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A few years into my career, I went back to a project I'd built solo about eighteen months earlier. I was proud of it at the time. It had a custom state management solution, several layers of abstraction, a utility library I'd assembled myself, and what I distinctly remember thinking of as "a robust architecture." Reading through it again, I spent twenty minutes just trying to understand why I'd built a particular module the way I had. The logic was split across four files. There were abstractions on top of abstractions. Two functions did nearly the same thing with slightly different names. A third was never called anywhere. The worst part wasn't the code itself. It was realizing that a simpler version, one I could have written in a day instead of a week, would have done exactly the same thing with a fraction of the complexity. That experience changed how I think about software development more than any course, book, or conference ever did. Writing less code, genuinely less, often requires more thinking than writing more. And the developers who figure that out early tend to produce work that holds up significantly better over time. Why More Code Doesn't Mean Better Code There's a belief that's easy to absorb early in a development career, that skill shows up in volume. More features, more files, more clever solutions. A complex system feels like proof that something serious was built here. That feeling is almost entirely wrong. More code means more surface area for bugs. Every line is a line that can break, a line that needs to be read, a line that needs to be tested, a line that a new team member has to understand before they can confidently change anything. None of those costs are trivial, and they compound. Complexity hides bugs. A simple function with one responsibility is easy to test and easy to debug. A function that does five things, or calls three other functions that each do three things, creates a web of possible failure points that's genuinely difficult t

Biology could explain the find, but there are other potential explanations.

I didn’t set out to become a systems architect. In fact, I didn’t even know that’s what I was becoming. There was no grand plan, no formal training, no moment where someone handed me a title. It happened the same way most systems failures happen: slowly, then all at once. What I did have was a habit. Whenever something broke — a workflow, a process, a piece of software, an organisation — I couldn’t leave it alone. I needed to understand why. Not the surface‑level “why,” but the structural one. The hidden one. The one nobody sees until it’s too late. Most people move on when something fails. I map it. I started noticing patterns. The same failure modes appeared everywhere: unclear ownership, mismatched incentives, brittle assumptions, invisible dependencies, and the classic “we built this fast and hoped it wouldn’t collapse.” Different domains, same architecture problems. I wasn’t trying to fix things. I was trying to understand them. But understanding inevitably leads to repair, and repair inevitably leads to design. Eventually I realised I wasn’t just analysing systems — I was architecting them. Not officially. Not ceremonially. Just… functionally. I became the person who could see the structure beneath the mess. The person who could explain why something was breaking and what would happen next. The person who could redesign the thing so it wouldn’t break again. People started asking me questions that only architects get asked. “Why is this happening?” “How do we stop it?” “What should this look like instead?” “What’s the underlying pattern here?” I didn’t have a job title for it. I didn’t need one. The work defined itself. Over time, I realised that “systems architect” was simply the most accurate description of what I was already doing. Not in the traditional enterprise sense — no UML diagrams, no formal frameworks, no ivory‑tower abstractions. More like: the person who sees the real structure beneath the chaos and can articulate it clearly enough that others fin

Table of Contents Setting a New Benchmark for Myself My Most Productive Six Months Yet 2...

From order, chaos. From courage, fear. From strength, weakness. — The 36 Stratagems, "Make a Sound...

