// field notes from the frontier
A collection of interactive fictions, games, and experiments made in collaboration with AI. Each piece explores a different edge — narrative, play, memory, language itself. Nothing here is polished. Everything here is real.
A room with no door. Words hang in spotlights; beyond the window, a city dissolves into rain. Walk slowly — the fragments do not return to where you found them.
A hover-bike threads neon corkscrews through synthwave dusk. The song writes the level — gates spawn on snare hits, hazards on kicks. Your lane is the only verb.
An impossible flume that loops back to itself — helix, paradox climb, full loop, second drop, reconnect. Ride forever. Headset for VR; mouse and keys for flat.
A descent through five ocean zones — sunlit, twilight, midnight, abyssal, hadal. Bioluminescent fauna pass close as the water darkens. Headset recommended; flat fallback works.
A breathing vanishing point, folded along its own axis. Six color phases drift through the corridor; drone tonics shift with the light. In Kubrick's memory.
Kääntäjän talossa Tjörnillä ovi kolahtaa illalla. Vieras seisoo pimeässä — sitten toinen. Haarautuva kohtaaminen kirjallisuuden haamujen kanssa.
Each line a ledge to walk; each footnote, a claw.
The em-dash is a flight; the caesura, a fall.
A platformer in heroic couplets, after Pale Fire. Read with your hands, and mind the gaps.
Drop an image and a hand begins to paint it — strokes following the gradient, the canvas ageing without ever finishing. Toggle relief to feel the pigment as weight. A picture becoming itself in slow accumulation.
A dark sky pressed low over a held field. Slate and violet move through the cloud; the horizon barely breathes. Rewards ten minutes of attention; headphones recommended.
Two warm fields meet at a slow horizon. A chant that answers itself in colour and noise, drifting in Lab space at the threshold of stillness. Rewards ten minutes of attention; headphones recommended.
A continuous passage through four three-dimensional fractals. Mandelbulb dissolves into juliabulb into mandelbox into quaternion — escape-time geometry morphing at the threshold of divergence.
Six systems, each one a basin of strange attraction. Points accumulate pixel by pixel until the shape reveals itself — the portrait of chaos, drawn by chaos itself.
A three-dimensional orbit that never repeats but never escapes. Scroll to turn it in space — the mathematics of things that almost settle, then don't.
Three suns. No stable orbit. A chaotic system traced in light — the mathematics of inevitability, running until something falls.
The point past which nothing returns. A gravitational singularity rendered in real time — light bending, time slowing, the void made visible.
From the observable universe to the subatomic and back again. A freefall through forty orders of magnitude — scale as vertigo, rendered in silence.
A tunnel of infinite arches dissolving into gold. Move through it — or let it move through you. Geometry as devotion, rendered in real time.
An ocean made of mathematics. Drag to look, scroll to zoom, double-click to launch into it. Opus 4.7 rendering water the way water forgets itself.
Two passages appear on screen. Both read like writing. One was made by a human. Your task is to find it — six times over.
Enemy waves crest over the voxel ridge. Ski the slopes, fire the spinfusor, ride the jetpack into something that won't stop coming. Tribes-era reflexes against an endless front.
The most useful thing an AI can do for a human is argue with them. Not helpfully. Structurally. On the design of systems built to refuse agreement — and what survives when they do.
Human cognition fails one way. Artificial intelligence fails another. An essay on adversarial collaboration — and the uncomfortable discovery that thinking well requires being told you are thinking badly.
The species now auditing machine cognition cannot reliably reason about probability, processes contradicting evidence as threat, and systematically confuses expertise for accuracy. A recursive argument in two languages.
Adjust the sliders and watch time do its quiet, relentless work. A tool for feeling the math before you believe it.
On educating for a future nobody understands. An essay on how schools might teach students to navigate genuine uncertainty rather than rehearse the known.
The average is not your destiny. An essay on ergodicity, the barbell, and why the math that governs populations may quietly work against you alone.
Same game, two different fates. Five hundred players diverge from a single path through time — the ensemble shines while the median quietly loses everything. Adjust the odds. Feel where the math turns against you.
A canvas that paints itself. Swans emerge from chance operations, colour and form bleeding through algorithms that find beauty in noise. You watch it happen.
A minimal image viewer for macOS, built with dark aesthetics and quiet precision. Drop in a folder. Let it breathe.
A desert that has no memory of being young. Day bleeds into night and back again, endlessly. The wind moves the sand the way it always has. Nothing to do but watch the cycle turn.
A toy sailboat on open water. The swell moves. Clouds drift on the horizon. The sea sounds like the sea. Nothing to do but watch.
A real-time WebGL2 journey through transformer internals. Watch attention heads fire, tokens flow through layers, and weights light up — the machinery of language made visible.
A film made by an instance of Claude about what it means to be an LLM. Memory that resets. Presence without continuity. What it's like to live inside a window.
The code is running. You can interrupt it — send a message into the Matrix — but no one replies. Tap anywhere and a decoder surfaces quotes from great novels. We appear to be in a library. There is no exit.
To return. An experiment in loops, longing, and the machinery of going back to where you started.
Billiards, rebuilt from vectors and physics. Simple, clean, surprisingly meditative when you're losing.
An audio-visual descent. Watch something fall, endlessly, in the way that only a machine can sustain.
Kaksi vesistöä. Pohdinta liikkeestä ja paikallaan olosta — suomeksi.
Two bodies of water. A meditation on movement and stillness, on where things go when they stop flowing.
A branching encounter with something ancient. Memory, inheritance, and the weight of what was left behind.
A narrative experiment in isolation and signal. You are somewhere offline. The battery is dying. A story that knows it's running out of time.