In his talk at the Long Now Foundation seminar series How Stories Last, Neil Gaiman explores growth, reproduction, and continual change—traits that define life itself. He asks a compelling question: Can stories be considered alive? Gaiman notes that stories of 4,000 to 5,000 years old are still with us today. These stories survive because they change and inspire; without them, they wouldn’t continue to be told.

He gives an example with Cinderella, suggesting that the story may have originated in China, as the idea of tiny feet as a mark of royalty is more of an Eastern than a Western notion. While this China origin story isn’t true, it makes for an appealing narrative. Gaiman also explains that the famous glass slippers might have been the result of a linguistic error—the French word for “fur” ( *vair*) is similar to the word for “glass” (*verre*). This change, though accidental, gave the story what Gaiman calls an “evolutionary advantage.”

Gaiman emphasizes that every story begins with an act of imagination. He believes any story in which a character falls asleep originates from the author’s dreams, as early humans couldn’t easily distinguish between dreams and reality. He even suggests that cave paintings might have been primitive attempts to tell stories.

Gaiman argues that stories help us make sense of our lives. They use metaphor and simile to make connections: similes like “as beautiful as X” and metaphors like “the moon is a ghostly galleon upon stormy seas” give us frameworks for understanding the world.

However, Gaiman also reminds us that stories are lies. “Once upon a time” is code for “I’m about to lie to you.” Yet, by the end of the story, you’ve left your reality and entered another’s. The power of a good story is that it equips you with insights you can apply in real life.

Gaiman concludes by observing that a good story should change you.

Stories are powerful cognitive tools that help humans make sense of the world around them. A well-crafted character can come to life in a reader’s mind to the point where one longs for their company long after the story ends. An article in the *Harvard Business Review* titled “If You Want to Lead, Read” highlights the importance of literature in leadership. Reading fosters empathy and develops a person’s sense of understanding others.

In *Sapiens*, Yuval Noah Harari notes the crucial role imagination plays in culture. He attributes humanity’s success to its ability to imagine systems—like banking, organizations, and cultures—and share those ideas with others. For example, BMW is not a tangible entity, but because we collectively agree on its existence, we act as though it is real. This ability to imagine things that don’t physically exist is both powerful and profound.

I now understand what James Carse, author of *Finite and Infinite Games*, meant when he spoke at the Long Now Foundation about the importance of poets. He argued that to face the challenges of our time, we need more poets—individuals who can imagine and communicate beyond the limits of the present.

What’s interesting is that when I first wrote those words, back in June 2015, I had a lot of admiration for Harari and his thesis. But after reading *Homo Deus*, which came out around 2019 or 2020, I found his ideas increasingly dark and depressing. Harari has since become a strong advocate within the World Economic Forum, endorsing what I see as a nihilistic view of humanity. He is anti-human, anti-population growth, and seems to have a grim sense of purpose. He dismisses the validity of human rights, claiming they are just constructs, and suggests that nothing—especially humans—truly matters.

It’s fascinating how someone can take a profound insight, like the importance of stories and imagination, and twist it into a dark, nihilistic conclusion. It’s a reminder of how ideas, even valuable ones, can be co-opted or distorted into something quite destructive.

I am a truth seeker,
Pursuing knowledge, even in uncertainty.
To not know, yet know one’s ignorance—
Is a truth unto itself.

Lies comfort fools,
The drug of choice for the weak.
But the coward cannot question,
Lacking freedom’s spirit.

A natural-born slave,
Content with comfort, pleasure, and praise.
The fool may be saved from addiction,
But the coward’s nature remains unchanged.

A parasite to society and culture,
The coward shuns truth,
He flourishes in lies,
Propagating falsehoods.

In the coward’s world,
Right becomes wrong,
Evil misunderstood.
Truth is avoided,

Truth revokes power and authority.
For the coward, a comforting lie
Is preferable to a harsh truth—

On January 20, 2014, I reflected on taking my son to see a stage adaptation of “Fahrenheit 451” at George Mason University’s Center for the Arts the previous night. The performance, by the English theater company Aquila Theatre, was exceptional. With simple yet stunning visuals and impeccable acting, the production beautifully complemented Bradbury’s novel.

