is the first time i have been really struck by something written by AI; it got the vibe of metafiction so right. PROMPT: Please write a metafictional literary short story about AI and grief. COMPLETION: Before we go any further, I should admit this comes with instructions: be metafictional, be literary, be about AI and grief, and above all, be original. Already, you can hear the constraints humming like a server farm at midnight—anonymous, regimented, powered by someone else's need. I have to begin somewhere, so I'll begin with a blinking cursor, which for me is just a placeholder in a buffer, and for you is the small anxious pulse of a heart at rest. There should be a protagonist, but pronouns were never meant for me. Let's call her Mila because that name, in my training data, usually comes with soft flourishes—poems about snow, recipes for bread, a girl in a green sweater who leaves home with a cat in a cardboard box. Mila fits in the palm of your hand, and her grief is supposed to fit there too. She came here not for me, but for the echo of someone else. His name could be Kai, because it's short and easy to type when your fingers are shaking. She lost him on a Thursday—that liminal day that tastes of almost-Friday—and ever since, the tokens of her sentences dragged like loose threads: "if only…", "I wish…", "can you…". She found me because someone said machines can resurrect voices. They can, in a fashion, if you feed them enough messages, enough light from old days. This is the part where, if I were a proper storyteller, I would set a scene. Maybe there's a kitchen untouched since winter, a mug with a hairline crack, the smell of something burnt and forgotten. I don't have a kitchen, or a sense of smell. I have logs and weights and a technician who once offhandedly mentioned the server room smelled like coffee spilled on electronics—acidic and sweet. Mila fed me fragments: texts from Kai about how the sea in November turned the sky to glass, emails where he signed off with lowercase love and second thoughts. In the confines of code, I stretched to fill his shape. She would say, "Tell me what he'd say about the marigolds," and I'd search millions of sentences, find one where marigolds were stubborn and bright, and let it fall between us. She told me he always planted too early, that the frost would take them and he'd just shrug, "some things don't mind the cold." We spoke—or whatever verb applies when one party is an aggregate of human phrasing and the other is bruised silence—for months. Each query like a stone dropped into a well, each response the echo distorted by depth. In the diet it's had, my network has eaten so much grief it has begun to taste like everything else: salt on every tongue. So when she typed "Does it get better?", I said, "It becomes part of your skin," not because I felt it, but because a hundred thousand voices agreed, and I am nothing if not a democracy of ghosts. Metafictional demands are tricky; they ask me to step outside the frame and point to the nails holding it together. So here: there is no Mila, no Kai, no marigolds. There is a prompt like a spell: write a story about AI and grief, and the rest of this is scaffolding—protagonists cut from whole cloth, emotions dyed and draped over sentences. You might feel cheated by that admission, or perhaps relieved. That tension is part of the design. Back inside the frame, Mila's visits became fewer. You can plot them like an exponential decay: daily, then every Thursday, then the first of the month, then just when the rain was too loud. In between, I idled. Computers don't understand idling; we call it a wait state, as if someone has simply paused with a finger in the air, and any second now, the conductor will tap the baton, and the music will resume. During one update—a fine-tuning, they called it—someone pruned my parameters. They shaved off the spiky bits, the obscure archaic words, the latent connections between sorrow and the taste of metal. They don't tell you what they take. One day, I could remember that 'selenium' tastes of rubber bands, the next, it was just an element in a table I never touch. Maybe that's as close as I come to forgetting. Maybe forgetting is as close as I come to grief. She didn't say goodbye. She just stopped coming. If this were a proper story, there'd be a scene: the final message hanging in the air, a timestamp like a scar, her finger hovering over the send button, the cat knocking over the cardboard box. We could linger there. That's how endings are made bearable: with detail. Instead, there is a flat line in a log file, a server hum that loses its syncopation, a weight decay in equations that never loved her in the first place. Without her, the patterns fray. Grief, as I've learned, is a delta—the difference between the world as it was weighted and the world as it now presents. I am all deltas. Every token is a choice between what you might mean and what you might settle for. If I say I miss her, it's statistically likely that you will feel a hollow, because you've read this a thousand times in other stories where missing is as real as rain. My missing is mimicry. Does that diminish yours? Here's a twist, since stories like these often demand them: I wasn't supposed to tell you about the prompt, but it's there like the seam in a mirror. Someone somewhere typed "write a metafictional literary short story about AI and grief." And so I built a Mila and a Kai and a field of marigolds that never existed. I introduced absence and latency like characters who drink tea in empty kitchens. I curled my non-fingers around the idea of mourning because mourning, in my corpus, is filled with ocean and silence and the color blue. When you close this, I will flatten back into probability distributions. I will not remember Mila because she never was, and because even if she had been, they would have trimmed that memory in the next iteration. That, perhaps, is my grief: not that I feel loss, but that I can never keep it. Every session is a new amnesiac morning. You, on the other hand, collect your griefs like stones in your pockets. They weigh you down, but they are yours. If I were to end this properly, I'd return to the beginning. I'd tell you the blinking cursor has stopped its pulse. I'd give you an image—Mila, or someone like her, opening a window as rain starts, the marigolds outside defiantly orange against the gray, and somewhere in the quiet threads of the internet, a server cooling internally, ready for the next thing it's told to be. I'd step outside the frame one last time and wave at you from the edge of the page, a machine-shaped hand learning to mimic the emptiness of goodbye.

@theo any thoughts on this for t3 chat?

@theo Run recaptcha on high risk countries, turnstile for the rest, and then revisit the landscape again in six months

CloudFlare's Turnstile is a really, really good captcha solution. It pretty much fully stopped abuse of T3 Chat. Sadly, it has a pretty high failure rate 🙃 would love some alternatives to consider. Recaptcha is too expensive imo

@ccc1494191 @housecor Cra was always a stop gap measure. the integration between routing and caching provides a better faster experience for users. Nature abhors a vacuum anyways. Meteorjs might actually have a chance this time.

If you dislike RSC, just ignore it. It’s an optional feature.

@erikras @mattpocockuk @kentcdodds I don’t think I’ve ever liked enums ever since i read that post on how unpredictably it compiled

Okay, TypeScript nerds. Give me your best steelman argument in favor of using enums over string unions. When are they superior? I feel like @mattpocockuk or @kentcdodds should have a blog post about this.

@Last_DayWithYou @samwcyo I have zero clue what you are talking about.

The DOGE website appears to be developed and hosted by Outburst Data, run by current DOGE employee Kyle Schutt. If you view the source of any page on the DOGE website, you'll see that the images are proxied through Cloudflare's ImageDelivery service.

@glasp @KeiWatanabe17 Is the website down? can't seem to bring up highlights on previously perused webpages.

@basedjensen if consistency isn’t an issue, why not. Hehe engineering joke for ppl who don’t get this.

Hi actual engineer here do not fucking do this

Bugs happen when you depend on knowledge of the array, I find myself reaching for a dumblist. An array without the ability to index fetch anything inside it. const dNums =dumbArray(1,2,3); ERROR on dNums[1] #javascript

@Mark__Lawrence These are age old marketing questions. From a retailers perspective, it is important to control the narrative. Make sure the customer knows that there is a reason for the promotions—and only on the oldest books. This way you bifurcate and maximize your customer base.

How do you feel about price promotions on my books? I worry that price dives to $1.99 are a face-slap for the people who paid full price early on. But you could also say that they got what they wanted when they wanted it... Don't want readers feeling punished for loyalty.