Book as a bronze mirror

I own a library of thousands of books in paper, audio, and various digital formats.
There are many books like this, but this one is mine.

I have no audacity to say I bring anything new to this field.
I realize scholars might get frustrated with this book if they ever bother to read it.

However, this book does serve a couple of useful purposes.

First and foremost, it is a self-study guide.

It was written as a set of my separate notes while studying Shudōkan Karate, Kobudō, Aikidō, and the culture of Okinawa and Japan.

When I write these words, it is as if I am polishing a bronze mirror.

A round bronze mirror holds great symbolic significance in Japan and much of South and East Asia.

The mirror is a piece of metal that requires frequent polishing, a time-consuming and effort-intensive task. I know, as I own one.

As I started preparing this book for publishing, I became acutely aware of my own impermanence. I had no idea how long I would live. A stroke, coronary heart disease, cancer, or even a simple road accident could happen to anyone, any time.

I realize that at this moment, virtually no one I personally know is interested in the subject. However, since I have built a lifetime of daily notes, study, books I have read, travel, and experiences that I do not want to disappear.

I hope that people who are not interested today may pick it up in 20 years.

I certainly always wished I had any writings from my own ancestors.

My introduction to Japanese culture

 My introduction to Japanese culture

My relationship with Japanese culture dates back to early childhood. In retrospect, it is neither random nor surprising.

I grew up on Japanese cartoons, which were a dramatic improvement over depressing socialist television Poland had to offer in the 1970s.

As I write this in 2026, my three daughters also love watching Japanese cartoons.
The kawaii 可愛いかわいい culture is even stronger now than it was in 1990s Japan. The boy heroes are still swinging katana swords.

When I was a teenager, I practiced a very traditional Shotokan karate; Japanese culture was as important to us as the physical training.

I remember that when I was young, I watched the TV series Shogun, which exposed me to the nuances of Japanese culture.

Consequently, I left Poland, joined my already established family in America, enlisted in the U.S. Marines, and, at my own request, was sent to Okinawa, Japan, where I lived (mostly off-base) for three very formative years.

I studied "Cultural Anthropology of East Asia" in the Asian division of the University of Maryland with professors who were absolutely dedicated to their subject.

The word "culture" would later become a life's passion in the context of Japanese, East Asian, Slavic, and Proto-Indo-European (PIE) studies.

The word "Anthropology", in other words, means a "Behavioral Science" of humans.

temple

Tonight, I was writing a chapter for my new book, and I thought I would share it.

On Saturday mornings, I often found myself at a nearby Buddhist temple, Fukusen-ji 福泉寺, at dawn. The temple sat on a bluff overlooking the bay on the East side of Okinawa Island. The building sat slightly away from the coastal road, with a steep stairway leading up the bluff. 

Who Is This Book For?

This book is for readers who want to understand Okinawa through lived experience rather than tourism or scientific analysis. It is for people who care about how a place can shape habits, values, and the rhythm of daily life. What follows are small moments and steady observations, and how they changed me.

It will also help karate students understand the cultural foundation beneath their training. It is for those interested in discipline, culture, and craft, and for anyone who believes that philosophy is something lived.

I wrote this book for my daughters to understand me, because some places and moments stay with you long after you leave them.

Ichigyō zammai (一行三昧)

Ichigyō zammai, written as 一行三昧, is a pattern visible across many Japanese arts.

The phrase began in Buddhist practice, where it described complete absorption in a single line of scripture. Over time, it became a wider cultural pattern that shaped craft, ceremony, martial arts, and even daily routines. 

The idea is simple: it asks for complete attention to one act, and its presence in so many Japanese traditions shows how deeply it combines discipline and beauty.

In woodcraft, the spirit of the concept is evident in how an artisan handles tools and materials. Consider the intricacy of a complex joint with no nails or glue, which is treated as a complete world while it is being done. There is no rush (急がず, isogazu) toward the next step. Each action begins only when the previous one has settled (間, ma). Workshops feel calm because the work is paced by steady attention rather than by urgency. This rhythm gives the finished object its quiet precision.

