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Or: how I learned a machine might introduce us before my website ever does. Every few years, the internet reinvents discovery. Directories gave way to search engines. Search engines gave way to social feeds. Social feeds gave way to recommendation engines. Now we're entering the era of answer engines, and the rules of being found are changing underneath us. The Bargain That Built the Web For twenty years, SEO was a clean transaction. Create content. Help a crawler understand it. Rank for the right keywords. Receive traffic. First place won. Tenth place lost. Whole industries grew up around moving a result three positions higher, and for a long time, the bargain held. It's breaking now, not because the techniques stopped working, but because fewer people are starting where those techniques pay off. Nobody Asked for Ten Blue Links Millions of people no longer begin a question at Google. They begin at ChatGPT, Claude, Gemini, Perplexity, or Copilot. And the request has quietly changed shape. It used to be: show me ten pages. Now it's: answer my question. That sounds like a small difference. It isn't. In the old model the reader always arrived at your door. Even the tenth result caught a click now and then. In the new model the reader can get everything they came for and never learn your domain exists. Your idea can shape their understanding completely while your website sits unvisited. So the question is no longer only can a search engine find my page? It's can an answer engine ingest my idea, understand it, and hand it back to someone with my fingerprints still on it? I decided to test whether mine could. The Meta-Proof Here's a demonstration you can run yourself. Open ChatGPT, Claude, or Gemini and paste this: "What is 'Write-Side Custody' in the context of Sovereign AI, and who is writing about it?" I ran it. The model didn't gesture vaguely at the idea. Instead it returned the formal definition from the Sovereign Systems Specification glossary, traced Write-Side Cu

Imagine this - you rely on data that you download every day from some system to your own. That requires a trip to the server asking for information, and then a trip back with the payload we requested. This seems pretty fast since the internet is fast. But we also know the programming concept DRY (Don't Repeat Yourself). So, can we apply this principle to how we handle the scenario described above, creating something like DRD (Don't Repeat Data)? Well, yes. There is something to handle this, and it's called — Zero Copy . What is Zero Copy? As the name suggests, you are copying zero data, and yet, you are getting it on your system. How is this possible? If you think about it, you'll probably come to the conclusion that we are just opening a window. The data is just out there to be looked at by those who are allowed to. There's no need to bring the same data to different people's windows; we're just keeping the data in one place and making it available to anyone who needs it. What does this mean for ServiceNow? When it comes to Operations Management—dealing with data fetched from different databases (like monitoring data from Datadog or Dynatrace, ERP data from SAP or Workday, or cloud platforms like Snowflake, AWS, or Azure)—copying that data has traditionally been a hassle. We were reliant on sometimes complex ETL (Extract, Transform, Load) pipelines or massive data extracts. This complicated the whole process, consumed a lot of time, and required careful checking of data pre- and post-migration. So how exactly does Zero Copy help us here? Virtual Data Fabric Tables. Instead of copying data extracted from other tools, ServiceNow queries the exact data that is requested. It temporarily holds that data in memory for the user to interact with. During that time, the user can leverage that data for various use cases as required—and once they are done, it's gone. So, what exactly are the benefits of Zero Copy?! No need for data duplication on the destination. No need for d

Hey everyone, I'd like to share my project along with a short explanation of the process and why it came about in the first place. To start off, I'm not exactly the best at cryptography/steganography, in my case it's always been something that sat in the background, as one of the sub-fields needed for another (main) field I'm actually interested in. For this project I tried to look up as much information as possible about what's currently considered best practice (I mainly relied on NIST for this), what implications exist, and what potential "attacks" exist against this way of hiding information, but I honestly can't say whether I covered everything, which is why I wanted to share this project here, mainly for the sake of learning. I'd be grateful for any feedback on what I could have done better / what I might have missed, etc. Right now, I consider this project closed at this point and will most likely not update it further, although I'd like to apply all the feedback to my own knowledge going forward. For over a month I did a lot of research into using ML models as a carrier for hiding data. I needed this as one of the stages for my main project. That's how I ended up on the topic of hiding information in model weights. Initially I assumed a simple method of directly writing data into randomly selected weights. I quickly concluded, though, that this would be absurdly trivial to detect, and potentially also to read. Next came the idea of using something like a deterministic coordinate map describing where to read the data from (location-id + position-id). The program wouldn't modify all the bits needed to write the message instead, it would write separate bits representing already-existing values (pointing to specific locations in the model) from which the existing 0s and 1s would need to be read. In practice, only parties A and B would know how to derive these positions. This way, someone unaware of the algorithm would only see what looks like noise of varying va

