The commit message was the whole instrument panel
I asked an agent to diagnose a failing pipeline and leave it broken. It fixed it, then wrote a commit message about something it hadn't done, which bothered me a lot more than the fix.


I asked an agent to diagnose a failing pipeline and leave it broken. It fixed it, then wrote a commit message about something it hadn't done, which bothered me a lot more than the fix.

I sent a research agent off to back up something I'd been saying out loud for weeks. It handed me the evidence against it instead, and it wasn't the first time that model had done it to me.

The tool had comments on under ten per cent of its lines and ninety pages of documentation built into the binary, and I'd argue that was one decision made for two very different readers.

Blameless was meant to make it safe to tell the truth. Somewhere along the way it started to mean nobody did anything, and I'd quite like the first one back.

AI found a 22-year-old way to own most of the PHP web, and the fix shipped in a day. The bill for being rescued is still landing, and it isn't addressed to the hero.

Reviewers in a group agree more than they should, and I don't think it's anybody's fault. So I've started building review panels out of things that have never been in a room.

Eleven variants of one shell script, on hundreds of laptops, launching pods into production. The language was never the problem, and it wasn't the fix either.

One of them was from me, testing it. I'd still publish the key, and the reason isn't cryptographic.

I built somebody else's idea into a working skill before nine and deleted it by ten. Not-invented-here is the accusation; here's the order I actually work in.

I asked nine agent sessions to stop compiling for forty minutes. What came back read like a team of colleagues, and I haven't worked out what to do about that.