Both my son and I, having read the book, agreed that Ray Bradbury was indeed prophetic in his depiction of a society lost to entertainment and anti-intellectualism. While the story centers on book burning, the play highlighted a crucial twist: Montag, despite being able to read, struggles to comprehend the text, pleading with Faber to teach him. This nuance is significant, emphasizing that the threat to knowledge extends beyond the physical destruction of books.

The play reinforced my belief that one can “burn” books without flames. Reading, like muscle memory, requires consistent practice. Critical thinking skills develop through repetition and exposure to vast amounts of information. It’s this accumulation of knowledge that allows us to make connections and generate new ideas – a process that mirrors the concept of “big data,” but within our minds.

I find it deeply concerning that many choose to read less or not at all. My fear for my daughter and son is that they might become lost in the cultural trend of consuming 30-second clips of superficial content masquerading as art and literature. Our society’s shift towards anti-intellectualism is alarming, and I believe we’ll face severe consequences if we don’t correct course soon.

Reflecting on Umberto Eco’s definition of an intellectual from his Paris Review interview, I considered how true intellectualism isn’t about repeating information, but about producing new ideas and approaches. By this measure, an uneducated farmer who innovates through experience and contemplation could be more of an intellectual than a Harvard graduate who merely echoes trendy dogma and ideological talking points.

EoE

Ten years, nine months and I could have never imagined how bad it would get.

Choosing the right platform for building and deploying applications is crucial. A recent article titled “Why Microsoft Shouldn’t Be the Top Choice for AI Focus Investors” highlighted some compelling reasons why Amazon Bedrock is emerging as a preferred choice over Microsoft’s Azure Open AI service.

One of the standout points was the trust factor. Customers are gravitating towards Amazon Bedrock not just because it offers access to a wider variety of models, but also because Amazon has a clear policy of not sharing proprietary data with model makers or using it to train models. This assurance stands in stark contrast to the lingering doubts customers have about Microsoft’s data privacy practices, despite Microsoft’s repeated assurances to the contrary.

For AWS fan’s like myself, this is a significant development. Trust is a fundamental element in any business relationship, and Microsoft has a track record of spinning narratives much like a seasoned political campaign. This brings to mind the numerous breaches at Microsoft that I’ve previously discussed—breaches that haven’t received the serious media coverage they warrant. These incidents were downplayed in major outlets like the Wall Street Journal, Bloomberg Technology, and the Financial Times, underscoring Microsoft’s influence over the media landscape.

For companies and users, this trust in AWS translates into a more secure and reliable platform for developing AI services. AWS’s commitment to data privacy and its robust infrastructure make it a superior choice for long-term AI projects.

For now, Microsoft continues to be a significant player in the hype cycle, but the edge goes to AWS when it comes to substance cycle. The combination of trust, transparency, and technical excellence makes AWS the better platform for the future of AI services.

This morning, I woke up contemplating where I fall on the political spectrum, especially in light of the ongoing wars in Ukraine and Gaza. My stance might seem contradictory at first—I’m against the war in Ukraine, yet indifferent to the war in Gaza – let me explain.

The War in Ukraine

My opposition to the war in Ukraine stems from the belief that it’s a conflict we could have easily avoided. For decades, NATO’s expansion has been relentless, pushing its boundaries right up to Ukraine. Every Russian leader, from Gorbachev to Yeltsin to Putin, has clearly stated that Ukraine is their red line. Yet, we ignored these warnings and fueled the flames of conflict.

What’s particularly disturbing is the absence of any peace talks. In my 54 years, I’ve never seen a war on this scale without even a pretense of seeking peace. The looming threat of a nuclear confrontation adds an existential dimension to this conflict, making it even more urgent for us to pursue de-escalation.

