AI Might Be Our Best Shot At Taking Back The Open Web

I remember, pretty clearly, my excitement over the early World Wide Web. I had been on the internet for a year or two at that point, mostly using IRC, Usenet, and Gopher (along with email, naturally). Some friends I had met on Usenet were students at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, and told me to download NCSA Mosaic (this would have been early 1994). And suddenly the possibility of the internet as a visual medium became clear. I rushed down to the university bookstore and picked up a giant 400ish page book on building websites with HTML (I only finally got rid of that book a few years ago). I don’t think I ever read beyond the first chapter. But what I did do was learn how to right click on webpages and “view source.”

And from that, magic came.

I had played around with trying to build websites, and I remember another friend telling me about GeoCities (I can’t quite recall if this was before or after they had changed their name from their original “Beverly Hills Internet”) handing out web sites for free. You just had to create the HTML pages and upload them via FTP.

And so I started designing really crappy websites. I don’t remember what the early ones had, but like all early websites they probably used the blink tag and had under construction images and eventually a “web counter.”

But the thing I do remember was the first time I came across Derek Powazek’s Fray online magazine. It was the first time I had seen a website look beautiful. This was without CSS and without Javascript. I still remember quite clearly an “issue” of Fray that used frames to create some kind of “doors” you could slide open to reveal an article inside.

Right click. View source. Copy. Mess around. A week later I had my own (very different) version of the sliding doors on my GeoCities site, but using the same HTML bones as Derek’s brilliant work.

You could just build stuff. You could look at what others were doing and play around with it. Copy the source, make adjustments, try things, and have something new. There were, certainly, limitations of the technology, but it was incredibly easy for anyone to pick up. Yes, you had to “learn” HTML, but you could pick up enough basics in an afternoon to build a decent looking website.

But then two things happened, and it’s worth separating them because they’re different problems with different causes.

First, the technical barrier went up. CSS and Javascript opened up incredible possibilities to make websites beautiful and interactive, but they also meant it was a lot more difficult to just view source, copy, and mess around. The gap between “basic functional website” and “actually looks good” widened into a chasm that required real expertise to cross. Plenty of dedicated people learned these skills, but the casual tinkerer — the person who’d spend an afternoon copying Derek’s frames to make sliding doors — increasingly couldn’t keep up.

But the technical complexity alone didn’t kill amateur web building. The centralization did. While there was an interim period where people set up their own blogs, it quickly moved to walled “social media gardens” where some giant tech company decided what your page looked like. Why bother learning CSS when you could just dump text in a Facebook box and reach more people? The incentive to build your own thing evaporated, replaced by the convenience of posting to someone else’s platform under someone else’s (hopefully benign) rules.

These two problems reinforced each other. The harder it got to build your own thing, the more attractive the walled gardens became. The more people moved to walled gardens, the less reason there was to learn to build.

The rise of agentic AI tools is opening up an opportunity to bring us back to that original world of wonder where you could just build what you wanted, even without a CS degree. And here I need to be specific about what I mean by “agentic AI” — because too many people are overly focused on the chatbots that answer questions or generate text or images for you. I’m talking about AI systems that can actually do things: write code, execute it, debug it, iterate on it based on your feedback. Tools like Claude Code, Cursor, Codex, Antigravity, or similar coding agents that can take a description of what you want and actually build it.

For all those years that tech bros would shout “learn to code” at journalists, the reality now is that being able to write well and accurately describe things is a superpower that is even better than code. You can tell a coding agent what to do… and for the most part it will do it.

Let me give you the example that still kind of blows my mind. A few weeks ago, in the course of a Saturday — most of which I actually spent building a fence in my yard — I had a coding agent build an entire video conferencing platform. It built a completely functional platform with specific features I’d wanted for years but couldn’t find in existing tools. I’ve now used it for actual staff meetings. The fence took longer to build than the software.

All it took was describing what I wanted to an agent that could code it for me. And it addresses both problems I described earlier: it lowers the technical barrier back down to “can you describe what you want clearly?” while also enabling you to build your own thing rather than accepting whatever some platform offers you.

Over the last few months I’ve been finding I need to retrain my brain a bit about what we accept and learn to deal with vs. what we can fix ourselves. In the past I’ve talked about the learned helplessness many people feel about the tech that we use. We know that it’s vaguely working against us, and we all have to figure out what trade-offs we’re willing to accept to accomplish whatever goals we have.

But what if we could just fix things rather than accepting the tradeoffs?

I’ve talked in the past about how I’ve used an AI-assisted writing tool called Lex over the past few years, which doesn’t write for me, but is a very useful editorial assistant. Over the last few months, though, I decided to see if I could effectively rebuild that tool myself, fully controlled by me, without having to rely on a company that might change or enshittify the app. I actually built it directly into the other big AI experiment I’ve spoken about: my task management tool, which I’ve also moved away from a third party hosting service onto a local machine. Indeed, I’m writing this article right now in this tool (I first created a task to write about it, and then by clicking a checkbox that it was a “writing project” it automatically opens up a blank page for me to write in, and when I’m done, I’ll click a button and it will do a first pass editorial review).