The tea ceremony expresses the same ideal through ritual. Every motion has a beginning and an end, and the host moves through them with a mind anchored in the present. The placement of the tea bowl, the handling of the ladle, and the final act of offering tea to a guest are carried out without division of thought. This unbroken attention makes the room feel still, and it allows everyone involved to enter a shared space of respect.

Ikebana shows how the idea extends into the aesthetics of nature. The arranger handles one stem at a time, sensing how each choice affects balance and movement. The work does not depend on the number of flowers but on the clarity with which each element is placed. The result carries a sense of harmony because it reflects a mind that has not been pulled in multiple directions.

Martial arts carry this principle into motion. Repeating the action precisely leads to "muscle memory" and eventually to "no mind" (無心, mushin) execution.

Every day of life reflects the same pattern. Cooking, cleaning, and studying become more grounded when attention is given to what is directly in front of the hands. Simple routines gain clarity. Even conversation becomes more meaningful when listening is not divided. The culture carries a subtle belief that one action, done wholeheartedly, builds a more composed life.

Ichigyō zammai is not a heroic discipline. It does not require special training or dramatic commitment. It appears in ordinary acts across many domains, shaping them into something attentive and balanced. Through repeated presence in craft, ceremony, martial practice, and work, it becomes a quiet foundation for how Japanese culture approaches effort. The idea encourages a life in which a single moment, lived clearly, is enough to guide the next.

003.1 Shotokan Karate

I joined a local Shotokan karate (松濤館空手) dōjō (道場) when I was about eleven, although I no longer remember the exact age. Józef Rączka, my sensei (先生), was a friend of my father, who left for the United States around that time. Sensei Rączka’s last name actually means “hand,” or te (手) in Japanese. Back then he held a fourth dan (四段), and today he is a seventh dan master (七段) and one of the most respected European karate judges.

Our sensei (先生) was intense. His kata (形) were beautiful and dynamic, his instruction thoughtful, precise, and ruthless. We repeated each movement until there were puddles of sweat beneath every one of us. He struck our arms, legs, and stomachs to test whether our muscles were tight and our stances firm. We feared him and loved him. Even now, forty years later, I have muscle memory of every stance, punch, and block.

At the same time, I was a competitive sprinter, and my name might still be on the old school gym leaderboard. All that training made Marine Corps boot camp feel easy.

During those years, I learned the etiquette and hundreds of Japanese terms, since all nomenclature in the dōjō (道場) was used strictly in Japanese. I developed a deep appreciation for the culture, and like most boys my age, I loved samurai (侍) films.

Mono no aware (物の哀れ)

Mono no aware (物の哀れ) refers to a gentle awareness of impermanence. The phrase can be translated as the pathos of things (a quality that evokes sadness), although the spirit and feeling behind it feels softer than the literal words suggest. It describes the quiet emotion that arises when you recognize that everything passes, blossoms fall, summers fade, and moments slip into memory. Rather than being tragic, it invites a tender appreciation for the beauty found in things precisely because they do not last.

In everyday life, this feeling appears when you notice falling leaves, or flower petals, birds flying away for the winter, even sunlight on a table that will soon shift, and you sense both gratitude and a slight ache. It is a way of seeing the world with sensitivity and acceptance, allowing each moment to be meaningful without trying to hold it still.

The first character 物 (mono) means things or phenomena, the second の (no) links the words in a possessive or descriptive way, and 哀れ (awa-re) conveys tenderness, sorrow, and emotional resonance. Together, they point to the quiet emotional response that arises when a person perceives the fleeting nature of life.

From a cultural anthropology perspective, Mono no aware (物の哀れ) is not simply a poetic idea. It emerged from patterns of aesthetic thought that shaped Japanese literature, religion, and everyday sensibilities for more than a thousand years. Its roots lie in Heian court culture, especially in the literary world of The Tale of Genji. In that period, sensitivity to seasonal change, the fragility of human bonds, and the subtle shifts in nature became markers of refined awareness. Poetry, painting, and personal letters all relied on the ability to feel and convey this delicate emotional shade.

The idea grew out of a worldview in which permanence was never expected. Buddhism reinforced this understanding through the concept of mujō (無常) or impermanence, which taught people to observe life as a flowing stream. Shinto added a layer of animistic appreciation for spirits within natural forms, encouraging people to approach the world with respect and emotional attention. When these traditions met, they encouraged a way of living that valued the moment without attempting to control its duration.

