I was waiting for something extraordinary to happen, but as the years wasted on, nothing ever did unless I caused it.

The internet was supposed to be the great leveling. Every firefly, the promise went, would finally get its own patch of sky.

I've been wondering whether the way we pay for things changes how we pay attention to them.

I started publishing my failures three years ago. This essay is about why I haven't stopped.

There's a Yoruba word that carries more than English can hold. I've been thinking about what that means for how we read online.

Corporations exist because they minimise costs. What happens when software can do that better?

My co-author's grandfather fled Vienna in 1938 and saved every document he ever touched. Fifty years later, they built a chatbot from his words.

What does a memory even look like? And what happens to it every time you replay it?

The same molecule that bonds a mother to her infant also primes us to fear strangers. That's the human condition in one sentence.

My mother was born out of the back of a '39 Ford on a Montana ranch. The land question starts there.