But the amazing thing to me is that I keep remembering I can fix anything I come across that doesn’t work the way I want it to. With any other software I have to adjust. With this software, I just say “oh hey, let’s change this.” I find that a few times a week I’ll make a small tweak here or there that just makes the software even better. In the past, I would just note a slight annoyance and figure out how to just deal with software not working the way I wanted. But now, my mind is open to the fact that I can just make it better. Myself.

An example: literally last night, I realized that the page in the task tool that lists all the writing projects I’m working on was getting cluttered by older completed projects that were listed as still being in “drafting” mode. With other tools (including the old writing tool I was using), I would just learn to mentally compartmentalize the fact that the list of articles was a mess and train myself to ignore the older articles and the digital clutter. But here, I could just lay out the issue to my coding agent, and after some back and forth, we came up with a system whereby once a task on the task management side was checked off as “completed” the corresponding writing project would similarly get marked as completed and then would be hidden away in a minimized list.

I keep coming across little things like this that, in the past, I would have been mildly annoyed by, but needed to live with. And it’s taking some effort to remind myself “wait, I don’t have to live with this, I can fix it.” Rather than training my brain to accept a product that doesn’t do what I want, I can just tell it to work better. And it does.

And, the more I do that, the more I start to open up my mind to possibilities that were impossible before. “Huh, wouldn’t it be nice if this tool also had this other feature? Let’s try it!” I find that the more I do this, the bigger my vision gets of what I can do because the large segment of things that were fundamentally impossible before are now open to me, just by describing what I want.

It really does give me that same underlying feeling that I felt when I was first playing around with HTML and being able to “just make things.” Except, now, it’s way more powerful. Rather than copying Derek’s use of HTML frames to create “sliding doors” on a webpage, I can create basically anything I dream up.

Then, when combined with open social protocols, you can build in social features or identity to any service as well — without having to worry about getting other users. They’re already there. For example, my task management tool sends me a “morning briefing” every day that, among other things, scans through Bluesky to see if there’s anything that might need my attention.

Now, there are legitimate criticisms of “vibe coded” tools. Critics point out that AI-generated code can be buggy, insecure, hard to maintain, and that users who can’t read the code can’t verify what it’s actually doing. These are real concerns — for certain contexts.

The thing is, most of these criticisms apply to tools being built as businesses to serve customers at scale. If you’re shipping code to millions of users who are depending on it, you absolutely need security audits, proper testing, maintainable architecture. But that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about building totally customized, personal tools for yourself—tools where you’re the only user, where the stakes are “my task list doesn’t sync properly” rather than “customer data got leaked.”

There’s also a more subtle concern worth addressing: is this actually democratizing, or does it just shift which skills you need? After all, you still need to accurately describe what you want, debug when things go wrong, and understand what’s even possible. That’s different from learning HTML, but it’s still a skill. I think the honest answer is that the kind of skill needed has shifted. “Learn to code” becomes “learn to think clearly and describe things precisely” — which happens to be a superpower that writers, editors, and domain experts already have. The barrier has moved to territory that many more people already inhabit.

It’s also an area where you can easily start small, learn, and grow. I started by building a few smaller apps with simpler features, but the more I do, the more I realize what’s possible.

Also, I’d note that this is actually an area where the LLM chatbots are kind of useful. Before I kick off an actual project with a coding agent, I’ve found that talking it through with an LLM first helps sharpen my thinking on what to tell the agent. I don’t outsource my mind to the chatbot, and will often reject some of its suggestions, but in having the discussion before setting the agent to work, it often clarifies tradeoffs and makes me consider how to best phrase things when I do move over to the agent.

What gets missed in most conversations about AI and the open web: these two pieces need each other. Open social protocols without AI tools stay stuck in the domain of developers and the highly technical — which is exactly why adoption has been slow. And AI tools without open protocols just replicate the old problem: you’re building cool stuff, but you’re still trapped inside someone else’s walls.

Put them together, though, and something clicks. Open protocols like ATProto give AI agents bounded, consent-driven contexts to work in — your agent can scan your Bluesky feed because the protocol allows that, not because some company decided to grant API access that it could revoke tomorrow. And AI agents give regular people the ability to actually build on those protocols without needing an engineering team. My morning briefing tool scans Bluesky not because I wrote a bunch of API calls, but because I described what I wanted and a coding agent made it happen.

Each piece makes the other more powerful and safer.

Blaine Cook — who was Twitter’s original architect back when it was still a protocol-minded company — recently wrote a piece at New_ Public that gets at this from the infrastructure side:

My long-standing hope has been that we’re able to move past the extractive, monopolizing, and competitive phase of social networks, and into a new era of creativity, collaboration, and diversity. I believe we’re poised to see a Cambrian explosion of new ways to interact online, and there’s evidence to suggest that it’s already happening: just today, I saw three new apps to share what you’re reading and watching with friends, each with their own unique take on the subject!