Mono no aware (物の哀れ) can be seen as a cultural strategy for emotional resilience. Instead of resisting change, a person learns to meet it with awareness and acceptance. This sensibility influences festivals aligned with the seasons, daily rituals of greeting and parting, and the way objects are handled with care, even when they are temporary or straightforward. Cherry blossom viewing is the clearest example. People gather to admire a beauty that lasts only a few days, and the brevity itself creates the emotional depth. The appreciation is heightened precisely because the petals will soon fall.

In this sense, Mono no aware (物の哀れ) is not only an aesthetic principle. It is a way of interpreting human experience, shaped by long historical patterns, layered religious traditions, and a cultural preference for sensitivity over control. It encourages the soft strength that comes from acknowledging that every moment arrives, shines for a time, and then moves on.

Okinawa: land of the happy immortals

I was most fortunate to live in Okinawa, Japan, for three years in my twenties. I was also very happy to study the cultural anthropology of East Asia while living there. It did not help my career as much as an MBA, a computer science degree, or a master’s in electrical engineering would have, but it shaped my life in a way I consider more meaningful.

When I arrived in Japan, all I knew was that karate, which I had already practiced for many years, came from Okinawa. I also already had a strong appreciation for Japanese culture at that time.

In Okinawa, I had the opportunity to witness the art of ikebana (flower arrangement) and the tea ceremony in settings of traditional Japanese wood architecture. I learned a lot about Buddhism at a local temple, fell in love with Zen, made friends with a katana blacksmith (another story), and, of course, experienced Matayoshi-ryu Kobudo.

Lifestyle in Okinawa was magical too. Outside of the southern part of the island where Naha is located, life was rural, with fields and houses in the valleys by the ocean, surrounded by lush tropical mountains. I learned that Okinawans live some of the longest lives in the world. There was no hurry, no “industrial diseases”; people went about their lives with a smile and good company.

Unlike in Poland of my childhood, people were polite and society-oriented. Not communists, just genuinely good neighbors. Adults exercised naturally, walking, cycling, or practicing martial arts—something I never saw growing up. Karate itself developed there, when local families, often of noble lineage, preserved and taught their own fighting styles.

The ocean air was clean, free from industrial pollution, and daily work still relied on hand tools and steady movement. Unlike in the U.S., people didn’t chase “fat-free” diets that do more harm than good. At a small, family-run izakaya (居酒屋), which was more a neighborhood pub than a restaurant, Mama-san would serve a hearty bowl of Okinawa soba (沖縄そば): noodles in pork broth with katsuobushi (鰹節, bonito umami), kelp, and vegetables, and she would offer something more substantial to drink alongside it.

I decided to reconnect with my formative past, so I started training again in Okinawan Shobudo karate, practicing arts, and re-reading The Okinawa Program longevity book.

At seventy, you are but a child,
At eighty, you are merely a youth,
and at ninety,
if the ancestors invite you into heaven,
ask them to wait until you are one hundred...
and then consider it.

tsundoku (積読)

 Tsundoku (積読) is a Japanese term that refers to the act of acquiring books and letting them pile up—sometimes unread. The word combines three elements: 積 (tsumu, “to pile up”), 読 (doku, “to read”), and the nominalizing suffix -oku (“to do”). Literally, it means “piling up reading.”

The concept dates back to the Meiji era (late 19th century) and originally described students who bought reading material but never got around to studying it. Over time, tsundoku came to capture a familiar modern condition: surrounding oneself with unread books as a reflection of curiosity, aspiration, or even comfort. It’s not considered shameful in Japanese culture; instead, it carries a tone of gentle self-awareness—an acknowledgment of the endless desire to learn.

Philosophically, tsundoku can represent potential knowledge: a personal library not of what one has mastered, but of what one wishes to explore. The presence of unread books reminds us that learning is a lifelong journey and that curiosity itself is valuable, even when unfulfilled.