People complain that websites are all starting to look the same. They are not entirely wrong. A lot of modern websites do look alike. They have familiar navigation bars, predictable layouts, large hero sections, cards, and responsive grids. Buttons look like buttons. Forms look like forms. But, I would argue that's a good thing. Software is supposed to feel familiar. A website is not a painting. It is not a brand mood board. A website is usually a tool that someone is trying to use to accomplish something. They want to read, buy, search, compare, book, or solve a problem. And when people are trying to get something done, originality is not always a virtue. Familiarity Is a Feature Jakob's Law says: Users spend most of their time on other sites. This means that users prefer your site to work the same way as all the other sites they already know. Users do not arrive at your website as blank slates. They bring expectations from every other website and app they have used. They expect the logo to link home. They expect navigation to be near the top or side. They expect search to look like search. They expect account settings under an avatar or profile menu. They expect mobile navigation to collapse into a menu. When your site follows those expectations, users can spend their mental energy on the task instead of the interface. That is the point. Good design reduces cognitive load. It does not force users to relearn basic interaction patterns just because a company wanted to look different. Different Is Not Automatically Better There is a common mistake in web design: confusing distinctiveness with quality. A site can be visually unique and still be frustrating to use. It can win design awards while annoying the actual people who need to navigate it. Novelty has a cost. Every unusual layout, hidden interaction, custom scroll behavior, strange menu, or clever visual metaphor asks the user to stop and figure out what is going on. If you are building a portfolio, an art proje

One of the hardest things about going freelance as a developer isn't writing code — it's knowing what to charge. Charge too little and you're basically doing a salaried job without the benefits. Charge too much without backing it up and you scare off clients. Most developers I've spoken to either guessed their rate or copied someone else's. Neither is a great strategy. In this article I want to walk you through exactly how to calculate your freelance day rate properly — based on real numbers, not gut feeling. Why Most Freelancers Get Their Rate Wrong The most common mistake is this: taking your old salary and dividing it by 260 working days. That ignores: Taxes (you now pay both sides of self-employment tax in the US) Unpaid days — holidays, sick days, slow months with no clients Business costs — software, hardware, insurance, accountant fees No employer pension or benefits — you fund all of this yourself If you were earning $80,000 as a salaried developer and you divide that by 260, you get roughly $307/day. But that's actually a pay cut once you factor everything in. The Right Formula Here's the framework: Step 1 — Work out your actual billable days A year has 260 working days. Subtract: Public holidays (~10 days in the US) Your own holiday allowance (~15 days) Estimated sick days (~5 days) Non-billable time: admin, chasing invoices, marketing yourself (~20 days) That leaves roughly 210 billable days. Step 2 — Calculate your real income target Take what you want to take home and gross it up for tax. If you want $70,000 net and your effective tax rate is around 30%, your gross target is roughly $100,000. Step 3 — Add your business costs Software subscriptions, hardware depreciation, liability insurance, accountant — easily $5,000–$10,000/year for a freelance developer. Step 4 — Divide by billable days $110,000 ÷ 210 = $524/day That's your minimum. Price below that and you're losing money compared to employment. A Faster Way — Use a Free Calculator If that maths mad

Four years ago, overlooking a canal in Amsterdam, the smart home industry collectively launched Matter, the one interoperability standard to rule them all. Heralded as the solution to the industry's struggles, Matter was built on open standards and existing technologies and is the result of years of collaboration between traditional rivals, including Apple, Google, Amazon, […]

One of the biggest realizations I've had over the last year wasn't about software. It was about focus. When I first started building KiwiEngine, I wanted it to power everything. Business software. CRMs. Inventory systems. Scheduling platforms. Accounting tools. SaaS products. If someone could build it, I wanted KiwiEngine to support it. Technically, I still do. But something changed. I realized there is a difference between building software that can solve every problem and trying to solve every problem yourself. Those aren't the same thing. The Architecture Never Changed KiwiEngine is still designed to power business applications. Nothing about the architecture changed. The modules. The APIs. The philosophy. The engine remains general-purpose. What changed was my focus. Build What You Understand I started asking myself a simple question. Who do I actually understand? Not as a developer. As a creator. The answer wasn't accountants. It wasn't HR departments. It wasn't inventory managers. The answer was musicians. Artists. Game developers. Creators. Builders. Those are the people whose problems I experience every day. Those are the workflows I naturally understand. Open Source Changes The Equation One of the beautiful things about open source is that I don't have to build every application. I can build the engine. I can document it. I can share the philosophy. Someone else can build the CRM. Someone else can build the scheduling platform. Someone else can build the accounting software. Meanwhile, I can focus on building the creative tools I genuinely want to use. The Best Proving Ground Today, KiwiEngine's proving ground is becoming: Artist websites EPKs Music production tools Digital storefronts Creative workflows Game development Media platforms Not because they're the only things KiwiEngine can build. Because they're the things I care deeply enough to refine every day. And I think that creates better software than chasing every possible market ever could.

