The operator's office
On the surface a Station is an AI-powered design tool. I've come to understand it as a vehicle — not something you use, but something you climb into and point wherever you actually want to go, whether or not the destination has anything to do with webpages or design.
A Station is not a webpage. It is a platform, a medium.
A Station asks for a prompt and something you actually want to say. That is the whole entry price. What it becomes after that is not a design decision — it is whatever you were already trying to make. A research paper, a game, a collage, a recipe, a garden log, a map, a manifesto, a memory, an argument you have been carrying around for years. None of those are webpages, and a Station does not turn them into one.
Every Station is independently owned ground, and they are built to interlock — like KUMO's cork and soil blocks, each one unremarkable alone, each one made to meet the next. Linked together they become a Realm: an extension of a mind, a map of what someone has been building, one Station at a time. Every combination makes a relationship that neither piece made alone.
And they are held on-chain, in repositories meant to outlast the people who filled them. The tea leaves will go. The bark will go. I will go. The Stations hold.
What a Station becomes is entirely up to the person holding it. The only limits are the ones you bring with you.
My fellowship was a summer carrying much of the platform's front-facing work: producing C//, demonstrating the Station to peers, colleagues and a corporate marketing team who had never heard of it before that morning, and the unglamorous hours of feature design, UI review and quality assurance.
The goal never changed — make the possibility real in someone else's head, the way the Stations I built became real in mine.
C// Fellow is now opening to young people around the world, and I've been asked to lead among them, with my own work as the first example. This terminus is that example.
DestinationAnywhere the person holding it decides to point it.
The concourse
C// is Earth LinC's video series, and its guest list reads like a map of ways to build something. My work starts long before a camera rolls — I research each guest until the briefing is closer to a portrait: where they came from, what turned them, what they were reaching for next.
C// is not an interview but an environment, a room built for someone to tell their story their own way. The edit, the pacing and the small effects that decide how a moment lands are mine to give it.
None of it happened in my first language — I worked in Chinese, sometimes Japanese, rehearsed late before I ever sat across from a guest.
DeparturesPlatforms 1, 2 and 3.
Platform 1 — the through service
My summer at Earth LinC in six movements — the fellowship told properly, cork and tea leaves and the question itself. Every other line in this terminus connects to this one.
DestinationSomeone willing to notice, and a place willing to hold what they noticed.
Board this service ↗Platform 2 — C// with Calvin Sio
Tea is the second most consumed drink on earth and almost nobody asks where the leaves go. ChaZence takes spent leaves and wood scraps and makes objects meant to be handled daily — degradable, traceable, carbon footprint recorded on-chain.
I found the guest, built the portrait, hosted the conversation, cut the episode, then built the Station that holds it.
DestinationMade real by giving a residue a page.
Board this service ↗Platform 3 — C// with Yoshitoki Iijima
Soil scraped from a construction site, bark peeled from a tree, pressed into interlocking blocks — a more permanent version of the bricks nearly everyone built with as a child. I built it trilingual — English, Simplified Chinese and Japanese — so the studio's own words survive the trip.
Two workshops in almost opposite materials doing the same essential thing: taking the discarded and giving it a second chance to tell its story.
DestinationMade real by turning a material into a memory a reader can hold.
Board this service ↗A storm over southern Ontario, shot from his own window. Made real by refusing a myth.
Board ↗A grid-scale battery peeled open through eleven layers. Made real by dismantling an object nobody is allowed to see inside.
Board ↗One rule, eleven numbers, and a ratio that never resolves. Made real by turning abstraction into something a body feels move.
Board ↗An interactive essay on The Kite Runner, with a kite the reader flies. Made real by holding guilt and redemption as readily as batteries.
Board ↗The framed map
Seven services, one Realm. Every line walked in this terminus is drawn here — the frame is both the way in and the way out.
The frame is still filling. Reach all seven services and the map assembles.