Nobody is reading anything anymore.
You know it. We know it. The “I have read the terms and conditions” checkbox has known it since 2004. We built a civilization on documents and then, quietly, collectively, stopped reading them.
In 2017, humans taught machines attention. It worked. The machines now do the typing, the drafting, the building — and the one thing they still cannot manufacture is the thing this website is named after. What follows is a manifesto about the last scarce resource, and a small, serious proposal for how to spend it.
Estimate. Directionally terrifying. And no — it does not pause when you look away. That is rather the theme.
Read them all. There’s a meter. We’re serious. Mostly.
You know it. We know it. The “I have read the terms and conditions” checkbox has known it since 2004. We built a civilization on documents and then, quietly, collectively, stopped reading them.
A paragraph is source code now. Write “move the self-serve tiers to usage-based pricing” in the right box, and by morning it is not a paragraph anymore. It is your pricing. Unread paragraphs ship too.
We planned this. We funded it. We are, on balance, delighted. It is going extremely well, which is the problem.
They can request it. They cannot mine it, farm it, cache it, or fake it. Neither can you — which is rather the point of this document.
One of these questions gets more important every night around 2 a.m., and it is not the first one.
Except this contract executes. The average approval takes eleven seconds. The average consequence takes a quarter.†
Agents open more pull requests than we ever did, and every line still lands through review. But by the time there is a diff, the decisions were made — in the document the agent read. Review the document, and the diffs start arriving correct.
We now notarize the reading. The new sign-off is RGTM: reads good to me. Say it only when it’s true. People will know.
Nobody reviews two thousand lines of consequence at 5 p.m. Two people deeply read four hundred words at 10 a.m. instead. This is the entire trick. There is no other trick.
Not because reading is new. Because for the first time in the history of work, the reading is the only part left that’s ours — and it deserves a ritual, a name, and a button.
† FIGURES INVENTED. FEELINGS ACCURATE.
For seventy years, the bottleneck of building things was typing them. That bottleneck is gone. It went quietly, in a couple of springs, while we were arguing about other things.
What remains is meaning it — knowing what we asked for, noticing what we got, and being able to say, with a straight face, that somebody actually looked. Every system we have for trust — reviews, sign-offs, approvals — silently assumed a human read the thing. That assumption is now the single most expensive fiction in your company.
The species that invented the to-do list is about to find out whether it can still pay attention on purpose. We think it can. We’ve watched it happen — two people, one document, ten honest minutes, and a machine that waits politely for quorum.
You can adopt the ritual with a wiki page and a promise — this site tells you how, and it’s free forever, because it’s just reading. Or you can adopt it with software that makes it a button. We make the software. The ritual is yours either way. let.ai ↗
The approve button unlocks when you’ve actually read it. We measure scroll and time. Crudely. Like your standup.
The Attention Request Protocol, specified with RFC-grade solemnity. MUST means we’re begging.
Skim debt, approval theater, RGTM, and other vocabulary for the age of infinite typing.
1976 to now: how the bottleneck moved from typing to meaning, told mostly straight.