A note from the person behind the puddle.
I have too many ideas and nowhere near enough time to build them all. For most of my life that just meant a drawer full of unfinished things — a game here, a story there, art that never left a sketchbook. I still get bored fast and start three more things before finishing the first one; that's just how my head works, and I've stopped fighting it. What changed isn't the ideas or the follow-through. It's that we're living at a genuinely strange, kind of miraculous point in history — one where a single person, if they actually apply themselves, can build a whole world by hand: the art, the games, the mythology of an entire slime-based religion, all of it. I love that we live in a time where this is actually possible. It just happened to meet me at the exact moment I'd finally found it in myself to stop only starting things.
None of this is filler. I put real time and real love into every piece of it, and I hope that comes through even in the small stuff you might scroll past. If something here looks unfinished or takes a while to show up, it's because I hold everything until it's actually right — first impressions matter more to me than speed, even when patience is the one virtue I have the least natural talent for.
The book is the one that surprised me most. I've tried to write my own story straight, more than once, and it never worked — it always came out either too guarded or too much. But somewhere in writing Pope de Slime's account of where everything came from — the puddle, the long stretch where nothing happens for three billion years, the ordinary catastrophes that turn out to be how anything interesting ever gets made — I ended up saying the actual things I meant. There's a real belief underneath the joke: that curiosity is the sacred thing, never to be treated with malice, and that going still is the only real failure. That's not scripture I made up for a character. That's just what I believe, dressed up enough that I could finally say it. It's the closest I've come to an autobiography, and I didn't get there by trying to write one.
When I was a kid the internet felt like its own universe — you loaded a game up and you were just in it, no ad every three minutes, nothing between you and the fun until the wifi died or someone told you to go outside. That world's mostly gone now. I wanted to build one corner that still feels like it.
If you leave with one thing: life gets loud — relationships with people get complicated in ways they didn't used to, just trying to make rent with whatever hand you were dealt — but you have to protect time for the things you actually love, even if that's just coffee and your cat. The best things in you tend to show up once you've found that bit of peace.
If any of this made you laugh, or you liked a shirt, or a game got its hooks in you for an hour — I'd be genuinely grateful if you stuck around. Buy something if it speaks to you, drop a tip if you've got a couple bucks to spare, or just tell a friend about it. Any of it keeps this going.
And whatever else happens — stay sticky with yourself. It's the one thing you always have.
May your questions outlast your certainty.