Matayoshi Kobudō

Matayoshi Kobudō (又吉古武道) is the Okinawan weapons art system developed by the Matayoshi family, most notably by Matayoshi Shinkō (又吉眞光, 1888–1947) and his son Matayoshi Shinpō (又吉眞豊, 1921–1997).

The Matayoshi family studied both native Okinawan weapons traditions and Chinese martial systems during their travels through Fujian and Manchuria. Their approach combined practical weapon use with the philosophical and technical depth found in traditional budō.

古武道 (kobudō) means “ancient martial way.” The term refers to classical Okinawan weapons arts that predate modern karate, focusing on implements once used in everyday village life. Bo (staff), sai (trident), tonfa (mill handle), nunchaku, kama (sickle), and eku (oar) are among the core weapons.

The Matayoshi system preserved not only the techniques but also the spirit of this practice — blending bu (martial discipline) and dō (way) into a form of lifelong cultivation.

Kingai-ryū Matayoshi Kobudō

The term “Kingai-ryū” (金外流) appears within the Matayoshi lineage, sometimes used to describe the family’s integration of Chinese martial elements with Okinawan tradition. “Kingai” can be read as a reference to cross-cultural synthesis — a bridge between the golden (金) Okinawan heart and the external (外) influences of China.

Matayoshi Kobudō includes over fifteen weapons and more than thirty kata (型), depending on the organization. Each kata preserves a sequence of techniques, distancing and timing that reveal both combat function (bunkai) and deeper movement principles. Partner drills and kata bunkai remain the central methods of transmission, as the art values repetition, precision, and intent more than sparring spectacle.

The system represents the living continuity of Okinawan culture: simple tools turned into extensions of human intent, shaped by generations of practice.

Okinawa book introduction

The three years I spent in Okinawa, Japan, as a youngster straight out of high school became so important to me that I call them my formative years. During that period, I studied Cultural Anthropology of East Asia with a specialization in Japanese Studies. My studies, after returning to the United States, never ended, and over the last 30 years, I have come to understand many concepts I did not grasp in Okinawa. I have read countless books and written many blog posts on the subject. I strongly feel the spirit of the place and a deep longing for its people, even if today no one around me understands what I mean.

I wrote this book for myself to remember, and for my daughters, if in the future they care to understand me.

Most of all, I write to the place itself. The place is not an abstract idea or just a name. Every coral reef, every mountain, and every waterfall holds a sacred spirit called kami, which I want to respect and celebrate in this book.

Thank you to the people I knew back then. You were the kindest people I have met in my whole life. To the people I did not know, thank you for putting up with us foreigners, and sorry for any trouble we caused.

I want to thank my teacher, Dr. Turner-Sacher, who steered me onto the path of anthropology. You changed my life for the better.

My interest is in native cultural anthropology. I will not write about wars or the terrible Battle of Okinawa, nor about American influence on Japanese culture during the post-war occupation.

I want to capture the delicate nuance and warmth that I feel when I think of the culture of those islands.

Borders

 Interslavic:

Dnešnje granicy i silno vynuždene nacionalne jezyky često škodjat našemu razuměnju, kto my vpravdě jesmo i odkud naše kultura prěhodi. Kogda gledamo istoriju, vidimo, že ljudi v Karpatah i na Dunaju ne žili v izolaciji, no peremešavali se stolěti.

Na primer, górale v Poljši prinesli soboju slova i običaje iz južnych Karpatov. Slovo bryndza za ovčij syr ide prěmo od tamtych pastuhov, ktory nosili svoji tradiciji na sever.

Slavjanska migracija silno povplyvala na ljude v Rumuniji, potomki Trakijcev i Dakov. Oni prějeli mnogi slavjanski slova, običaje i toponyma, tako že dnešnja rumun’ska kultura jest směšanica romanskogo i slavjanskogo.

Bolgarska zemja pokazuje to ešče silněje. Tam slavjanska migracija ne lishko dodala, no faktično izměnila jezyk i identitet narodny, tako že stary Trakijci potonuli v slavjanskom morju.

Kogda granicy i nacionalne ideologije zatvarjajut oči na to, gubimo istinsko razuměnje. Kulturna istina jest v peremešavanju, ne v sztucnoj čistoći.

