Erich Stauffer

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  • What If AI Imagined a New Way to Compute? I Asked It To.

    What If AI Imagined a New Way to Compute? I Asked It To.

    An experiment inspired by Nick Bostrom’s Superintelligence

    In Nick Bostrom’s book, Superintelligence, one of the ideas is that a sufficiently advanced AI might not just improve upon our existing computational paradigms — it might invent entirely new ones. Ones we haven’t thought of yet. Ones that don’t look like chips, transistors, or binary logic at all.

    That got me wondering:

    Could today’s AI — not a superintelligence, just the models we have now — start sketching out what those new paradigms might look like?

    So I ran an experiment.

    I asked both ChatGPT and Grok to think seriously about novel approaches to computation (and at the end having them talk directly to each other). I asked them to start with philosophy, but then ground the ideas in physics and mathematics we already understand. I wanted to see what they would come up with – if there was any way to exploit untapped areas for computing purposes.

    What came back surprised me. They converged on an idea rooted in topological physics — the same branch of math that earned a Nobel Prize in 2016.

    Here’s what they proposed: Topological Field Computation: Programmable Hamiltonians in Metamaterials.

    The Big Idea: Topology as a Foundation for Computation

    In physics, certain properties are “topologically protected” — meaning they’re robust against small disturbances, imperfections, or noise. Think of the difference between a donut and a sphere: no matter how you stretch or deform a donut, it still has a hole. That hole is a topological invariant. You’d have to tear the thing apart to change it. In quantum and photonic systems, analogous invariants protect certain physical states from falling apart when things get noisy.

    For computation, this is a very attractive property. Our current computers spend enormous energy on error correction and precise control precisely because standard physical states are fragile. What if you could build computational states that were inherently hard to disturb?

    The AI models proposed using a specific model from condensed matter physics — the Su-Schrieffer-Heeger (SSH) model — implemented in photonic waveguide arrays as a testbed for this idea.

    Grok: Towards Topological Field Computation

    Grok took a broad, visionary approach. It lays out a full conceptual framework for what it calls topological field computation, built around three core ideas:

    Memory as stable curvature. Rather than storing information in a bit that’s either 0 or 1, imagine storing it in the shape of a field — a topological configuration like a vortex or soliton. These configurations are stable not because you’re actively holding them in place, but because the mathematics of the space they live in makes them hard to destroy. Grok calls this “stable curvature in configuration space.”

    Addressability as landscape navigation. To read or write information, you don’t flip a switch — you navigate an energy landscape. You tune parameters to move between valid topological states, like hiking between valleys in a terrain. Crucially, if the terrain is topological, the paths between states are more reliable and the states themselves are more distinct.

    Intelligence as Hamiltonian sculpting. The most speculative and interesting idea: what if a system could adaptively reshape its own governing equations (its Hamiltonian) in response to feedback? This would be a form of hardware-level learning — not software running on static hardware, but the physical substrate itself adapting.

    To test whether any of this is real and not just beautiful theory, Grok proposed a minimum viable demonstration (MVD): build a small SSH photonic lattice in a silicon-on-insulator chip (a mature, manufacturable technology), and compare it against a topologically trivial lattice with identical specs.

    The key falsifiable claim:

    The topological system should maintain high routing fidelity with fewer control inputs and less energy than the trivial one.

    If it doesn’t, the theory needs revision.

    Grok also honestly addresses the hard problems — sensitivity to cross-talk between waveguides, partial observability (you can’t watch every part of the system at once), and the challenge of scaling beyond a handful of unit cells.

    ChatGPT: Topology as Control Compression

    ChatGPT’s approach is narrower and more rigorously experimental in its framing, but it homes in on what may be the most important single question hiding inside Grok’s broader vision.

    The central hypothesis:

    Topological protection compresses control dimensionality.

    Here’s what that means in plain terms: Any real physical computing system drifts. Temperature changes, fabrication imperfections, and environmental noise all push your system away from where you want it. To compensate, you need feedback control — sensors that detect drift and actuators that push back. In most systems, as you add more components, the number of control inputs you need scales up roughly linearly. This becomes a serious bottleneck.

    ChatGPT’s asks: does topology break this scaling? If a topological system’s important states are inherently stable, maybe you need far fewer “nudges” to keep the system on track. The approach formalizes this as a control-compression curve: plot routing fidelity against the number of effective control degrees of freedom, and see if the SSH lattice reaches high fidelity (>90%) with a smaller control rank than a matched trivial lattice.

