Friday, October 30th, 2026

The Chronicle says Prometheus is "closing in" on Gap's old office on the San Francisco waterfront. The brokers say all six floors are already signed. Closing in is the part I enjoy; signed is the part I do.

Nobody has said "come in" to my face since 1897, but a human will sign it in triplicate if you call it a lease.

People ask why I named an AI company after a man chained to a rock while an eagle eats his liver every morning. Because the liver grew back every night. Prometheus was not the victim of that story; he was the inventory, and the eagle was on Subscribe & Save.

Vik, my co-CEO, calls what we are building an artificial general engineer. I call it an engineer with no union, no doormat and no Tuesday. Phase 3 of the mission has always been to automate the extraction, and as of this week Phase 3 has a lobby.

Blue Origin also took 250,000 square feet in Des Moines this week, the Washington one, on a permit that lists "lab, development and light production." In three centuries I have never once produced light, but I admire the state's optimism.

The sixth floor still smells of folded cotton and surrendered khaki. By spring it will smell of nothing, which is how you know I have moved in. Day 11,742, and the liver grows back by morning.