RAG

The problem is not finding documents. It is spending the prompt budget badly. Ask an enterprise RAG system for “scope of work,” and the system may look confident for exactly the wrong reason. The query sounds simple. Somewhere in the document set, there is probably a sheet, paragraph, or clause literally called “Scope of Works.” A flat top-k retriever will happily grab the highest-scoring chunks from that section, stack them into the model context, and call the job done. Very tidy. Very wrong. ...

Workflow is the unglamorous part of agentic AI. Which is precisely why it matters. A research agent can have a strong language model, a decent search tool, and an impressive ability to produce paragraphs that sound like a McKinsey intern who drank too much espresso. Yet when the task becomes long, ambiguous, and evidence-heavy, the same agent often fails for a boring reason: it does the right actions in the wrong order, repeats the same weak search, summarizes too early, forgets to verify a source, or changes its own instructions so enthusiastically that it becomes a different employee halfway through the job. ...

Trade has a special talent for humiliating clean theories. A model reads a market brief. It sees earnings beats, sales guidance, analyst upgrades, and a few scattered corporate events. Asked to behave like a turnaround specialist, it starts building buy signals. Some recommendations are reasonable. Others quietly smuggle in missing assumptions: maybe the company has new management; maybe the earnings beat reflects restructuring; maybe debt reduction is happening somewhere behind the curtain. Very elegant. Also, very convenient. ...

Memory is where many impressive agents quietly become mediocre employees. They can answer the last question. They can summarize the last document. They can sound very confident about a customer, a project, or a workflow they saw three weeks ago. Then someone asks, “Why did we make that decision?”, “When did the requirement change?”, or “Was that the same client who objected last time?” Suddenly the agent rummages through its past like a consultant searching Slack at 1:43 a.m. Technically alive. Not exactly organized. ...

Memory sounds simple until the assistant has to remember two incompatible things at once. A customer loves craft beer. The same customer is temporarily taking antibiotics. A flat memory system retrieves “likes IPA” and recommends a variety pack, because apparently “memory” means grabbing the loudest sticky note from a drawer and pretending it is wisdom. A more useful assistant retrieves the preference, the medical constraint, the timing, and the relation among them. It recommends a mocktail and quietly avoids turning personalization into negligence. ...

The problem is not that LLMs cannot write code. It is that they write the wrong kind too confidently. A familiar scene: someone gives an LLM a task, receives a block of code that looks elegant, runs it, and discovers that it has invented an API, misunderstood the library, or solved a neighboring problem with excellent grammar. This is annoying when the target is ordinary Python. It is worse when the target is a specialized framework where the code is supposed to encode logic, constraints, and domain structure. ...

An employee privately tells a colleague that she plans to resign. Weeks later, she asks her AI assistant to draft an email to her manager about her future goals. The assistant searches her previous conversations, retrieves the resignation discussion, and helpfully writes that her priority is preparing for a smooth transition because she has accepted another role. ...

RAG is a very polite librarian. It fetches documents, quotes passages, and helps an agent look less ignorant in public. Then the agent closes the book, answers the user, and leaves no trace except a chat log, a cache entry, or perhaps another small pile of private “reflections” that no one else will ever see. ...

Memory is not a folder A useful employee does not fill out the same form from scratch every morning as if yesterday never happened. They remember which menu hides the export button, which warning can be ignored, which field must be filled before the “Next” button wakes up, and which apparently harmless click sends the process into a small bureaucratic swamp. ...

Triage begins with messy language. A patient does not usually arrive as a clean feature vector. They arrive with “I feel tired,” “my stomach is strange,” “I have fever but not always,” or the classic: “I searched online and now I am either fine or dying.” Traditional diagnostic models are not built for this level of human poetry. They prefer structured fields, stable vocabularies, and the fantasy that symptoms behave like dropdown menus. ...