    The experimental setup is elegant in its fairness: fabricate both systems on the same chip, subject them to identical drift protocols (±10°C thermal ramps with spatial gradients), and give them identical actuator budgets. Any difference in performance is attributable to topology, not experimental conditions.

    ChatGPT also introduces a clean mathematical handle for the comparison: the condition number of the sensitivity matrix — essentially, how efficiently does a unit of control effort translate into a unit of useful correction? A lower condition number means better-conditioned control, less wasted effort, and more stable feedback loops. The prediction is that the topological SSH system should show meaningfully better conditioning.

    Importantly, ChatGPT maps out all three possible outcomes honestly:

    • If SSH wins: topology is a genuine control-theoretic resource, not just a curiosity.
    • If SSH ties: topology helps with static disorder but not dynamic stabilization — still useful, but the stronger claim fails.
    • If SSH loses: the advantage only appears in nonlinear regimes, and the linear test is the wrong arena.

    This kind of pre-registered, falsifiable structure is exactly what makes a proposal scientifically credible rather than speculative hand-waving.

    Where the Two AI Models Agree (and Where They Differ)

    Both approaches agree on the core physical setup: SSH lattice in silicon photonics, compared against a trivial baseline, with the key metric being how hard it is to maintain functional behavior under drift. They agree that the interesting question isn’t just “does topology survive disorder” (that’s already known) but “does topology reduce the cost of control.”

    Where they differ is in scope and emphasis. Grok builds a grander intellectual framework — the memory/addressability/intelligence triad gestures toward a full paradigm for field-based computation, with implications for neuromorphic hardware, analog optimization, and even quantum simulation. ChatGPT drills down into the control-theoretic machinery, giving you the specific matrices, metrics, and statistical tests you’d need to actually run the experiment and publish the result.

    They’re complementary. Grok gives you the why, ChatGPT gives you the how to test it.

    Why This Matters

    If the core hypothesis holds up experimentally, the implications are significant. Right now, scaling programmable photonic or analog systems is limited not primarily by fabrication — silicon photonics is mature — but by the exploding complexity of the control layer. Every component you add potentially requires new sensors, new actuators, new feedback loops. Topology, if it genuinely compresses control dimensionality, could change that scaling relationship.

    That’s not a path to replacing digital computers. But it could be a path to a new class of hardware that’s particularly good at analog optimization, physical neural networks, or robust signal routing — and that does it with substantially less overhead than current approaches.

    And at a more philosophical level: this is exactly the kind of thing Bostrom was pointing at. Not magic, not science fiction — but a serious engagement with physical principles we already understand, applied in ways we haven’t fully explored. Today’s AI didn’t invent topological physics. But it did ask a question about it that researchers haven’t fully answered yet.

    That seems like a reasonable start – and a big leap from where we were in 2016.

  • Velocity, Acceleration, and Safety: Why Humans React to Change, Not Motion

    Velocity, Acceleration, and Safety: Why Humans React to Change, Not Motion

    Human conflict is often a response to changes in tempo rather than to the actions themselves.

    • We argue morality when the issue is tempo.
    • We argue legality when the issue is acceleration.
    • We argue intent when the issue is predictability.

    By naming acceleration as a distinct variable, we gain something valuable: the ability to describe discomfort without immediately assigning blame.

    Instead of asking:

    • Is this right or wrong?
    • Is this allowed or forbidden?
    • Is this good or bad?

    We can first ask:

    • Has the rate of change exceeded the system’s capacity to adapt?

    That question is calmer.
    More precise.
    And often more honest.

    Humans implicitly assume continuity unless signaled otherwise.

    We expect the world to proceed tomorrow at roughly the same pace it did yesterday. We assume people, institutions, technologies, and environments will behave with some degree of temporal consistency. This assumption is so deep that we rarely notice it – until it’s violated.

    And when it is violated, we don’t experience it as “a change in velocity.”

    We experience it as threat.

    Not moral threat.
    Not legal threat.
    Not even intentional threat.

    Just instability.

    In physics, there’s a principle so basic it’s often overlooked: constant velocity is indistinguishable from rest.

    According to Newton’s First Law, an object moving at a constant speed in a straight line experiences no net force. From inside the system, nothing feels like it’s happening. There is no signal. No disturbance. No information.

    Only when velocity changes, such as when an object accelerates or decelerates, does force become detectable.

