Silently weaves a web between every phrase you write. Two notes touch when their sentences resonate, not when you remember to tag them.
a note-taking instrument, est. 2026
Thoughts, cultivated.
A second brain
that grows.
Most note apps are filing cabinets. Myceliais a forest floor — a living network of root, rhizome, and spore where your ideas nourish each other quietly, in the dark, between sessions.
(it learns from what you leave behind.)
Specimens in the Vivarium
Each of these is a small organism that lives alongside your notes and works for you when you are not looking.
A single continuous page for the day — your thoughts, arrivals, overheard remarks. Fades softly into tomorrow's at midnight.
Surfaces the three ideas most worth revisiting this week. Not by recency — by resonance. What you’ve been circling around.
Send a single leaf, or a small grove, to a reader of your choice. Hand-set, unstyled, an honest page.
A deep, plain-text cellar. Your notes live on your disk as markdown; the network is a layer on top, not a cage around them.
Gently points out the note you wrote in May that predicted the thing you’re arguing with yourself about today.
Field notes
04/14 — tuesday, overcast
the trouble with folders is that they assume you know what a thing is before you meet it. a thought, unfiled, can sit beside other unfiled thoughts and show you what it is. this is, i think, how memory actually works.
— caretaker's log
“The mycelial network does not retrieve information; it remembers together. Our app is built in the same spirit.”
— field notebook, entry 042
Join the vivarium.
One letter per new moon. Seasonal updates on what has been growing. No marketing. Ever.
ps. the second brain is a habit, not a feature. we are in no rush.