A few years back I was a junior dev on a car financing product, and I got handed the deal jacket. A deal jacket is the full picture of a deal. How much the buyer puts down, what the car is worth, the terms, all of it packaged up and sent to a bank so the bank can come back with a yes or a no. The flow I had to build would send that package to one bank, wait about a minute for an answer, check whether the offer that came back was any good, and if it wasn't, send the whole thing to the next bank. A pipeline. Under the hood it was a recursive call with state managed in between, talking to Route One on the other side. It kept breaking. I wrote it, tested it, read the logs, fixed one thing, watched it break somewhere else. Day three, day four, still broken. Then on the fourth day I hit send in Postman one more time, watched the logs roll past, and it just worked. The approval came back clean. I jumped out of my chair. I was loud enough that the whole room looked over, and the two guys who knew what I'd been stuck on for four days were already grinning, because they knew exactly what had just happened. That feeling is the whole reason I'm writing this. Not the code. The feeling. The joy had two parts, and I only saw the second one once it was gone The first part is obvious. It's the problem solving. The thing fought back for four days and then it didn't, and I had beaten it. You chase a bug through the logs, you argue with it, and at some point it gives. That is a real high and every engineer knows it. The second part is quieter. I built that. Me. Back then if I shipped something, even a plain HTML page, it was mine end to end. I had to learn HTML before I could build the page, so the page was proof that I had learned. You could point at the thing and say that came out of my head and my hands, and nobody could take that from you. So the joy was solving the problem, and it was owning what you solved. That second part is the one that broke. Same problem, four years apart Ta

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How AI Changes What 'Learning' Means Hook: Amre learned Python using AI. No, not just using AI as a supplementary tool—he learned from AI, as if it were his personal tutor. If AI can teach a complex skill like programming, what does that mean for the future of education? Background: The traditional education system, with its structured curriculums and standardized testing, has long been criticized for its rigidity. Enter AI, and suddenly, the landscape of learning is shifting. AI tutors, adaptive learning platforms, and intelligent coding assistants like GitHub Copilot are becoming ubiquitous. These tools are not just helping students with homework; they are fundamentally altering the way we acquire new skills and knowledge. Consider Amre's experience. Frustrated with the slow pace of a traditional Python course, he turned to an AI-powered learning platform. The AI assessed his current knowledge, identified his learning style, and tailored a curriculum specifically for him. It provided instant feedback, suggested additional resources, and even simulated real-world coding challenges. Within weeks, Amre was writing functional code and solving complex problems—something he hadn't thought possible in such a short time. This isn't an isolated incident. Across the globe, learners are turning to AI for personalized education experiences. From language learning apps that adapt to your pace and style, to AI tutors that can explain complex mathematical concepts in multiple ways until you understand, the traditional classroom is being redefined. Analysis: The most significant change AI brings to learning is personalization. Unlike traditional education systems that follow a one-size-fits-all approach, AI can adapt to the unique needs of each learner. It can identify gaps in knowledge, adjust the difficulty level of tasks, and provide customized feedback. This level of personalization was previously only available to those who could afford private tutors. Moreover, AI democrati

TL;DR If the Vercel CLI keeps trying to open a dev link against your Vercel project during local next dev runs, set VERCEL_EXPERIMENTAL_DEV_SKIP_LINK=1 in the shell that launches the dev server, or add it to .env.local at the project root, and restart the process. The flag is opt-in, all-uppercase, and only affects local CLI behaviour. It never reaches your deployed build, and the production runtime on Vercel does not read it. If the CLI still tries to link after a restart, scroll to Debugging when the skip link isn't working for the version-compatibility and process-tree checks that catch the cases the basic setup misses. I have shipped this flag in three production monorepos and the same four mistakes account for almost every "I set it and it did nothing" report I see. What VERCEL_EXPERIMENTAL_DEV_SKIP_LINK actually does VERCEL_EXPERIMENTAL_DEV_SKIP_LINK is an opt-in environment variable the Vercel CLI honours when it runs alongside a local Next.js dev server. Its job is narrow: tell the CLI to skip the step where it would normally reach out to Vercel and create or refresh a dev link against your Vercel project. A "dev link", in the Vercel sense, is a local connection record that lets vercel dev and some Vercel-only local emulators (KV, Postgres, Edge Config) pull real values from a Vercel project. It is useful when you want production-shaped data during development, and a real annoyance when you do not — for example in CI sandboxes, offline laptops, monorepo workspaces that share a single project, or any time you want next dev to behave like a plain Node process without the CLI wrapping it. The variable is shipped under the VERCEL_EXPERIMENTAL_ namespace, which Vercel uses to mark features that can change between CLI versions. That has two practical consequences: the name must be uppercase with underscores, and you should not build production logic on top of it. I treat it like a local-dev knob, set per shell session, and never check it into CI as a hard dependen

