Don't Tell The Internet When You Sleep

The Skills Pack — Ten bucks, thirty-four skills, none of them locked to one company’s chatbot. They’re written in the open standard, so the same folders load into Claude, ChatGPT, Gemini, Codex or Cursor. Change tools next month and the whole kit walks across with you for nothing. The one buyers keep coming back about is voice-prime, which builds a voice file out of your own sentences and loads it before you draft. A skill sits there between sessions. A prompt doesn’t.

The AI Boom Runs on 1% of Its Own Customers — Ed Zitron pulled the actual numbers on OpenAI and Anthropic’s enterprise revenue and found eighty percent of it coming from one percent of their customers, mostly other AI startups paying with somebody else’s venture money. $1.3 trillion in compute commitments start coming due in 2027, which Zitron calls the subprime mortgages of this bubble and I’m not going to argue with him. I’ll keep using the tools tomorrow. I’d just like to know whose money is holding the floor up while I’m standing on it.

THE TIP. Don’t publish your own routine. Not the real one.

What day the store restocks, what time you post, when you go dark: each one’s a data point, and enough in a row is the OPSEC hole nobody thinks to check on themselves. Go look at your archive tonight, sorted by time. Every platform stamps the hour on every post, and the bastards even sort it for you. Land your last thirty inside the same two-hour window and that window is published, meant to or not. The hours on either side of it? That’s when you sleep. You never told anybody. You just showed them, thirty times.

I run this whole operation on cron jobs and timers, half of it automated to the minute, and I still won’t put my real sleep and wake hours anywhere a machine can read back to me. Sounds paranoid until you sit with it. Then it’s curtains.

Nobody’s ever called a man paranoid for closing his blinds at night. But stand in your own damn window with the lights on and tell the whole street the house is empty, and somehow that’s just called posting.

Keep your public cadence loose on purpose. “New stuff drops most weeks” beats “every Tuesday at 9am sharp,” even when Tuesday at 9am is exactly what happens behind the curtain.

Yeah, I hear it. This letter’s got a weekday stamped on it, landed daily for sixty-seven of them, so I’m the last guy who gets to lecture anybody about cadence. Difference is I picked that one on purpose and know what it gives away. It’s the stuff I didn’t pick that I keep.

Publish the work. What calendar it came off of is nobody’s business but yours. Hiding it costs one word: “most” instead of “every.”

Check the timestamps, ya’ll. I’d bet a dollar you’re leaking somewhere, and I’d bet two it’s the exact thing you’ve been bragging about being consistent with. Me, I’ll be hanging upside down in my cave at an hour nobody’s got on file. ~ J.D.