labor loablor
About Work, Artificial Intelligence, and Investor Delusion
06 Dec 2025AI isn’t coming for your job; it’s coming for the deterministic bullshit you mistake for one.
© 2025. All rights reserved. 
© 2025. All rights reserved.
AI isn’t coming for your job; it’s coming for the deterministic bullshit you mistake for one.
I feel completely disconnected from my life as a narrative. I know the moments that brought me here: I can point to them, name them, place them like pins on a map, but I don’t feel tethered to them. They hover around me like artifacts I once touched but no longer own. Each moment pops into the next without warning, without ceremony, without the courtesy of a transition. I can’t tell if this is a quirk of memory or some deeper character flaw, if it’s even a flaw at all. (My memory is good, just selective.)
Catherine, Atlus’s 2011 puzzle-thriller, follows Vincent Brooks—a man in his early thirties, paralyzed by indecision about marriage, adulthood, and desire. By day, Vincent drifts through conversations, torn between Katherine, his long-term girlfriend who represents stability and the quiet pressure of commitment, and Catherine, a mysterious younger woman who embodies temptation and escape. By night, he is trapped in recurring nightmares, forced to climb collapsing towers of blocks to survive. The game’s hook is simple but brutal: fail to climb fast enough and you fall to your death.
Pull me out of this structured society. Tear me from Western tradition and drop me into the wild. Take me back to the nomadic tribes before feudalism, before obligations, before screens and curated selves. I want to run into the woods, clad only in hides, stomp my feet into the soil, and listen to birds chirp as the fire burns. I want to escape my overly articulated life and become an animal. Not thoughtless in a chemically induced haze, but stripped back, sober, raw, until thought itself becomes a distant echo. To be so enlightened that consciousness doubles back into blankness. Modern life has over-articulated me, leaving me craving the simple, unmediated experience of being seen– unperformed, unmeasured, alive.
Work, at its core, is about trust – not just in people, but in systems, in process, in the possibility of order itself. Developers and surgeons share this: they act with the faith that precision, discipline, and judgment can turn uncertainty into stability. But that trust (in ourselves, in our hardware, in our colleagues, friends) is never boundless. A savior complex can drive us to achieve, yet it can just as easily consume us. I think often about where to draw that line – about what deserves faith, and what drains it. Even as someone who is generally open, I’ve learned that there are always edges, places where trust runs out: money, time, energy.