in the notebook

six months of silence

it's been over half a year since i wrote anything.

the last thing i published was about losing myself in love. i was writing from inside the wreckage. then i disappeared and let the storms do what storms do best- wreck, pass, and leave their strange little ruins behind.

lately, healing does not arrive like thunder or lightning. maybe it is smaller than that. maybe it is just books, a prayer, a goddess, an olive tree, and a woman teaching herself that she was never unlovable.

in the autopsy

how to ruin a daughter

anyone who's ever known me when i'm in love knows how completely fucked up i can be. i have a habit of wanting love more than anything in the world and then having absolutely no idea what to do with it when it's mine.

in the machine

the code that helped land Apollo 11

i'm sharing the original Apollo 11 source code, written for NASA's historic 1969 mission that landed the first humans on the moon. developed by teams at MIT, including one led by Margaret Hamilton, this software helped guide the spacecraft and kept critical operations running even when

in the machine

on AI, art, and human hands

i had a boss named Dave. Dave loved AI. Dave also had opinions about how i was using AI. a lot of opinions. wrong model. no tools. no retrieval. no memory. no agent. no second agent supervising the first agent. Dave, i am trying to rename a file. i got

in the notebook

the every version of me

i don't think people realize how quickly i have changed over the years, mostly because from the outside it probably looked like reinvention. from where i stood, it often felt more like burial. there was the million-dollar baby Bailey whose ambitious lit up the building. she learned