    Acceleration is motion made visible.

    This distinction matters far beyond physics, because humans operate the same way.

    Speed Itself Isn’t the Issue — Speed of Change Is

    People notice when things are moving faster or slower than they are comfortable with, but they have blunt, imprecise words to objectively measure what they are feeling:

    • “Things are moving too fast”
    • “Progress is too slow”
    • “Technology is accelerating”
    • “The government is overreaching”
    • “This relationship is going nowhere”

    Speed alone is rarely what’s being perceived:

    • If something moves quickly and has always moved quickly, it feels normal.
    • If something moves slowly and has always moved slowly, it also feels normal.

    What humans detect (emotionally and immediately) is acceleration: A sudden increase or decrease in tempo is the signal that something has changed, and that signal is interpreted first as a safety question, not as a value judgment.

    Imagine a car at rest next to you. You likely pay no attention to it. But the moment it begins to move towards you, you notice.

    That’s safety at rest and risk in motion.

    Acceleration as a Universal Disturbance Signal

    Across domains, the same pattern appears.

    Relationships

    • A relationship that escalates steadily often feels safe, even if it moves faster than average.
    • A sudden jump — declarations of love, commitment, or permanence without ramp-up — feels aggressive or destabilizing.

    Conversely, a relationship that stalls after steady forward motion triggers discomfort. The issue isn’t slowness. It’s deceleration without explanation.

    Law and Governance

    • Laws that exist but are enforced predictably fade into the background.
    • When enforcement accelerates abruptly — raids, sweeps, sudden crackdowns — the reaction is fear and resistance, even among people who accept the law itself.

    The disturbance comes from rate change, not legality.

    Technology and AI

    • Gradual capability improvements are absorbed without panic.
    • Sudden leaps — systems doing in days what humans expect to take years — trigger unease, even when no explicit harm occurs.

    The system hasn’t become immoral.
    It has become temporally discontinuous with human expectations.

    Physical Space and Machines

    • Robots that move at consistent, human-scaled tempos feel safe.
    • Robots that jerk, hesitate unpredictably, or suddenly accelerate feel dangerous or uncanny.

    Not because of intelligence — but because acceleration breaks continuity.

    Humans Instinctively Know Physics

    Newton’s laws describe physical systems, but they also reveal something about perception.

    Force is only detectable through acceleration.
    Humans respond to the world the same way.

    When velocity is constant, we relax.
    When velocity changes, we pay attention.
    When acceleration exceeds our ability to predict outcomes, we experience danger.

    This is not emotional.
    It’s structural.

    It’s how biological systems maintain orientation in time.

    Why This Matters

    Acceleration is not inherently bad.

    • Emergency response requires it.
    • Innovation sometimes depends on it.
    • Stalled systems occasionally need a jolt.

    But unacknowledged acceleration (change without signaling), without ramp-up, or without context – is what breaks trust.

    Humans don’t fear motion. They fear unexplained force.

    Call to Action

    We need a new, additional dimension of thinking objectively about problems and I believe that dimension needs to be “velocity and acceleration”.

    By naming acceleration as a distinct dimension of analysis, we gain a way to examine instability before it is moralized, politicized, or personalized.

    When we call out the velocity, it makes implicit emotions explicit and gives us a lever for change.

    Instead of just saying, “Stop doing that, it’s wrong,” we can be more specific and say, “You’re moving faster than the rest of the group. The rate of change is too great. In order for me to feel safe, I need you to slow down.”

    Some people already do this. Others can learn to use the tool.

  • The Room of Requirement: Why Hidden Spaces Appear in Stories, Organizations, and Real Life

    The Room of Requirement: Why Hidden Spaces Appear in Stories, Organizations, and Real Life

    In Harry Potter, the Room of Requirement is one of the most powerful ideas in the entire series – not because it’s magical, but because it’s true.

    The room appears only when it’s genuinely needed.
    It takes the shape of whatever solves the immediate problem.
    And it exists outside official authority, yet quietly makes survival possible.

    It doesn’t show up because the school planned well.
    It shows up because the institution failed to provide something essential.

    That pattern turns out to be everywhere – in movies, in organizations, and in real life.

    The Room of Requirement in Harry Potter

    At Hogwarts, students don’t use the Room of Requirement because they’re rebellious or sneaky.

    They use it because:

    • the curriculum doesn’t prepare them for real danger
    • authority figures are constrained, compromised, or absent
    • open discussion would expose vulnerability or incompetence

    Dumbledore doesn’t officially sanction it.
    Umbridge would destroy it instantly.
    Yet without it, the students would be helpless.

