Two former staffers have created a new, perplexing company. And DOGE alumni make splashy announcements about entering complex industries with scant qualifications while promising to "root out waste." This, at least, is the premise of Special, a newly announced start-up co-founded by Justin Fox and Nate Cavanaugh, two former Department of Government Efficiency staffers who left the federal government "motivated to extend the ethos of our work at DOGE back into the private sector," as they wrote on Special's website. The company officially launched last week with funding from the Elon Musk-friendly contingent of Silicon Valley, including the venture groups Andreessen Horowitz and Human Capital. Special is also backed by investments from numerous Musk associates, including Steve Davis, Musk's top lieutenant at DOGE.

He is about to take SpaceX public--pushing other AI companies to do the same. Elon Musk is about to set in motion a chain of events that will reshape the global financial order. For starters, when SpaceX formally goes public next week, he is all but guaranteed to become the world's first trillionaire. His rocket company is targeting a valuation of $1.77 trillion, which would make it one of the 10 biggest companies in the world--bigger than Meta, Walmart, and, for that matter, Tesla. All of this activity is less about colonizing Mars and more about providing the infrastructure for the AI boom: Musk wants to use his rockets to launch data centers into space, where there is abundant solar power to harvest.

Silicon Valley is turning to ethicists to shape the future of AI. Philosophy has long suffered an unfortunate reputation as pedantic and abstruse. In one of the most prominent debates of the 20th century, philosophers spent a great deal of energy arguing over what means. Paul Graham, the legendary tech investor, studied philosophy as a college student, which seemed "an impressively impractical thing to do," as he later wrote. But over time, Graham became disillusioned: "I kept taking philosophy courses and they kept being boring," he explained .

Donald Trump's new AI order is a lot of nothing. For months now, the White House has hinted that it may try to rein in the AI industry. Just two weeks ago, the nation's top tech executives--including Sam Altman and Dario Amodei--were invited to attend a ceremony for the signing of a long-anticipated executive order on AI. But just hours before the ceremony, Donald Trump scrapped it. America is leading the world in the AI race, the president told reporters at the time, "and I don't want to do anything that's going to get in the way of that lead."

How Much of Data-Center Activism Is Really AI Slop? Anti-AI sentiment is genuine, but its online expression looks stranger and stranger. Americans are wary of AI in general, and they are especially suspicious of the AI data centers that are popping up across the country like enormous mushrooms. A majority do not want a new data center built in their town. Across the country, community groups have organized to protest individual projects, and activists have successfully lobbied local and state politicians to place moratoriums on the facilities' construction.

AI-detection tools are getting better. Basically every recent, high-profile accusation of someone passing off AI-generated writing as their own has started in the same way: with a tool called Pangram. In March, when a horror novel from a major publishing house was pulled just days before its scheduled U.S. release date, it was in part because Pangram, an AI-detection program, had identified the text as AI-generated. Other people have fed text into Pangram to suggest that chatbots have been used to write articles in major newspapers including, multiple short stories awarded a prestigious literary prize, and most recently, significant chunks of Pope Leo XIV's encyclical warning about the dangers of AI. The tool is also used by universities to vet student work and scientific associations to scan research papers.

AI is causing a crisis of agency. Back in the web-traffic-obsessed days of 2018, at a time of dawning awareness of how easily audiences online could be manipulated and spoofed by bots, the writer Max Read argued that the internet had crossed a threshold known as "the Inversion." Not only had bots proliferated across the internet; they had come to constitute it. In outnumbering humans, bots were also loosening everyone's grasp on the very reality of online experience. "What's gone from the internet, after all, isn't'truth,' but trust: the sense that the people and things we encounter are what they represent themselves to be," Read wrote.

Look closely and you'll see that every part of the text is not quite right. A few weeks ago, where I live in Johannesburg, a man ran a stop sign and crashed into my Subaru. At the scene he was frantic, unable to gather his thoughts. Half an hour later, I received a lengthy, perfectly grammatical text from him elegantly explaining how he perceived the crash had happened. For a repair quote, I wrote to a mechanic I know, a man who used to text me in curt phrases riddled with shorthand.

They can be high-tech, but crucially, are "screen-free." Bondu is a stuffed dinosaur that speaks 27 languages. It--or, more precisely, the AI chatbot embedded inside it--can also play games, help with homework, and patiently answer a child's questions, even the really inane ones. Its "bedtime mode" includes breathing exercises and stories. Bondu, which costs $300 and comes in four colors, is marketed as a playmate, a confidant, a teacher, a quasi-caregiver.

What counts as an acceptable use of AI has never been fuzzier. Steven Rosenbaum has decided that the real villain behind the bogus quotes in his book is a chatbot. Earlier this week, reported that, Rosenbaum's much-discussed book about how AI shapes reality, contains more than half a dozen fake or misattributed quotes . Rosenbaum pinned some of them on his use of AI. He claimed responsibility for the errors and said he was investigating what went wrong.