I’ve wanted to build a text editor for a long time. Not because I thought the world needed another one — it clearly doesn’t — but because editors are one of those projects where you end up touching everything: rendering, input handling, text buffers, undo, plugins, configuration, even OS integration. It felt like the most honest way to learn how these tools actually work. So I finally did. cdin is a lightweight, keyboard-centric text editor with Vim-style modal editing. It started as a fork of lite , but over time it became something more personal. I kept the parts I liked, removed the parts I did not, and reshaped the rest to match the way I actually work. A big reason for that was my computer. I have a weak machine, and that made heavier text editors feel frustrating to use. They were often slow, laggy, or just too much for what I needed. That is how I discovered lite in the first place. It was close to what I wanted, but not quite there. So I forked it, renamed it to cdin, and started making it mine. That meant more than just small tweaks. I removed features I did not need, changed the things that felt awkward, moved from SDL2 to SDL3, and rewired a lot of the project structure along the way. The result is cdin: a small editor built around speed, simplicity, and hackability. The name itself is simple too. cdin means “CODE in”. The code is split between C and Lua. The C side handles the window, renderer, and SDL bindings. Everything else — behavior, plugins, keybindings, config — is loaded in Lua at runtime. That keeps the editor flexible without making it feel heavy. If you want to explore the project, here are the main docs: Overview · Getting Started · Building from Source · Configuration · Vim Keybindings · Plugins · Command Reference There is still a lot I want to improve, but cdin already feels like something that belongs to me in a way no other editor ever did. If you check it out, please leave a star, fork it, or send an Issue or PR if you find a bug or wa

I've noticed something about myself. It's become much harder to get things done. I see less movement compared to my previous self. And sometimes, when I see people get so much done, tasks, projects, anything, I wonder why I can't make progress like that. Now I'm not comparing myself to Elon Musk here, I'm just wondering if I'm doing my best. For the longest time, I've wanted to build a portfolio website. But for some reason or another, I never actually ended up making it, or should I say, starting it. Whenever I had a free block of time, I wouldn't know where to start. I also have this side project I've been wanting to work on. I started it, then never made any more progress beyond the initial feasibility analysis. Why did I never allocate time to either? The Overthinking Starts Early I wanted the portfolio website to be really good. I wanted cool additions, beyond the usual "about me" and "projects" sections, I wanted things like "songs I'm obsessed with right now" and "last night I slept at." I was also looking if my fitbit has an API to show my live heart-rate on my portfolio (why would someone do that?). I was obsessed with the features, and with using the right tech to make it as efficient as possible. What stack should I even use for a portfolio? Same story with this very blog. Before writing a single word, I was wondering what stack to use. I looked into a ton of existing blogs for inspiration, how do I track views, what about comments, how do I stop a DDoS from flooding my DB if I'm storing comments, should I require auth just to leave a comment, should I support font and background color changes, themes, what's the best tool to do all of that? I've noticed this pattern with almost everything I do. I'm so obsessed with doing things right on the first attempt that I never actually make the first attempt, because "doing it right" is just too demanding. Or a related trap, when I want to do something perfectly , I discover prerequisites, and those prerequisites

There is a fascinating, quiet tension happening in the software engineering community right now. If you listen closely to late-night developer chats, team syncs, or tech forums, you will notice that our industry has rapidly split into two distinct schools of thought regarding the rise of AI coding tools like Cursor, Claude Code, and Copilot. On one side, you have the Traditional Developers. They argue that software engineering is a disciplined art form that cannot be replaced by text prompts. To them, unchecked AI coding is a recipe for buggy, unreadable spaghetti code, creating a technical debt nightmare for the future. On the other side, you have the Vibe Coders. This is a fast-moving generation of builders, both technical and non-technical, who believe in shipping fast, prompting quickly, and adjusting on the fly. They do not see a need to obsess over syntax when the AI can translate their intent into a working application in minutes. The reality is that both sides are entirely right. If we stop arguing over who is ruling the current meta and actually look at the core truths each camp holds, we can see exactly where the future of software development is heading. 1. The Traditional Developer is Right: Guardrails Matter The traditional development camp is fundamentally right about structure. Building a beautifully designed UI that works on a surface level is vastly different from building an enterprise-ready, scalable architecture. When you prompt an AI to build a feature, its primary objective is to satisfy the literal words in your core prompt. This is the "as long as it works" mentality. Unless you are practicing strict, spec-driven development and explicitly dictating your architectural doctrines, security protocols, and API patterns, the AI will make assumptions for you. Historically, those assumptions are optimized for speed and not long-term stability. Without deep technical oversight to catch anti-patterns, edge cases, and hidden security flaws, fast-shippe

This is from a 2024 company presentation : Officers can also tap into data showing a car’s decals, bumper stickers, back and top racks—along with temporary and unique state tags. Flock calls it a “Vehicle Fingerprint” and it’s touted as a way for law enforcement officials to get more information “even when you don’t have full plate information,” the company’s presentation shows. The company gives police officers the ability to search that data as well, to “build stronger cases with less information upfront.” That includes being able to locate multiple vehicles law enforcement officials believe are moving together and what Flock calls a “multi geo search.”...

