One of us splits his working life across several companies. Each of them, sensibly, has its own AI subscription: its own account, its own login, its own chat history, its own connected tools. Sensible one at a time; absurd across a day. Switching companies means switching stations: log out, log in, log out, log in. A subscription per company, a login per subscription, and every one of them a separate building you commute between, each with its own key.
The complaint sounds small until you ask what it is a symptom of. The interface, the place you actually think and command from, belongs to the vendor. Your workflows live inside their walls. Your integrations are configured inside their account. Your identity there is a customer record. Multiply that by every subscription you hold and the shape of the problem appears: you have been plugged into each of them, one identity at a time, when the whole arrangement should run the other way around.
So here is the wish, said out loud one night and written down: one interface, owned by the person using it, where you engage your coordination agent in a way that is agnostic of whether any underlying session is open or closed. The sessions you are not looking at could be idling on your own machine as virtual machines, or on a server you rent. From your phone, one owned app sits over all of them. You never log out of yourself.
What keeps this from being just a wish is a pattern we already run every day: sessions as views over durable records. Every working session writes its state out as it goes, into a work ledger of what is owed, handoff notes and decision logs, so that any new session, opened anywhere, can pick up exactly where the last one stopped. Once that discipline holds, “is the session open?” stops being an interesting question. A session is a window; the work lives in the record. Close the window and nothing is lost; open a new one and it fills with the same view. Open versus closed becomes an implementation detail, which is exactly what it has to become before one interface can sit calmly on top of many runtimes. The hardest requirement of the owned interface turns out to be the part that gets built first, as a side effect of keeping honest records.
We gave the concept a code name: Sunflower. Deliberately a code name, not a product name: it exists to remind us of something. Sunflower is what one of us would call his own personal interface; the point of the name is that yours would be called something else. The coordination machinery underneath can be common; the face of it is personal: your name for it, your workflows, your integrations, your records. A seed name for the seed of an idea, which is why this post is called what it is called.
Widen the lens and the idea stops being about people who run several companies. The longer direction is any human, very much including someone who has never written a line of code, commanding development, customisation, troubleshooting, deployment, and integration through one chat interface, with all of the plumbing abstracted away behind it. Their second brain is part of the package: the interface knows their context because they own the records it reads. We hold this one honestly: it is a parked long-term direction, not a roadmap item. Nothing is built. Interest is declared, the market for it will be crowded and hard, and we have written it down where we write down directions rather than putting it on any docket.
The claim underneath all of it is about sovereignty. The current arrangement inverts ownership: you plug into vendors, one identity per vendor, your workflows sharded across their subscriptions, and when you leave one, you leave part of yourself behind. The interface worth building inverts it back. Your identity, held by you. Your workflows and records, portable, so they survive any vendor. Your integrations, yours. The vendors become interchangeable runtimes your interface drives: they plug into you. DAAC’s part in that picture is the facilitation: an ecosystem where the integrations are brokered while custody of the identity, the records, and the choices stays with the person. Not a harvest. A socket.
For now, the login shuffle continues, and the wish stays a seed. But seeds are cheap to plant and expensive to ignore. Every session we run already writes to records that outlive it, which means that whenever the interface does get built, it will find the ground already prepared: a working life that never depended on any one window being open.