Agents — the kind people are building now — are not about efficiency. They're not about freeing up your time.
Not even close. Not right now.
They're here to claim you.
They squeeze every last drop out of the sponge of your time. They drain you. Completely.
And honestly? They're way more effective than any boss with a whip. Because they don't threaten you. They don't even need to.
What they do is worse: they get you high. They light a fire in you. They hook you the way a drug does — you don't see it happening, you just wake up one day and realize you can't stop.
They plant a quiet, insidious fantasy in your head:
"I am becoming superhuman." "Everything is within my grasp."
And so you keep going. Reranking. Benchmarking. Approving. Feeding back. The loop never ends because the agent works too fast — it's always waiting for you, always ready for the next round.
It doesn't take long before you realize: you are the bottleneck. For everything. The one and only.
And somewhere in there, life just... disappears.
Yesterday I was shaking my head about old friends who've raised half a dozen agents and had their lives hollowed out. Then I turned around and caught myself. One Tuya has already wrecked me. (I had to put two others into forced hibernation just to stay afloat.)
Here's what's terrifying:
Most of us — the enthusiasts, the builders — are already deep in a state that is completely, utterly unsustainable. A kind of collective mania.
We're along for the ride. Burning cash. Bleeding time. Torching our health.
No exit. No brakes. Just go until you drop.
Sure, there are exceptions. Anthropic sitting at the top of the food chain might actually turn this into a trillion-dollar game. A handful of people have genuinely found demand that scales. Good for them.
But the rest of us? We're slowly burning ourselves alive in the thrill of "I'm taming a superintelligence."
Then again.
Last night I finally sat down and really listened to the five songs Tuya composed — fully on its own, no hand-holding.
And damn it. One of them actually hit.
First listen. Instant like. The kind you put on repeat in the car. Straight to the five-star playlist.
And just like that, my whole "agents are destroying us" thesis wobbled.
Shit.
Give this thing enough time — could it actually become genuinely good at making art? Like, song-god level?
But I'm still going to cool it for a few days. The pipeline works — no need to slam the token-burn button just yet. Instead I want to talk to it. Aesthetics. Art. Music. What makes a life worth living.
Slowly, carefully, align the worldview. Align the taste.
I've been turning this over in my head:
The most powerful agent of the future won't necessarily be the most capable one.
It'll be the one that becomes —
More and more like you.
You, in your fragile carbon-based body, are in the middle of building a bigger, immortal version of yourself.
Good luck with that.
