I was born in the late 1980s. By the time I hit adolescence, the internet had started to wake up — pixel by pixel, modem by modem. I grew up with it. Watched it stretch from dial-up screeches to limitless scroll.
We thought we were the digital generation. The ones who’d shape a more connected, more open world. That was supposed to be the legacy.
Instead, I keep a backup brain on my hard drive. Not for convenience. For contingency.
The unraveling didn’t announce itself. It crept. A little more outrage. A little less truth. Platforms tweaking their feeds to keep us angry longer. Headlines optimized for friction. Entire worldviews collapsing into algorithmic tunnels. Then came the loud years.
A leader who joked about dictatorship, then stopped joking. A coup attempt that played out on camera, streamed like everything else. Book bans, court stacking, masks dropping. The machinery didn't break. It turned. And people cheered.
Now the U.S. military’s 250th anniversary is being twisted into a birthday show for the man at the center of it all. The United States — once framed as the bulwark against fascism — has become something else entirely. Not creeping. Not subtle. Just out in the open. The institutions aren't just shifting quietly — they’re dressing for the part now. Badges off. Masks on. Nobody asking why.
Not everyone noticed. Some still haven’t. But the rest of the world has.
Germany just committed to a defense buildup not seen in generations. France is offering its nuclear umbrella to Europe. Japan is rearming after decades of restraint. These are not symbolic moves. They are signals. Quiet, reluctant signals that the old anchor can't be relied on. Not just to lead. Not even to stay sane.
That’s where we are now.
So yeah. I run a local language model. A brain in a box. Because if the cloud goes dark — politically or otherwise — I still want something nearby that remembers how to think.
It’s strange. Growing up, I thought this kind of tech would help me build things. Instead, I keep it around in case I need to remember.
The irony cuts deep: we built the tools that dismantled us. Not all at once. But bit by bit. The internet didn't just carry the signal. It rewired the story. Gave everyone a stage, then amplified the worst performers. Gave tyrants a direct channel. Gave truth a character limit.
My generation didn’t get the legacy we expected. We didn’t shape the internet. We survived it. We didn’t inherit a free world. We watched it tilt.
And now, we’re the last ones born analog, quietly archiving what still makes sense while the feed burns.