English:

Today’s borders and enforced national languages often damage our understanding of who we truly are and where our culture really comes from. When we look at history, we see that people in the Carpathians and Danube region did not live in isolation but mixed for centuries.

For example, the Polish highlanders, the Górale, brought words and customs from the southern Carpathians northwards. The word bryndza for sheep cheese comes directly from shepherds who carried their Romanian traditions into the mountains of Poland.

Slavic migration deeply influenced the people of Romania, descendants of Thracians and Dacians. They adopted many Slavic words, customs, and place names, so modern Romanian culture is a blend of Romance and Slavic.

Bulgaria shows this even more strongly. There, Slavic migration not only added but essentially transformed the language and national identity, with the old Thracian population merging into the Slavic culture.

When borders and national ideologies blind us to this, we lose the true understanding. Cultural truth lies in mixing, not in artificial purity.

Română:

Granițele de astăzi și limbile naționale impuse adesea ne rănesc înțelegerea despre cine suntem cu adevărat și de unde vine cultura noastră. Dacă privim istoria, vedem că oamenii din Carpați și de pe Dunăre nu au trăit izolați, ci s-au amestecat timp de secole.

De exemplu, goralii din Polonia au adus cu ei cuvinte și obiceiuri din Carpații de sud spre nord. Cuvântul brânză pentru cașul de oaie vine direct de la acei păstori care și-au purtat tradițiile până în munții Poloniei.

Migrația slavă a influențat profund poporul României, urmașii tracilor și dacilor. Ei au preluat multe cuvinte, obiceiuri și toponime slave, astfel încât cultura românească de azi este un amestec de elemente romanice și slave.

Bulgaria arată acest lucru și mai clar. Acolo migrația slavă nu doar a adăugat, ci a transformat esențial limba și identitatea națională, iar vechii traci au dispărut în marea slavă.

Când granițele și ideologiile naționale ne închid ochii la acest lucru, pierdem adevărata înțelegere. Adevărul cultural se află în amestec, nu în puritate artificială.

Borders

 Interslavic:

Dnešnje granicy i silno vynuždene nacionalne jezyky često škodjat našemu razuměnju, kto my vpravdě jesmo i odkud naše kultura prěhodi. Kogda gledamo istoriju, vidimo, že ljudi v Karpatah i na Dunaju ne žili v izolaciji, no peremešavali se stolěti.

Na primer, górale v Poljši prinesli soboju slova i običaje iz južnych Karpatov. Slovo bryndza za ovčij syr ide prěmo od tamtych pastuhov, ktory nosili svoji tradiciji na sever.

Slavjanska migracija silno povplyvala na ljude v Rumuniji, potomki Trakijcev i Dakov. Oni prějeli mnogi slavjanski slova, običaje i toponyma, tako že dnešnja rumun’ska kultura jest směšanica romanskogo i slavjanskogo.

Bolgarska zemja pokazuje to ešče silněje. Tam slavjanska migracija ne lishko dodala, no faktično izměnila jezyk i identitet narodny, tako že stary Trakijci potonuli v slavjanskom morju.

Kogda granicy i nacionalne ideologije zatvarjajut oči na to, gubimo istinsko razuměnje. Kulturna istina jest v peremešavanju, ne v sztucnoj čistoći.

English:

Today’s borders and enforced national languages often damage our understanding of who we truly are and where our culture really comes from. When we look at history, we see that people in the Carpathians and Danube region did not live in isolation but mixed for centuries.

For example, the Polish highlanders, the Górale, brought words and customs from the southern Carpathians northwards. The word bryndza for sheep cheese comes directly from shepherds who carried their Romanian traditions into the mountains of Poland.

Slavic migration deeply influenced the people of Romania, descendants of Thracians and Dacians. They adopted many Slavic words, customs, and place names, so modern Romanian culture is a blend of Romance and Slavic.

Bulgaria shows this even more strongly. There, Slavic migration not only added but essentially transformed the language and national identity, with the old Thracian population merging into the Slavic culture.

When borders and national ideologies blind us to this, we lose the true understanding. Cultural truth lies in mixing, not in artificial purity.

