a quiet point of departure
You've arrived. The ship's drift is steady, the signal is clear, and there is — for the first time in some long stretch — nothing in particular asking to be done.
This is the home port. Everything here is small and finished. Logbooks are stowed. The kettle is on. Beyond the window, the work waits in its slow orbits, and you can step out to it whenever you like.
For now: rest a moment. The cosmos isn't going anywhere.
archivist · navigator · occasional poet
I make small things on the open web — interfaces, essays, occasional tools — and try to leave each one a little stranger and a little kinder than I found its medium.
My day work lives at the intersection of design and engineering. My nights belong to maps of imagined coastlines, telescopes that don't quite work, and the suspicion that the best software still feels handmade.
If you're reading this, you are probably someone I would like.
a partial inventory of expeditions
for transmissions of any size
I read everything. I won't always reply quickly, but I will reply.