There is a ghost haunting the tech industry right now, and nobody wants to talk about it: The Junior Developer role is disappearing. With tools like GitHub Copilot, ChatGPT, and advanced coding agents becoming standard issue in every IDE, senior developers are suddenly 10x more productive. They no longer need a junior developer to write boilerplate code, write unit tests, or scaffold out basic UI components. The AI does it instantly. So, if you are a junior developer, or aspiring to break into tech, how do you survive? 1. Stop Memorizing Syntax, Start Thinking Architecturally AI is incredible at writing syntax, but it is terrible at system design. If your only skill is writing a for loop in React, you are competing with an AI that works for $20/month. Instead, focus on understanding how systems fit together. Learn about cloud architecture, database indexing, and distributed systems. The AI can write the function, but you have to know where that function lives and how it scales. 2. Become a "Domain Expert" Developer AI doesn't understand the nuanced business logic of the healthcare industry, or the strict compliance regulations of fintech. If you combine coding skills with deep industry knowledge, you become irreplaceable. 3. Embrace the Tools (Be the Orchestrator) Don't fight the AI. Master it. The developers who thrive in the next decade will be the ones who treat AI agents like a team of junior developers reporting to them. Learn how to craft the perfect prompts, how to use Retrieval-Augmented Generation (RAG), and how to orchestrate multiple LLMs to build complex applications. The barrier to entry for writing code has dropped to zero. But the barrier to entry for building valuable software remains exactly the same. Are you terrified of AI replacing you, or are you using it to level up?

TL;DR: I set up a Claude Code skill that checks in with me about my workday, asks follow-up questions, and saves a structured markdown file I can use as promotion evidence. Here's why it works, and how to build one in about five minutes. May 6th On May 6th I had an energy level of 2 out of 5. I got my Claude Certified Architect exam score back that day: 717 out of 1000. I needed 720. I missed it by three points. Four lines down in the same entry, my manager had told me: "your leadership is being felt around Artium. You're making a good impact." Here's the thing about that day: the bad number is vivid and self-evident. 717. Three points short. That number was going to live in my head rent-free for weeks. But the recognition? That quietly evaporates. Left to memory, May 6th is the day I failed the exam by three points. On the page, it's also the day my manager told me my leadership was landing across the company. The entry keeps the thing I'd lose otherwise. The Problem With Memory I've been bad at this for years. At performance review time, I'd stare at a blank document trying to remember what I'd actually done. I'd come up with four things instead of forty. My manager would advocate for me based on what she happened to see, which was never the full picture. The thing is, I did good work. I just didn't capture it. A few years ago I tried to solve this with Google Forms , a structured form I'd fill out at the end of each day that fed into a spreadsheet. It worked, kind of. The data was there, but it felt like homework. The form didn't ask follow-up questions. It didn't notice when I was being vague. I had to go somewhere specific to fill it out. And when review time came, I had to go back somewhere else to compile everything, figure out what mattered, and assemble it into something coherent. The friction wasn't just the daily entry. It was the whole chain: capture, retrieve, synthesize, present. I was on my own at every step. So I built something better. What I Built

The man whose Tesla struck and killed a woman inside her Texas home last month is now facing manslaughter charges, as reported earlier by The Wall Street Journal and local news outlet KHOU 11. 44-year-old Michael Butler was arrested on Wednesday and claimed to have been driving his Model 3 using Tesla's Full-Self Driving (FSD) […]

AI has made it a lot harder for tech companies like Amazon and Google to deliver on their net-zero pledges.