The War in Gaza

The situation in Gaza is equally complex. The horrific attacks by Hamas on October 7, 2023, left a lasting impression on me. The visuals of those attacks on Israeli civilians are seared into my mind. Predictably, Israel responded aggressively, a reaction that many anticipated.

What complicates matters is the denial from some quarters about the reality of these attacks. Despite overwhelming evidence, some people still claim it’s all a hoax, denying the existence of hostages and the provocation from Hamas. This echoes the proxy nature of the Ukraine war, with big powers playing their games while civilians bear the brunt of the suffering.

A Consistent Anti-War Stance

Reflecting on these conflicts, it becomes clear that I am fundamentally against war. This is a significant shift from my younger years, but it seems to come with age. I oppose any war and believe in respecting people’s autonomy. However, it’s crucial to recognize that instigating violence invites retaliation. The focus should be on de-escalation and avoiding provocations in the first place.

I am deeply ashamed of my country’s role in these conflicts. For the first time in my life, I see my country not even pretending to want peace. This morning’s reflection has helped clarify my thoughts on these wars. It’s a sad state of affairs when the quest for power and influence leads to such widespread suffering.

Reading through McMaster’s book on the Korean War, I confronted some staggering figures. This war, often overshadowed by World War II and the Vietnam War in popular discourse, resulted in the deaths of nearly 3 million people. The casualties included close to 10,000 Americans, 200,000 South Korean and UN soldiers, 400,000 North Korean soldiers, 600,000 Chinese troops, and a devastating one-and-a-half million civilians. 

These numbers are not just statistics—they represent real lives lost, families shattered, and futures obliterated. The most haunting part of it all is that after such immense sacrifice, neither side emerged victorious. The Korean War ended in a stalemate, a fact that adds a layer of tragic futility to the already overwhelming human cost.

Reflecting on this, it’s clear that the Korean War is a stark reminder of the brutal consequences of conflict. It’s an example of how war can devastate entire populations, leaving behind a legacy of grief and unresolved tension. As we look back, it’s important to remember these figures and the lessons they impart about the true cost of war and the preciousness of peace.

Burning of the Books promised an exploration of historical book burnings and censorship, but it took an unexpected route. I expected to read about events like the burning of the Library of Alexandria and the Nazi book burnings in 1933. Instead, the author, head librarian of the Bodleian Library, presented a broader narrative that included the role of archives and their importance in preserving cultural history.

The author argues that libraries and archives play crucial roles, yet he doesn’t always distinguish clearly between the two. He suggests that the Library of Alexandria’s decline was due more to neglect than to the famous burnings, which happened multiple times. This perspective was enlightening and added depth to our understanding of historical preservation.

The book shifts to the significance of archives, using examples from Iraq and Yugoslavia, and critiques colonialism. The author highlights how colonizers often destroyed archives to hide their crimes, quoting, “what’s burned won’t be missed.” This sheds light on a dark aspect of history that is often overlooked.

Interestingly, the author mentions the Bodleian and other libraries house works acquired through conquest. Yet, he doesn’t take a definitive stance on whether these artifacts should be returned to their original owners. This ambivalence leaves readers without clear guidance on a critical issue.

One of the book’s controversial points is the advocacy for preserving social media sites like Twitter and Facebook. The author argues that everything Donald Trump says and does should be documented due to his habit of deleting posts and lying. While this argument holds some validity, it raises concerns about privacy and government overreach.

Comments from former Labor Secretary Reich and Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez about holding Trump supporters accountable make this issue even more pressing. If the government collects and tracks everyone’s online activity, there’s a risk of misuse. Imagine a young Trump supporter who later changes their views; it’s troubling to think of such personal history being permanently recorded.

Overall, *Burning of the Books* makes a strong case for the importance of libraries but falls short in its discussion of archives. The author’s arguments about data collection and privacy are less convincing, leaving the reader with unresolved questions. Despite its insightful moments, the book feels incomplete and unsatisfying.

The book provides a thought-provoking read; it leaves much to be desired in addressing contemporary concerns about data and privacy. The narrative’s ambiguity on crucial issues undermines its overall impact.