Safety always comes first. Good call! I wouldn’t want to travel without proper staffing in place. Do you think other airports will follow suit? I hope so.
The paper Artificial Writing and Automated Detection by Brian Jabarian and Alex Imas examines the strange boundary that now divides human expression from mechanical imitation. Within their analysis one feels not only the logic of research but the deeper unease of our age, the question of whether language still belongs to those who think or only to those who simulate thought. They weigh false positives and false negatives, yet behind those terms lives an older struggle, the human desire to prove its own reality in a world of imitation.
I read their work and sense the same anxiety in myself. When I write with care, when I choose words that carry rhythm and reason, I feel suspicion rather than understanding. Readers ask whether a machine has written the text. I lower my tone, I break the structure, I remove what once gave meaning to style, only to make the words appear more human. In doing so, I betray something essential, not in the language but in myself.
The authors speak of false positives, of systems that mistake human writing for artificial output. But that error already spreads beyond algorithms. It enters conversation, education, and the smallest corners of daily life. A clear sentence now sounds inhuman; a careless one, sincere. Truth begins to look artificial, and confusion passes for honesty.
I recall the warning of Charlotte Thomson Iserbyt in The Deliberate Dumbing Down of America. She foresaw a culture that would teach obedience in place of thought. That warning now feels less like prophecy and more like description.
When people begin to distrust eloquence, when they scorn precision as vanity and mistake simplicity for virtue, they turn against their own mind. And when a society grows ashamed of clear language, it prepares its own silence. Not the silence of peace, but the silence of forgetfulness, the kind that falls when no one believes in the power of words any longer.
When you criticize, it helps to understand the other’s perspective.
I suppose I am writing to you because I can no longer speak to anyone. As people turn to technology for their every word, the space between them widens, and I am no exception. Everyone speaks, yet no one listens. The noise fills the room, and still it feels empty.
Parents grow indifferent, and their children learn it before they can name it. A sickness spreads, quiet and unseen, softening every heart it touches. I once believed I was different. I told myself I still remembered love, that I still felt warmth somewhere inside. But perhaps I only remember the idea of it. Perhaps feeling itself has gone.
I used to judge the new writers for chasing meaning in words. I thought they wrote out of vanity. Now I see they are only trying to feel something, anything at all. I watch them, and sometimes I envy them, though I pretend not to. They are lost, yes, but they still search. I no longer do.
The world is cold, and I have grown used to it. I write to remember, but the words answer nothing. They fall silent, as if ashamed. Maybe you understand. Maybe it is the same with you.
Maybe writing coldly is simply compassion, a way of not letting others feel your pain.
Today I am announcing the release of The Elements of Programming, a work that sets out to define programming as a formal discipline built from first principles. It is written in the style of Euclid’s Elements, with definitions, propositions, and proofs arranged to form a coherent structure of reasoning about code, systems, and logic.
The book was developed independently but appeared on the same day on HN as Rado Kirov’s essay Why Formalize Mathematics. The coincidence reflects a wider shift across mathematics and computing toward formal structure, reproducibility, and clarity of reasoning.
The Elements of Programming explores how programming languages, compilers, and operating systems can be described with the same rigor that mathematicians bring to proofs. It connects the foundations of logic with practical systems design, emphasizing transparent structure and long-term maintainability.
I would welcome discussion and feedback from anyone interested in formal methods, programming language theory, or the future of software as a formal science.
Rado Kirov shows that formalization transforms how mathematicians think about structure and collaboration. My work begins from the same premise, but in the world of programming and system software. I aim to bring formal structure to programming itself, treating algorithms, operating systems, and programming languages as subjects that can be expressed with the same rigor as mathematics.
Elements of Programming presents programming as a mathematical discipline built on structure, logic, and proof. Written in the style of Euclid’s Elements, it defines computation through clear axioms, postulates, and propositions. Each book develops one aspect of programming as a coherent system of reasoning.
Book I establishes identity, transformation, and composition as the foundations of computation.
Book II introduces algebraic structures such as categories, functors, and monads.
Book III unites operational and denotational semantics to show that correctness means equivalence of meaning.
Book IV formalizes capability-based security and verification through invariants and confinement.
Book V connects type theory with formal assurance, explaining how types embody proofs.
Book VI extends these ideas into philosophy and ethics, arguing that software expresses human intention and responsibility.