    The Room exists because truth, practice, and preparation needed somewhere to live.

    The Rooms in The Goonies

    In The Goonies, the kids don’t operate from city hall, the police station, or their parents’ living rooms.

    They operate from:

    • basements
    • tunnels
    • hidden pirate ships
    • off-the-map spaces adults don’t control

    Why?

    Because the official system has already decided:

    • their homes are expendable
    • their voices don’t matter
    • efficiency matters more than people

    So they build their own operating space – informal, risky, collaborative – and save what the system was willing to lose.

    That’s not childish fantasy.
    That’s an accurate model of how under-supported groups survive.

    Rooms of Requirement in real organizations

    This isn’t just storytelling. It happens in real companies all the time.

    First example: inventing leadership when it isn’t allowed

    At one agency I worked at, there was a clear need for a function the company didn’t want to formally support. The work still needed to happen — so a small group of us created a private space where we could:

    • talk honestly about how to run projects
    • share what actually worked with developers
    • cross-pollinate ideas without fear

    It worked extremely well.

    Morale improved.
    Outcomes improved.
    Leadership emerged naturally.

    Eventually, the space grew visible enough that someone tried to expose it to management. Leadership shut it down.

    Not because it was wrong – but because it proved something uncomfortable:

    The organization worked better when truth had a place to exist.

    The Room of Requirement returns

    Years later, the same pattern reappeared.

    Public discourse about how to do work was constrained – not maliciously, but structurally. Visibility was risky. Admitting uncertainty was punished. Narrative control mattered more than shared understanding.

    So intelligence routed itself sideways again.

    A private Slack channel emerged – half jokingly called a “Room of Requirement.” Inside it:

    • communication was fluid
    • people shared real practices
    • leadership happened without titles
    • morale went up

    No rebellion.
    No gossip.
    Just people solving the problems the formal system couldn’t acknowledge.

    And once again, it worked.

    The uncomfortable lesson across all of this

    Rooms of Requirement don’t appear because people want to hide.

    They appear because:

    • a critical function exists
    • the system won’t name it
    • the work still has to happen

    When that gap opens, one of two things occurs:

    • reality degrades openly
    • or intelligence moves underground

    Most organizations choose the second – at least for a while.

    What Rooms of Requirement are actually good for

    Used well, these spaces can:

    • preserve morale in rigid systems
    • allow learning without exposure
    • prototype better operating models
    • help people lead before they’re allowed to

    They are:

    • relief valves, not replacements
    • labs, not final answers
    • bridges, not destinations

    They buy time.
    They keep things alive.
    They prevent collapse while everyone pretends nothing is wrong.

    A practical recommendation

    Rooms of Requirement are most useful when they are:

    • small
    • voluntary
    • clearly informal
    • focused on learning, not power
    • treated as temporary scaffolding

    They should help people think, connect, and survive – not carry the entire structure on their backs.

    When they become load-bearing, something else needs to change.

    Closing thought

    Every time a Room of Requirement appears — in fiction or in life — it’s telling you the same thing:

    There is a truth this system cannot yet afford to see.

    The room isn’t the problem.
    The room is the signal.

    And learning how to read that signal – without confusing it for the solution – might be one of the most important leadership skills there is.

  • Authority, Winning, and the Cost of Staying Adjacent

    This morning clarified something I’ve been circling for years but never named plainly: I have optimized for system impact, not personal authority.

    I’m very good at building, fixing, and stabilizing systems. I improve organizations, help leaders think more clearly, and quietly make things work. But I’ve done this while standing adjacent to power instead of occupying it:

    • Advisor instead of owner
    • Architect instead of authority
    • Reliable #2 energy instead of explicit responsibility with upside

    That pattern used to make sense, but it is no longer congruent with who I am.

    Earlier in life, staying adjacent gave me flexibility, safety, and moral insulation. I could contribute without exposure. I could help without risking visible failure. I could preserve an identity built around service, intelligence, and restraint. It worked—until it didn’t.

    What’s changed is not my capacity, but the gap between who I am and how I’m positioned. That gap is now emotionally expensive. It shows up as frustration, quiet resentment, and the sense that I’m under-leveraged. At this stage, capability without outcomes doesn’t read as humility anymore—it reads as incongruence.

