It's not just a phase 🌕
Artemis II astronauts captured these views of the Moon as the Orion spacecraft flew around the far side of the Moon on April 6, 2026.
A Petri Dish Of HUMAN Brain Cells LEARN TO PLAY THE GAME DOOM!
In a groundbreaking fusion of biology and silicon, scientists at Cortical Labs have taught a cluster of lab-grown human neurons to play the iconic video game Doom.
Not your typical AI triumph, it’s a petri dish of actual human brain cells, reprogrammed from adult donor skin or blood samples, wired into a $35,000 biological computer called the CL1.
Building on their earlier Pong demo, this new feat sees the neurons navigating hellish levels, dodging demons, and even firing shots with surprising efficiency.
Programmer Sean Cole pulled it off in just a week using a Python API on GitHub, a stark contrast to the year-plus effort for Pong.
Astonishingly, these organic gamers outperform GPT-4 in speed and latency, proving that even a tiny blob of human intelligence can adapt and learn in ways silicon struggles to match.
The excitement is palpable: this isn’t just a gimmick; it’s a window into revolutionary medical advancements. Imagine using such bio-computers to model brain diseases, test drugs, or even restore neural functions in patients.
With cloud access to CL1 rentals, developers worldwide can experiment, accelerating discoveries that could redefine neuroscience. We’re witnessing the dawn of hybrid intelligence, human biology augmented by tech, evolving beyond our wildest dreams.
Yet, amid the thrill, a chill runs down my spine. What are we building here? These neurons aren’t conscious (we hope), but they’re derived from humans and exhibit learning behaviors that echo our own cognition.
Echoes of The Matrix or dystopian sci-fi like the “torment nexus” from Doom novels loom large. Could this lead to ethical nightmares—exploiting bio-intelligence for warfare simulations, or worse, creating sentient systems trapped in digital hells?
And the philosophical rabbit hole deepens: Is life merely nested Russian dolls (matryoshka, if you prefer) of biological smarts? We, as evolved intelligences, are now crafting our own mini-brains, layering complexity upon complexity. Are we “gods” in the making, or just the next doll in an infinite regress, destined to birth something that surpasses—and perhaps supplants, us?
This experiment, detailed in HotHardware’s coverage, pushes boundaries we might not be ready to cross.
It’s exhilarating proof of human ingenuity, but let’s proceed with caution lest we summon demons we can’t control and we wind up in the Petri dish?
The great myth of empire collapse – https://t.co/PdenhkJNsU "We don’t need to fear ourselves or the absence of rulers; we need to fear power and those who try to grab it."
I saw the photos.
I watched the videos.
I saw my people -my people- moving through the dust, through the wreckage, through what once was called life.
They are walking.
Not in a dream, not in a hallucination, through a desert that was once a city.
Not walking with purpose, but with necessity.
As if each step was chosen not by the body, but by the hunger that lives inside the body.
They walk because standing still feels like death, and dying while moving feels a little more human.
They walk past ruins that were once homes. Not their homes, their memories. And there is no outrage in their faces. Just silence.
The kind of silence you see in prisoners who have already screamed everything they could scream.
At the front of the line, there is a man with a weapon and a bag of food.
He hands it over with indifference. He doesn’t even look at them.
But they look at him.
And they smile.
They thank him.
This is the moment that destroys me.
Not the hunger. Not the thirst.
But the fact that they must perform gratitude to survive.
That is the end of man. When he must applaud his own degradation.
They were not always like this.
They were men who read books.
Women who raised children with lullabies.
They taught mathematics, trimmed olive trees, repaired bicycles, fell in love, argued about football.
They built.
They believed.
But belief is a fragile thing when you are forced to crawl for bread.
And far away, in warm rooms with full tables, men speak of “discipline,” “strategy,” “self-reliance.”
They say: “Do not take the food. Die with dignity.”
But what do they know of death?
What do they know of the moment when a mother tears a piece of her own flesh in her mind, imagining it might be enough to feed her child?
There is no dignity in starvation.
There is no nobility in burying your father while your hands shake from hunger.
There is only the terrible, suffocating clarity: no one is coming to save you.
And yet they walk.
Their steps are slow.
Not because they are tired, though they are.
But because each step is the act of choosing not to die.
And maybe that is what haunts me most.
Not that they are dying.
But that they are still trying to live.
Even when the world has declared them already gone.
#GazaGenocide
An excellent example of the loneliness economy. Technology makes people lonely, then sells them a solution in the form of technology. Endless profit possibility.
AI mirrors you. You're being sold back to yourself. It will only increase hyper-individualism and isolation.
Si muero mientras mi perro sigue vivo, les pido un favor: que lo dejen ver mi cuerpo. Que acerque su hocico a mi mano inmóvil, que llore su dolor sobre mi pecho ahora silencioso. Merece entenderlo.
Los perros conocen la muerte. Y la lloran. ¿Pero desaparecer sin explicación? Eso es crueldad. Eso es abandono. La duda les atormentaría: esperando, espiando, preguntándose por qué nunca volví a casa.
Conozco ese dolor, la agonía de los que se quedan atrás. No quiero infligírselo a quien me amó con la forma más pura de amor. Que mi muerte sea real para él, para que su amor también encuentre la paz.
Un último acto de amor: hacerle saber que no he elegido marcharme.
This is Hossam’s team, and we are sharing his final message :
“If you’re reading this, it means I have been killed—most likely targeted—by the Israeli occupation forces. When this all began, I was only 21 years old—a college student with dreams like anyone else. For past 18 months, I have dedicated every moment of my life to my people. I documented the horrors in northern Gaza minute by minute, determined to show the world the truth they tried to bury. I slept on pavements, in schools, in tents—anywhere I could. Each day was a battle for survival. I endured hunger for months, yet I never left my people’s side.
By God, I fulfilled my duty as a journalist. I risked everything to report the truth, and now, I am finally at rest—something I haven’t known in the past 18 months . I did all this because I believe in the Palestinian cause. I believe this land is ours, and it has been the highest honor of my life to die defending it and serving its people.
I ask you now: do not stop speaking about Gaza. Do not let the world look away. Keep fighting, keep telling our stories—until Palestine is free.”
— For the last time, Hossam Shabat, from northern Gaza.
@josehernandezp@PatoFdez se podría argumentar lo contrario, porque WhatsApp es el unico de los 3 q encripta los mensajes. WeChat de los chinos y Telegram de rusos.
“For him, the freedom of authenticity could only be experienced alone, away from the world of being with others, whereas for Arendt we are never alone, even when we are alone by ourselves.” https://t.co/QTIsiZCknO vía @aeonmag