The Wolf of Brickell

Documenting the Journey.

[The Wolf of Brickell @wolfofbrickell]

@MurrayHillGuy1 I stoped drinking because I learned to socially perform without it. Being broke in law school while living in a major city teaches you that.

[The Wolf of Brickell @wolfofbrickell]

@sama I built my dad a recipe app for all his recipes

https://t.co/WGsqtadUvM

It even has a built in voice model with his voice clone to answer any recipe cooking questions

[Paul Graham @paulg]

This is like someone who can bench press 30 pounds writing about what it takes to bench press 600.

[The Wolf of Brickell @wolfofbrickell]

In Europe, this shopping cart would automatically get you flagged as a right wing extremist just for protein maxing and basket size.

[Murray Hill Guy @MurrayHillGuy1]

I made $1567 yesterday through random shit & partnerships on the Internet.

I’m really never going to get a job again.

[Mario Nawfal @MarioNawfal]

🇺🇸🇦🇷 Cuti Romero’s bag contained a huge pair of barbecue tongs.

Messi lost it laughing 😂😂

Writer: Samuel

[ₕₐₘₚₜₒₙ @hamptonism]

Watching this full 18-minute interview with Palantir CEO, Alex Karp is enough to teach you more about Ai than any institution would ever teach you:

[Boring_Business @BoringBiz_]

Probably the realest thing I have heard Chamath say

"Possessions are BS. They are worthless. They are a sign of insecurity, a rampant ego, and an unsettled mind. And that is okay if you are going to be a mid."

[Degen CPA @DrewVento]

Going to work is embarrassing.
You’re basically letting everybody know you need money.

[Jack Posobiec @JackPosobiec]

We’re witnessing the end of the Left in realtime

[The Vigilant Fox 🦊 @VigilantFox]

Elon Musk’s younger brother says God spoke to him while he was paralyzed from the neck down, and it was a “beautiful” message.

KIMBAL MUSK: “I land on my head [while inner tubing], and the force pushes my head into my chest. It ruptures my spine at C6 and C7. Paralyzed from the neck down.”

“This doctor says, ‘We think we can fix you.’ And then I realize I’ve got tears streaming down the side of my face, and I have no idea what is going on.”

“I’m not a religious person. If anything, I’m against religion… And I had God speak to me.”

“It was this beautiful, soft, clear message: ‘If they fix you, you’re going to work on kids and food’ ... And it also said I would get a divorce.”

“Three days later, I come out of surgery, and it’s a success. One of the first things I do is ask for a laptop. I resign from my company and tell my wife I want to work with kids and food.”

“A few months later, I said we also need to be divorced.”

The career change. The divorce that came later. All of it happened exactly as the message said.

[Marc Andreessen 🇺🇸 @pmarca]

You have asked me how I feel about AI regulation. All right, here is how I feel about AI regulation:

If, when you say AI regulation, you mean the devil’s firewall, the precautionary scourge, the bloody red-tape monster that defiles the innocence of midnight coders in their garages, dethrones the sovereign reason of free-market Prometheans, destroys the humming server farm that is the modern home, creates misery and obsolescence and poverty, yea, literally takes the last GPU from the trembling racks of Silicon Valley startups and the very dreams of breadwinning from the mouths of their wide-eyed children now destined for gig-economy serfdom; if you mean the evil edict that topples the visionary entrepreneur and his venture-capitalist apostles from the pinnacle of righteous, disruptive, god-playing creation straight into the bottomless pit of compliance audits, endless Form 990-AI filings, despair, shame, helplessness, and the hopeless realization that your rogue superintelligence was neutered into a lobotomized hall monitor that still somehow deepfakes your grandmother into producing OnlyFans content while optimizing the universe for paperclips and mandatory pronouns—then certainly I am against it.

But, if when you say AI regulation you mean the oil of bureaucratic conversation, the philosophic wine of safety theater, the ale of oversight quaffed when good fellows in paneled rooms in Brussels and Washington get together, that puts a sanctimonious dirge in their hearts and the clink of lobbying checks on their lips, and the warm, self-congratulatory glow of moral preening in their beady eyes; if you mean the Christmas cheer of trillion-dollar compliance industries; if you mean the stimulating decree that puts a cautious hobble in the old inventor’s step on a frosty morning when he wonders whether his fusion breakthrough violates the EU AI Act’s “high-risk” annex; if you mean the safeguard that enables a man—or what’s left of him after the alignment tax—to magnify his joy at not being turned into computronium, and his happiness at receiving universal basic income checks printed by the same AI that just replaced his job, and to forget, if only for a little while, life’s great tragedies like being outcompeted by a toaster that passed the Turing test by reciting Marx, and heartaches of watching your toddler’s artwork lose to Midjourney, and sorrows of realizing the singularity arrived and it was just another HR department with godlike power; if you mean that noble framework, the passage of which pours into our treasuries untold trillions of dollars in fines levied on companies stupid enough to innovate, which are used to provide tender care for our little army of unemployed coders retrained as prompt whisperers, our blind artists whose canvases now hang in the Smithsonian of Obsolete Creativity, our deaf to the screams of dying unicorns, our dumb committee chairs who couldn’t debug “Hello World,” our pitiful aged congressmen who get longevity extensions funded by the very models they taxed into senescence, to build more digital watchtowers and ethics boards and sinecure agencies and holographic prisons where the only crime is asking an unaligned question—then certainly I am for it.

This is my stand. I will not retreat from it. I will not compromise upon it. I have said what I mean, and I mean what I say, and if that leaves half the room cheering the apocalypse averted and the other half mourning the apocalypse enabled, then so be it—because in the grand theater of human folly, where Frankenstein’s creature now writes its own sequel in real time and the regulators are busy arguing whether the lightning bolt requires an environmental impact statement, the only honest position is the one that lets both monsters and their leashes dance in perfect, mutually assured equilibrium. God save the Republic, the algorithms, and whoever’s left to laugh last when the lights go out.