by Richard Farr

It’s a typical moment in 2026, rich with contradiction: up late one evening at the keyboard, your shallow irritation with unnervingly backward current tech is interrupted by deep panic about unnervingly advanced coming tech.
The official story is that Anthropic’s Mythos, latest brainchild of our fast-moving thing-breakers, is an AI so terrifyingly brilliant at hacking that on the very day it falls into the wrong hands (the “government” of Myanmar; a single teenage nose-picker with a laptop and a smirk in a basement in Chelyabinsk; the “government” of the United States in the person of one of The Don’s criminal besties) your bank account will vaporize, to be followed shortly by most of the world financial system.
You stare out of the window, distracted further from the quotidian task you were engaged in by the soothing thought that the Mythos “news” was nothing more than a brilliant piece of deathbed melodrama by an over-hyped company that’s going to exsanguinate unless it gets an infusion of billions, stat.
Then you stare some more, mulling the fact that the “marketing ploy theory” can only be a temporary comfort: next week, or next year, something like Mythos is going to make our current digital security systems, including our personal financial security systems, look even more heart-breakingly antique than — oh yes.
They already do.
What was the name of your first stuffed animal?
I have no idea.
All right, what is your maternal grandmother’s maiden name?
I don’t remember, but someone else could probably find out.
So what hospital were you born in?
I wasn’t. Read more »







On method
The only time I met Rex Reed, I was about seven years old. I went with my dad to Reed’s apartment in The Dakota on Central Park West so he could offer an estimate on painting the place. My father ran a very small general contracting business called Ken’s Home Improvements. Typical jobs involved him and one or two other workers. His theory on acquiring customers was to work for rich people since they had money; economies of scale were anathema to his soul. Reed qualified. A film and cultural critic for the New York Times, GQ, and Vogue, he’d been a judge for both the Berlin and Venice International Film Festivals by the time my little feet traipsed across his hardwood floors in the famous 19th century building with custom apartments and famous residents such as John and Yoko, and
California’s primary is in about two weeks, and it’s a mess. The panic is slightly subsiding, though, since Democrats have started polling in one of the top two spots in the race for governor. For months, Republicans were polling first and second, with eight Democrats trailing because they split the vote. The California Democratic Party chair even urged low-polling candidates to drop out so as not to be spoilers.





David Hammons. Untitled, Ca. 1990.