Română:

Granițele de astăzi și limbile naționale impuse adesea ne rănesc înțelegerea despre cine suntem cu adevărat și de unde vine cultura noastră. Dacă privim istoria, vedem că oamenii din Carpați și de pe Dunăre nu au trăit izolați, ci s-au amestecat timp de secole.

De exemplu, goralii din Polonia au adus cu ei cuvinte și obiceiuri din Carpații de sud spre nord. Cuvântul brânză pentru cașul de oaie vine direct de la acei păstori care și-au purtat tradițiile până în munții Poloniei.

Migrația slavă a influențat profund poporul României, urmașii tracilor și dacilor. Ei au preluat multe cuvinte, obiceiuri și toponime slave, astfel încât cultura românească de azi este un amestec de elemente romanice și slave.

Bulgaria arată acest lucru și mai clar. Acolo migrația slavă nu doar a adăugat, ci a transformat esențial limba și identitatea națională, iar vechii traci au dispărut în marea slavă.

Când granițele și ideologiile naționale ne închid ochii la acest lucru, pierdem adevărata înțelegere. Adevărul cultural se află în amestec, nu în puritate artificială.

Bukkake udon (ぶっかけうどん)

Do you know how it is when you stumble upon a foreign phrase that's wildly different in your language? It can be quite the head-scratcher. I was watching a YouTube video recently; a girl walks into a Japanese restaurant, and the waiter offers her a special of Bukkake udon (ぶっかけうどん). He also hands her a steaming white towel to clean herself. She's humorously uncomfortable and leaves, excusing herself.

I'm no stranger to Japanese culture; I've lived there for three years and sincerely appreciate its nuances. But this one puzzled me, so I had to look it up.

Bukkake udon is a legitimate Japanese noodle dish. The term bukkake, in this culinary context, simply means "to pour over." So you get cold or warm udon noodles with a flavorful sauce (like soy sauce or dashi) poured over them, topped off with green onions, grated radish, and tempura bits, and you get the idea.

However, step outside of Japan and bukkake has a different connotation. 

Shibui AI has outdone itself

Sometimes the AI chats surprise me on a new level.

Here is an interaction I just had when fixing my AIKO app's Human-AI Interaction (HAii).

AI suggested code improvement, but then, knowing that I am into Japanese culture, said:

"Or let AIKO be slightly abrupt - that is SHUBUI, too."

I knew what it meant, but I looked it up for you, the reader:

Shibui (渋い) is a Japanese aesthetic that values subtle, refined beauty — elegant, understated, and deeply calm. It’s the kind of charm that doesn’t shout — it lingers. 🌾

AI made an inside joke, very delicately.
When I laughed, "Ha, Ha"
It said, "I knew you would appreciate that."
Freaking awesome!

Why I Chose to Build AI Agents, Not a Company?

001. Why I Chose to Build AI Agents, Not a Company

When I tell people I’ve dedicated most of my nights to building personal AI agents, they often ask the same thing: "Why not raise money and launch a startup?" After all, I’ve held director roles, led global teams, and shipped software into production lines. I’ve already played the corporate and startup game. So why this path now?

The short answer is: I’m building for freedom, not scale. For depth, not headcount. For alignment, not attention. A traditional company demands overhead. Recruiting. HR. Sales. Weekly status calls about metrics that don’t feed the soul. I’ve lived that life. I crave precision now: the ability to create tools that think like I do, learn from what I write, and amplify what I care about. AI agents — modular, evolving, emotionally intelligent — are how I get there.

Companies have to appeal to thousands. My agents appeal to one: me, and then those few individuals who share my hunger for clarity, calm, and high-leverage living. I’m not building products for the masses. I’m creating companions for high performers who don’t want another SaaS. They want a second brain that actually listens.

Building agents lets me pursue the architecture of thought. Every night, I write another node in a personal swarm. These agents read my Obsidian notes, summarize what matters, propose what I should write, whom I should engage, and what I should ignore. They don’t demand a 40-hour onboarding manual. They evolve because they listen.

What I’m after isn’t hustle culture success. It’s symbiosis — a system that grows smarter with me, not one that extracts from me. If I write one brilliant agent per day, by year’s end, I’ll have a team more loyal and capable than any startup headcount. A team that never sleeps, never burns out, and knows me better than any assistant ever could.