    The hardest realization is that not winning has been an emotional strategy. Losing—or at least not fully claiming victory—kept me morally clean and relationally safe. But the cost was real: borrowed authority, capped upside, and leadership that I donate instead of own.

    What once looked virtuous is now avoidance wearing a service costume.

    Here’s the reframe that landed hardest for me: for someone like me, winning is load-bearing.

    When capable people refuse authority, less capable systems stay in charge and entropy increases. Responsibility without power becomes the norm.

    Winning, rightly defined, isn’t dominance or ego—it’s stewardship. It’s aligning authority with responsibility so systems actually stabilize (instead of limping along).

    This internal shift then let me connect directly to recent geographic and social friction. A regional analysis made it obvious to me that I’m trying to regulate myself in environments that don’t reward execution or ownership. La Crosse and similar Driftless towns prioritize values, relationships, and moral signaling over outcomes. That’s not wrong—but it’s costly for someone wired to build, ship, and take responsibility.

    Madison and Rochester stand out not because they’re glamorous, but because there competence carries weight. Execution is expected. Outcomes matter. Accountability is normal. The insight isn’t “I need to move tomorrow,” but that I need periodic immersion in consequence-dense environments to recalibrate my nervous system and expectations. Without that, resentment builds and clarity erodes.

    The through-line is uncomfortable but clean: this isn’t a motivation problem. It’s an identity lag. I was still operating with rules designed for an earlier season—rules that prioritize safety and flexibility—while my calling now requires ownership, visibility, and measurable outcomes.

    At this point, refusing to win isn’t neutral. It quietly undermines authority, credibility, and self-trust. Winning isn’t about ego anymore. It’s about accepting stewardship of the systems I’m already capable of carrying.

  • Formation Over Validation: Living Forward Without Waiting

    I’m starting to see the shape of the season I’m in more clearly now. It’s quieter than I expected, slower than I wanted, and far more formative than I realized at the time.

    A lot of what I’ve been wrestling with isn’t about failure, or even missed opportunities. It’s about tempo, identity, and ownership.

    I’ve been carrying an unspoken fear that life is happening somewhere else—that the real future is in California, in offices full of important people, in rooms where decisions get made. That if I’m not physically there, I’m slowly becoming irrelevant. That one day I’ll wake up older and realize I waited too long to matter.

    But when I look honestly, that fear isn’t rooted in truth. It’s rooted in a narrow story of what “serious work” is supposed to look like.

    I didn’t get trapped near my kids. I chose to stay present. And the resentment I sometimes feel isn’t because the choice was wrong—it’s because I don’t always re-own it consciously. When I forget that I chose this path because it aligns with my values, my mind rewrites the story into one where something was taken from me. That’s the seed of bitterness, and I don’t want it growing.

    At the same time, I can see that I’ve been conflating visibility with location, and approval with progress. I’ve been too focused on where my body isn’t, instead of where my thinking could be.

    What’s becoming clearer is that my real work right now is formation, not validation.

    I’m learning that moving fast socially or emotionally often backfires—not because I’m dangerous or wrong, but because humans process safety and effort on delayed timelines. Politeness doesn’t mean alignment. Warmth doesn’t mean consent. And by the time discomfort surfaces, it’s already too late to correct. That doesn’t make me defective; it means the lever is earlier to see, not later to explain.

    This applies far beyond dating. It applies to life.

    I’m also seeing how much unused energy I’ve been carrying—how excess capacity with no clear direction turns into rumination, longing, scrolling, and obsession. When I’m physically exhausted, mentally engaged, and creatively focused, those patterns quiet down. Direction dissolves obsession. Creation beats distraction.

    Masculinity, for me, isn’t about force or dominance. It’s about restraint, discipline, and dignity under stress. About not outsourcing identity to approval. About metabolizing anger into strength instead of letting it rot into resentment. Sometimes withdrawal isn’t avoidance—it’s wisdom.

    There’s something deeply grounding about realizing that this season isn’t a punishment or a stall. It’s groundwork.

    Jesus didn’t chase acceptance. He moved with clarity, withdrew without bitterness, and measured success by obedience, not outcome. “Shake the dust off” isn’t about contempt—it’s about refusing to carry residue forward.

    I can see now that framing life as “later” is a trap. If I tell myself my real life starts after the kids are grown, or after some imagined permission is granted, I’m training myself to wait. And waiting corrodes the nervous system. Parallel advancement—not deferred living—is the way through.

