Colophon

One content collection of 13 published entries, each a single file with a kind that decides where it surfaces: work, notes, life, or the Now block on the homepage. Publishing is a commit and a push, and takes under five minutes by rule. If a change would make that slower, it is the wrong change.

The pages are rendered once at build time with Astro and served as files. There is no client-side JavaScript on any page: no framework, no analytics, no cookie banner, nothing that runs on your machine but the browser. The phone menu, the reading progress rule, the highlighting on the threads map and the page transitions are all CSS.

Three faces, all self-hosted: Fraunces for the display statements, titles and pulled lines; Instrument Sans for reading; IBM Plex Mono for anything that is a measurement, a date, a coordinate or a label. Colour lives in one place, at the top of one stylesheet, and is not allowed anywhere else. The paper is warm and near-monochrome on purpose. Colour is reserved for the things that are alive: the photographs, one accent, and a tone per dimension of the index.

Every diagram is drawn in code, in the site’s own type and colours, so it inherits dark mode like everything else. The one map is deliberately not to scale and says so.

Two rules sit above every other decision. Nothing on the site may say anything about me that is not true: no invented numbers, employers, results or photographs, and where a fact is missing the gap is marked and left open. And the site shows artefacts rather than intentions: what has shipped, what was concluded, where I have been, never what I hope to be.

A small set of agents maintains it with me. One turns rough notes into an entry in the site’s voice. One checks every biographical claim before it is published, and its refusal is final. One guards the design rules, one the metadata and accessibility, one runs the release. Before anything reaches the public site it passes a typecheck, a content check, the design rules, a production build, a link check, and a release gate that refuses to change a published address, exceed the font or page budgets, or ship anything unfinished.

The same idea runs through the way I build software: an instruction is a hope, a failing build is a fact.

Photographs here are evidence, not decoration: places I have been, and one of me. Each appears once, with at most a place and a date. There is no gallery. A few of the current photographs are stand-ins until I supply my own, and those stay in grey until the real ones arrive.

The site is built and maintained from a private repository. Corrections are welcome by a short message.