When the enemy is in distress, exploit the opportunity to seize advantage. — The 36 Stratagems, Loot a Burning House Who's Leo — In the last story , he was CoreStack's backend lead — the guy who built the core system alone over five years with zero P0 incidents. Then a new CTO named James showed up, spent $8M on his old employer's product, and laid off Leo's entire team. Thirteen days later, that $8M AI system collapsed — three agents fighting over context, OOM taking down six GPU servers, a 37% order duplication rate, and 2,300 customer complaints. Leo pulled the old system off his laptop, flipped one line of Nginx config, and restored service in thirty seconds. The CEO called him at 3 AM begging him to come back. He came back. Three conditions: kill the paid AI product, AI assists only — never touches the primary pipeline — and engineers decide the architecture, not the guy writing checks. The CEO agreed to all of it. So who's Leo now: CoreStack's CTO. Technically confident to the point of arrogance. Zero talent for upward management. No idea how many people he pissed off on the board with those conditions. Doesn't care. He only knows one thing — the system he built is still running. That's all the proof he needs. Then a Slack message cut him off. The Signal 12:47 AM. CoreStack's CTO gets a Slack notification. The account has no profile picture, no display name, no status. Account creation timestamp at the bottom — 00:43. Four minutes old. Seven characters: Check CodeForge's status page. Leo taps it open. CodeForge's status page is all red. Payment Routing — Major Outage. Investigating. All customers affected. Status has been active for approximately 3 hours. He pulls up CoreStack's CRM. The sales team's prospect list has ShopStream at #2 — a potential whale, with "Current Provider" reading CodeForge. E-commerce platform doing 470,000 transactions a day . An hour of downtime costs them $210,000 . If this drags on until morning? He doesn't want to do the math. Core

Early-stage firm Magnify Ventures has raised a $46.6 million Fund II from LPs including Melinda French Gates’ Pivotal Ventures

Tesla just released its second-quarter delivery and production report, showing that the automaker is starting to recover after a particularly brutal sales year in 2025. The company said that it produced a total of 451,758 vehicles between April and June of this year, including 442,936 Model 3 and Model Y vehicles, as well as 8,822 […]

Deliveries outstripped production, suggesting Tesla has cleared some inventory.

Originally published on productize.life . Quick answer: pm-skills is a marketplace of around 68 Claude skills for product management across 9 plugins, from strategy and discovery to market research and AI shipping. It is built by Pawel Huryn, author of the Product Compass newsletter. Each skill is not a loose prompt but a named, sourced framework, and one of them audits the gap between documentation and code, a PM lens built for the era of AI-written code. Last week I was reading through a run of repos that pack product work into skills. Some pick one topic and go deep. This one does the opposite: it is the broadest of the bunch. It is called pm-skills, by Pawel Huryn, the author of the Product Compass newsletter. He packs almost the entire product management craft into around 68 skills across 9 plugins, from setting strategy, running discovery, and researching the market, to analyzing data, executing, and shipping software that AI wrote. Usually something this broad ends up shallow. But when I actually opened it, it was not, and one skill in particular made me stop and look for a while , because it covers an angle that only recently became necessary in the era where AI writes code for us. I will tell it in three parts, starting with what it is , then why it is not just a prompt box , and closing with lessons for anyone building products . Terms, gathered once, right here skill a ready-made set of instructions an AI agent (such as Claude Code) can invoke, like a shortcut that wraps one way of doing a task. framework a ready-made way of thinking from the PM world, such as SWOT, JTBD, or RICE, that you once had to read a book to use well. plugin (category) a group of skills that belong to the same topic, such as the discovery category or the go-to-market category. PRD a product spec document that says what will be built, for whom, and how success is measured. Part 1: What pm-skills is It is a marketplace of around 68 Claude skills for PM, organized into 9 plugins, eac

Google tries balancing AI data center emissions with clean energy efforts.

I sat down to work for 2 hours. I actually worked for 45 minutes. Sound familiar? You open your...