When I started posting about AI this year, I did not realize that I was beginning my own version of David Bowie’s Low album. I use that comparison carefully. Low matters here not as a code book or a track-by-track template, but as an allusion to emergence, fracture, atmosphere, and a break in method that only becomes visible after the fact. It was not just another Bowie record. It marked a turn: a new working condition, a new tonal register, a new way of hearing what the medium could do. Only later did I realize that my early 2026 AI posts were no longer behaving like commentary. They had become a sequence. Reading Bowie in Berlin: A new career in a new town , by Thomas Jerome Seabrook, helped me see that. What first appeared as a run of separate essays now seems, in retrospect, to h