    I don’t need to be everywhere. I need to be visible where it counts. Ideas compound. Synthesis matures. Presence matters more than proximity.

    This season is quiet. Restrained. Intentional.

    It isn’t failure.

    It’s formation.

  • I’m Ok, It’s Alright

    Alright, I’m going to make up a song now from scratch. I know the first couple chords to it. It’s A minor, C, G, and I don’t know what the lyrics are, but I’ll figure it out.

    I’m Ok, It’s Alright


    Am C G
    G Am C
    Well I don’t know where I’ve been going or where I’m going to
    G
    But I’ve arrived, I’ve arrived
    Am C
    And I don’t know where this old road goes, but I know how this old plant grows
    G
    I survived, I survived
    Am C
    And winters coming soon, but it’s still fall in this old room
    G
    And I’m alive, I’m alive
    Am C
    And spring will come around and we’ll plant ourselves in the ground
    G
    And then we’ll thrive, and then we’ll thrive

                  D                         C          G

    There’ll be summer in these woods again
    D C G
    It’ll be summer in these woods again

       Am               C                G           D

    But right now it’s quiet in the morning
    Am C G
    And I drink my coffee with a little bit of cream and a touch of sugar
    Am C G D
    That’s okay, that’s okay. It’s just fine, I’m alright.
    Am C G D G
    It’s okay, it’s just fine, I’m alright. I’m okay, I’m okay.
    G C D G
    I’m okay, I’m okay. I’m okay, I’m okay.

                  D                         C          G

    There’ll be summer in these woods again
    D C G
    It’ll be summer in these woods again

  • Every Hour

    All right, this is a song I’m working on. It has no name, but anyway, let’s get into it. Okay, here we go.

    Every Hour

    If I were a flower, I’d bloom for you. All right, still practicing, just bear with me here. If I were a flower, I’d bloom for you.

    Wow, okay, let’s try this one more time. If I were a flower, I’d bloom for you. Every hour, I’d bloom for you.

    If I were a blue jay, I’d fly for you. This song is called Every Hour. If I were a flower, I’d bloom for you.

    If I were a flower, I’d bloom for you. Every hour, I’d bloom for you. If I were a blue jay, I’d fly for you.

    All right, one more time. If I were a flower, I’d bloom for you. Every hour, I’d bloom for you.

    If I were a blue jay, I’d fly for you. Every hour, I’d fly for you. Okay, I made it through the first verse.

    If I were a tree, I’d grow for you. Gosh. Every hour, I’d grow for you.

    Grow for you. Every hour. Okay, wow, all right.

    If I were a table, I’d set myself for you. I’d put all the plates out and all the food. If I were a flower, I’d bloom for you.

    Every day, I’d bloom for you. If I were a kayak, I’d swim for you. Every day, I’d swim for you.

    If I were a fish, I’d swim for you. Every day, I’d swim for you. If I were a fish, I’d swim for you.

  • What if You Stayed?

    Hey, this is Erich. Sometimes I just turn on the camera and see what happens and this is one example of that. I knew I wanted to sing some version of “What if you stayed?” but I didn’t yet know how. I ended up not finding the notes I was singing and inadvertently created a medley with another one of my songs, but that’s part of what makes it fun.

    What if You Stayed?

    What if you stayed?

    What if you never left again?

    What if you stayed?

    Never be the same again.

    It’s time you stayed.

    What if you stayed?

    What if you stayed?

    What if you stayed?

    It’s time you come.

    It’s time. I’m gone. I’m gone.

    I’m gone. You’re gone. You’re gone.

    You’re gone. You’re gone. I lost you once.

    I lost you twice. I lost myself that day.

  • I Built the House, You Built the Home

    Hey guys, I occasionally just sit down and I just play a song like for the first time. And it doesn’t sound that good. But sometimes it’s fun. Just the serendipity of it. See what happens. And there’s a song I’ve been thinking of making, which goes something like, “I built the house, you made it a home.” You know, a little bit of country twang to it.

    I’m pretty excited, I didn’t even brush my teeth. I just sat down. Here we go. I had some pretty good toast this morning though. You know, maybe it’ll make it into the song. A little cinnamon, butter, and sugar. All right. What could this be? Let’s see. If I could just get the melody going first in my my mind.

    I Built the House, You Built the Home

    I built the house

    You built the home

    I built the house

    You built the home

    I built the house

    You built the home

    I Built the house

    You built the home

    I Built the house

    You built the home

    Now come back home