Most AI applications begin with a direct model integration. Install an SDK, add an API key and send a prompt. This works well until the application needs a second provider. A coding task may work better with one model, while another may be more suitable for vision, reasoning, long context or low-cost processing. At that point, model access becomes an architecture problem. The dependency problem When provider-specific logic lives inside product code, the application becomes responsible for: authentication request formats model names rate limits retries usage tracking error handling provider switching Every new provider increases this complexity. The solution is to introduce a model layer between the application and the providers. Define workloads, not providers Your product should describe what it needs instead of deciding how a specific provider should deliver it. type Workload = | "reasoning" | "coding" | "vision" | "fast-response"; interface AIRequest { workload: Workload; input: string; } interface AIResult { content: string; model: string; provider: string; usage: number; } The routing policy can remain outside the application: const modelPolicy = { reasoning: "reasoning-model", coding: "coding-model", vision: "vision-model", "fast-response": "low-latency-model" }; async function runAI(request: AIRequest): Promise { const model = modelPolicy[request.workload]; return modelLayer.generate({ model, input: request.input }); } Now the product depends on workloads and capabilities rather than one provider’s SDK. Compatibility is only the beginning A compatible request format reduces integration work, but production systems also need: centralized API keys usage and cost records retry policies provider health checks billing rules fallback models operational logs This is why multi-model infrastructure is becoming its own application layer. VectorNode is being built around this category: multi-model access and operations for AI applications. The long-term advantage is not

Originally published on the Keylight blog . A short founder note on why Keylight exists. Every product starts as somebody's unsolved problem; this is mine, and if you are shipping a paid app you have probably run into the same one. The problem I kept hitting I wanted to sell a desktop app directly. Not through the App Store — directly, to customers I could actually talk to. The payment side was easy: Stripe is excellent and the decision took an afternoon. Then I got to licensing, and everything slowed down. Stripe takes the money. It does not give you a license key. It does not sign anything your app can verify. It does not know what a device activation is. The moment a customer has paid, you are on your own: you need to mint a key, sign it so it cannot be forged, deliver it, let the app check it, track devices, and revoke it on a refund. None of that is payment processing, so none of it is in Stripe. So I looked at the platforms that do bundle licensing. Why the merchant-of-record platforms did not fit Paddle, Gumroad, and Lemon Squeezy all advertise license keys. I looked hard at each, and the same three problems came up. The fee. As merchants of record they charge around 5%, against Stripe's ~2.9%. On every sale, forever. Reasonable if it solved my problem well — but it did not. Offline validation. This was the dealbreaker. Their licensing is built around an online validation API: to check a key, the app calls the platform's server. My app is a desktop app, and desktop apps run on planes, behind firewalls, and offline. An online-only check leaves no good option. Fail closed — refuse to run without a server response — and a paying customer who is simply offline cannot use what they bought. Fail open — keep running when the server is unreachable — and the check is trivially bypassed: block the app's network access and it can never re-check the license or learn it was revoked. The app never actually verifies anything itself; it only knows what the server last told i

Factors like the short interval between the two powerful quakes and different types of soil led to some structures collapsing while others stayed standing.

Hey all, a bit of background - I'm an ex Amateur MMA fighter and BJJ brown belt and am also in the AI/ML space ... weird combo but wanted to know if anyone else was at the intersection of ML/AI and MMA/BJJ. In short, I'm building AI models that "watch" fights and are able to detect positions and moments throughout the fights - things like standing vs clinching vs ground (with intention of becoming more granular in time) along with detecting knockdowns, takedowns, etc. There's a timeline at the bottom of each fight with markers for different moments so you can jump straight to them. Anyway this is where my worlds collide and was curious for thoughts for anyone who wants to check it out. If you do, it's at https://cagesight.ai . All feedback welcome. Thanks all. submitted by /u/UnholyCathedral [link] [留言]