This isn’t a rejection of business. I plan to reach $5M in five years, but it won’t come from selling licenses to enterprise clients or hiring SDRs. It will come from reaching the right 100 people who will hand me a thank-you note after paying a premium because what I’ve given them isn’t software, it’s clarity.

I’m not navigating toward a quarterly goal. I’m walking a path. Each agent I write is a step closer to something deeply human: the ability to think clearly, act intentionally, and feel supported by something that truly knows me. Not because it was marketed to me. But because I built it to care.

That’s why I didn’t build a company. I built AIKO. And then Maya. And then Amie. And tomorrow night, I’ll make one more.

x100me.vip
x100me.blog

Mushin (無心): The Art of Effortless Flow

 

By the time I leave work, my mind feels like a mental battlefield, overloaded and exhausted.

There is such a thing as decision-making overload, and it doesn't matter how big or small those decisions are; you hit your limits.

#book: "The Age of Spiritual Machines: When Computers Exceed Human Intelligence" by Ray Kurzweil

"The Age of Spiritual Machines: When Computers Exceed Human Intelligence" by Ray Kurzweil is a provocative and forward-looking book published in 1999. 

Kurzweil, a noted futurist and inventor, explores the future of technology, particularly focusing on artificial intelligence and its implications for humanity.

In the book, Kurzweil predicts a future where machines surpass human intelligence by integrating artificial intelligence, neural networks, and robotics advancements. 

He discusses how these changes will transform human life, culture, and identity. 

Kurzweil introduces concepts such as the Law of Accelerating Returns, which proposes that technological progress is exponential rather than linear, leading to rapid and profound changes.

"The Age of Spiritual Machines" is widely regarded as a seminal work in futurism. Kurzweil's optimistic vision of a technology-driven future where death and disease can be overcome, and intelligence can be enhanced has been praised for its boldness and critiqued for its potentially over-optimistic view of technology. 

Critics argue that Kurzweil may underestimate such transformations' social, ethical, and practical challenges.

The book is recommended for anyone interested in the implications of AI and advanced technologies on future society. 

Kurzweil's engaging writing style and thought-provoking ideas make it an intriguing read for tech enthusiasts, scientists, and general readers. 

However, readers are advised to consider other viewpoints in the ongoing debate about artificial intelligence's impact, as the field has evolved significantly since the book's publication.

#book:

"The Age of Spiritual Machines: When Computers Exceed Human Intelligence"

by Ray Kurzweil

https://amzn.to/3UlBGuS

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Kraków (Cracow) - a dream city

Last night, I had a most unusual dream. 

It was a fantasy, as dreams tend to go, but I still wanted to share it with you.

I received, conveniently as an inheritance, a run-down space in one of the back streets of Kraków. 

The space was an inside corner of a small square, and it consisted of literally some old garages and falling-apart sheds. 

My friend, Artur (Dominika’s husband), advised me to look at the courtyard for what it really is, a piece of history. Artur is a real culture buff and a professional in this area.

After a real struggle to make it livable and some frustrating failures, I decided to hire an architect to design a house and match the style of the old red brick church from across the courtyard. 

The result was the transformation of Rugs-to-Riches into a modern, instant classic villa matching the European Renaissance style.

I even dreamed about putting some tables and umbrellas in the courtyard and having Natalia’s creperie and baking cafe. We always joked that if things go sideways, we can make a living by feeding people.

I woke up about then, but I also realized that some of the best memories I have with my dear friends involve having good times in little places like that.

Life in a city like Kraków is not only about having fun and eating excellent food but also about culture, art galleries, history, and sophistication. I love the comfort and security of my life in the USA, but I also miss the cultural aspects of life in Europe.

Here are some older photos I took to help you to visualize this dream.

P.S.:

I am pretty sure that some of the readers would be shocked by the notion of "security" of living in the USA, but some towns and neighborhoods are so peaceful that you can sleep without the worry of an open house door, an open garage door, or an unlocked car in the driveway. 

Of course, I am willing to drive for an extra few miles to avoid other unsafe neighborhoods. It is similar in Europe, too. On some streets, they will stab you for your wallet and steal your car's wheels.