In this light, LLMs may be a killer app for decentralized networks — and decentralized networks may be the missing constraint that makes LLM integrations safer, more legible, and more aligned with user interests. It’s a symbiosis, and I believe we need both pieces. Rather than trying to integrate LLMs with everything, I think that deliberately bounded, consent-driven integrations will produce better outcomes.

Cook’s framing of LLMs as a “killer app for decentralized networks” is exactly right — and it runs the other way too. Decentralized networks might be the killer app for making AI tools something other than another vector for corporate lock-in, or just another clone of an existing centralized service.

Now, I can already hear the objection, and it’s a fair one: am I really suggesting we escape dependence on giant tech platforms by… becoming dependent on giant AI companies? Companies that have scraped the entire web, that burn massive amounts of energy and water, that are built on the labor of underpaid content moderators, and that seem to want to consolidate power in ways that look an awful lot like the last generation of tech giants?

Yeah, I get it. If the pitch is “use OpenAI to free yourself from Meta,” that’s just switching landlords.

But that’s not actually where this is heading. The trajectory matters more than the current snapshot.

First, if you’re using frontier models through the API or a pro subscription, you have significantly more control than most people realize. Your data generally isn’t feeding back into training. You’re using the model as a tool, not handing over your content to a platform. That’s a meaningfully different relationship than the one you have with social media companies, where you’re feeding them data, and their business model is based on monetizing that data.

But much more importantly, you don’t have to use the frontier models at all. Open source AI is maturing fast — models like Qwen, Kimi, and Mistral can run entirely on certain hardware, no cloud required. They’re behind the frontier models, but only by a bit. Six months to a year, roughly. But for a lot of the “build your own tools” use cases I’m describing, they’re already good enough.

Musician and YouTuber Rick Beato recently showed how easy it was for him to install local models on his own machine, and why he thinks the largest AI companies will eventually be undercut by home AI usage:

I’ve been doing something similar with Ollama hosting a Qwen model locally. It’s slower and less sophisticated. But it works. And I already use different models for different tasks, defaulting to local when I can. As those models improve — and they are improving quickly — the frontier labs become less necessary, not more. If you’re a professional, perhaps you’ll still need them. But if you’re just building something for yourself, it’s less and less necessary.

This is what the “AI is just another Big Tech power grab” critics are missing: the technology is moving toward decentralization, not away from it. That’s unusual. Social media started decentralized and got captured. AI is starting captured and getting more open over time. The economic pressure from open source models is real, and it’s pushing in the right direction. But it’s important we keep things moving that way and not slow down the development of open source LLMs.

On the training data question — which is a legitimate concern whether or not you think training on copyrighted works is fair use — efforts like Common Corpus are building large-scale training sets from public domain and openly licensed materials. Anil Dash has been writing about what “good AI” looks like in practice — AI that’s transparent about its training data, that respects consent, that minimizes externalities rather than ignoring them. There are ways to do this right.

None of this is fully solved yet. But the direction is clear, and the tools to do it responsibly are improving faster than most critics acknowledge.

When you use AI as a tool (rather than letting it use you as the tool), it can give you a kind of superpower to get past the learned helplessness of relying on whatever choices some billionaire or random product manager made for you. You can get past having to mentally compensate for your tools not really working the way you think they should work. Instead, you can just have the internet and your tools work the way you want them to. It’s the most excited I’ve been about the open web since those early days of realizing I could right click, copy and then figure out how to build sliding doors out of frames.

The promise of the open web was colonized by internet giants. But the power of LLMs and agentic coding means we can start to take it back. We can build customized, personal software for ourselves that does what we want. We can connect with communities via open social protocols that allow us to control the relationship rather than a billionaire intermediary. This is what the Resonant Computing Manifesto was all about, and why I’ve argued ATproto is so key to that vision.

But the other part of realizing the manifesto is the LLM side. That made some people scoff early on, but hopefully this piece shows how these things work hand in hand. These agentic AI tools give the power back to you and me.

Thirty years ago, I right-clicked on Derek Powazek’s beautiful website, viewed the source, copied it, messed around with it, and built something new. I didn’t ask anyone’s permission. I didn’t agree to terms of service. I didn’t fit my ideas into someone else’s template. I just built the thing I wanted to build.

Then we gave that away. We traded it for convenience, for reach, for the path of least resistance — and we got walled gardens, manipulated feeds, and the quiet understanding that our tools would never quite work the way we wanted them to, because they weren’t really ours.

Today’s equivalent of right-clicking on Derek’s site is describing what you want to a coding agent, watching it build, telling it what’s wrong, and iterating until it works for you. Different mechanics, same magic. And this time, with open protocols and increasingly open models, we have a shot at keeping it.

Let’s not give it away again.