Ebeyer published posts about famous people who had realized that they were aphantasic: Glen Keane, one of the leading Disney animators on "The Little Mermaid" and "Beauty and the Beast"; John Green, the author of "The Fault in Our Stars," whose books had sold more than fifty million copies; J. Craig Venter, the biologist who led the first team to sequence the human genome; Blake Ross, who co-created the Mozilla-Firefox web browser when he was nineteen. Ebeyer also wanted the Aphantasia Network to be a place where aphantasics could find recent scientific research. For instance, estimating the strength of a person's imagery had been thoroughly subjective until Joel Pearson, a cognitive neuroscientist at the University of New South Wales, in Australia, devised tests to measure it more precisely. In a paper from 2022, Pearson reported that when people with imagery visualized a bright object their pupils contracted, as though they were seeing a bright object in real life, but the pupils of aphantasics imagining a bright object stayed the same. Another study of his had shown that, although aphantasics had the same fear response (sweating) as typical imagers to a frightening image shown on a screen, when exposed to a frightening story they barely responded at all.

Thousands of entrepreneurs are trying to rebuild the economy around AI. I set out to see how they're actually doing it. Earth, it's said, is home to more than 10,000 AI startups. The figure is a guess, of course--startups come, startups go. But last year, more than 2,000 of them got their first round of funding. As investors shovel their billions into AI, it's worth asking: What are all these creatures of the boom doing? I decided to approach as many recent AI founders as I could. The goal was not to try to pick winners but to see what it's like, on the ground, to build AI products--how AI tools have changed the nature of their work; how terrifying it is to compete in a crowded field.

Once in a while, LLMs turn evil--and no one quite knows why. The AI company Anthropic has made a rigorous effort to build a large language model with positive human values. The $183 billion company's flagship product is Claude, and much of the time, its engineers say, Claude is a model citizen. Its standard persona is warm and earnest. When users tell Claude to "answer like I'm a fourth grader" or "you have a PhD in archeology," it gamely plays along. It makes threats and then carries them out. And the frustrating part--true of all LLMs--is that no one knows exactly why. Consider a recent stress test that Anthropic's safety engineers ran on Claude. In their fictional scenario, the model was to take on the role of Alex, an AI belonging to the Summit Bridge corporation.

In Brownsville, Texas, some families found a buzzy new school's methods--surveillance of kids, software in lieu of teachers--to be an education in and of itself. At Alpha School's campus in Brownsville, Texas, a student works on exercises in a learning app. One day last fall, Kristine Barrios' 9-year-old daughter got stuck on a lesson in IXL, the personalized learning software that served as her math teacher. She had to multiply three three-digit numbers without using a calculator. Then she had to do it again, her mom says, more than 20 times, without making mistakes. At Alpha School, the private microschool the girl and her younger brother attended in Brownsville, Texas, she had been working a grade level ahead of her age in math, Barrios says. She could do three-digit multiplication correctly most of the time. But whenever she made an error in IXL, the software would determine she needed more practice and assign her more questions. She told her mom that she had asked her "guide," the adult who supervised her classroom in lieu of a teacher, to make an exception and let her move on. She said the guide's reply was that she needed to get it done, that it was expected of her. The adult guides in Alpha's classrooms "don't do any teaching," says the current head of the Brownsville school.

I talked to the scholars who literally wrote the book on tech bubbles--and applied their test. AI may not simply be "a bubble," or even an enormous bubble. It may be the ultimate bubble. What you might cook up in a lab if your aim was to engineer the Platonic ideal of a tech bubble. Since ChatGPT's viral success in late 2022, which drove every company within spitting distance of Silicon Valley (and plenty beyond) to pivot to AI, the sense that a bubble is inflating has loomed large. There were headlines about it as early as May 2023 .

When the AI bubble bursts, the nerds will do their best work. Suddenly, and not long ago, our dearest tech industry leaders began to suggest caution. Sam Altman said that AI is in a bubble "for sure," albeit one formed around "a kernel of truth." Mark Zuckerberg said an AI bubble "is quite possible," though "if the models keep on growing in capability year over year and demand keeps growing, then maybe there is no collapse, or something." Even Eric Schmidt is saying to calm down about artificial general intelligence and focus on competing with China .

If done right, the AI revolution will free us from their merciless tyranny. Instead, you activate various wearables embedded in your body and have a series of conversations with inanimate objects. You make -style gestures in the air. Things power on, tasks get done, the day begins. It turns out you have no need for a smartphone at all.

The Worst Thing About AI Is That People Can't Shut Up About It A plea from WIRED's top boss: Say less. I tried to get out of this assignment so many times, in so many different ways. Not every package needs an editor's letter, I told them. I was very busy recording a new podcast, getting ready to speak at a tech conference, eating and sleeping, parenting, doodling, revising my to-do list, retying my shoelaces. I was doing my best, I tried to convey to my editor.

Erotic imagery and curiosity often arise in intimate relationships, especially when there's safety, play, and mutual recognition. It doesn't mean you've done anything "wrong." On the contrary, it shows that your imagination is alive and searching for ways to bridge the gap between closeness and distance, fantasy and reality. You offer me something charged, even a bit embarrassing, and you're watching--will I crumble?

Ed Zitron Gets Paid to Love AI. He's one of the loudest voices of the AI haters--even as he does PR for AI companies. Either way, Ed Zitron has your attention. In his day job, Ed Zitron runs a boutique public relations firm called EZPR. This might surprise anyone who has come to know Zitron through his podcast or his social media or the newsletter in which he writes two-fisted stuff like "Sam Altman is full of shit and "Mark Zuckerberg is a putrid ghoul." Flacks, as a rule, tend not to talk like this. Flacks send prim, throat-clearing emails to media people who do, on rare occasions, talk like this. Flacks want to touch base, hop on the phone, clear up a few things about the allegation that their CEO is a "chunderfuck." And that really is one of the things with guys like Sam Altman and Dario Amodei from Anthropic," Zitron was saying over burgers on a fine Manhattan afternoon in September. "I work with founders all the time. I'm a founder myself, I guess--I don't like the title. But when you are a person that has to make more money than you lose, otherwise you lose your business, and you see these chunderfucks burning 5, 10 billion dollars in a year--and everyone's celebrating them? We were talking about whether any of Zitron's ranting about the AI industry had cost him business on the PR side of the ledger. There was the one client who felt Zitron was being a little mean toward Altman, the CEO of OpenAI and the biggest chunderfuck of all, as far as Zitron is concerned. Founding a company is hard, the client said. "I said, 'I appreciate the comment, but, like, this isn't about you,'" Zitron told me. "His company is burning billions of dollars.