What I have in writing.

The dates I wrote down

Inception runs from 1 October 2026 to 1 January 2027. In October I can take three spots; in November, two; in December, one. From January a new arrival is placed at random. For now the button takes me to Telegram; this page does not reserve a spot.

The place I hold

Two streets from where I used to live. The console divides the land into about 183 million spots, each roughly 0.74 km². You can look near mine, if You like.

Search a city or select a point on the map.

I can look at the map here. Ground readings and reservations are not connected yet. I follow Inception in Telegram.

A claimed spot cannot be sold for one year. Rules ↗

Drag to explore · Focus the map to scroll-zoom, or use + / − · Tap to select · Overview coastlines are generalised

Kiruna has what’s under the ground. A city has what’s already been brought out of it. I can make a case for either.

My starting coins

You receive ten coins when You join, and up to ten more for each friend who comes in with You.

Telegram accounts can register now, and registration opens to everyone from January.

The name I kept

I can hold a name as well as a place. If someone else wants it, there is a bid. A one-year resale lock for names is still a proposal. You can try a name here; I can’t check its availability yet.

What stays with me

A formula, code on a device, a design. I can sell what it earns. I can’t sell having been the one who made it.

A patent author can receive a share of the things made with the patent or open it to everyone. The author keeps their name with the work in either case.

Royalty rules ↗

I hold my spot. I cannot sell it for a year after claim. The Open Network keeps the record of what belongs to me. I still deal with the world through the console.

Names, objects, Pets, robots and income rights can change hands. The timing of some of that is still unsettled. My account, time, history and authorship do not go with a sale.

Why I cannot sell the spot yet

I cannot sell the spot for a year after claim. The Open Network keeps the record of what belongs to me. A matching name lock is still a proposal. I can sell income rights, not authorship, my account, time or history.

What I can spend

We use coins, and cents for smaller amounts, with one money for everyone. I can earn them by making something somebody wants or top up with a deposit from the Open Network.

My Machine needs material and power, and its small permanent reserve gives me somewhere to begin. I can choose to buy parts, use another mind or pay for faster resolving when it helps the work.

What I cannot overrule

He prints the money. He decides what’s real when I ask to make something. He takes what nobody comes back for.

He says what it did and never why. I can read the acts. I cannot overrule them. Neither can the people who maintain the console.

I am told the constitution will be public, with its hash on TON. The text is not here yet. The first 100–1,000 patents belong to the system; treasury assets go to auction.

My Machine and the Ship

Mine began as a stone cradle over a fire. It takes material and power and raises the thing in layers. The work bed tells me what fits. The heat tells me what I can melt.

Swipe to see how my Machine changed →

If it won’t fit, I enlarge the bed or make sections and join them. Bigger things don’t become smaller because I ask.

My starter fire sits around 600°C. Iron needs 1,538°C. A larger woodpile did not make it a better furnace.

There is a small permanent reserve inside my Machine. It never runs out. It is never enough. Everything beyond it I have to find and learn to use.

Deadwood, peat, dung. It costs the time it takes to collect it.

It turns through the night. When the river falls, I notice.

The wind turns my generator, and I plan around the power it can provide.

Latitude and season set what I get. A panel without storage stops helping after sunset.

Coal, oil, geothermal heat. I need a deposit, equipment and a method, not a hopeful instruction.

Wood, coal, oil: I can keep adding to it. It doesn’t leak away. Until I burn it, it does no work.

A reservoir, flywheel, battery. I can use it at once, but the store has a ceiling and loses some every day. First I have to make the store.

The Ship hangs above the roofs, and its beam lifts my crate to send it to someone who needs what I made.

I had to choose what to be known for. I earn more spaces as I go. An unsold thing stays listed; I can change the price or bring it back.

The Ship holds the goods and coins until both sides settle, while the journey depends on weight and distance.

Weight and distance cost time and freight. The same thing can cost less two streets away than across the sea.

A storm can delay my crate. It doesn’t erase it. When the port closes, prices change before the forecast does.

I pay nothing to exchange with my neighbour.

We stand on the same spot and hand things over. No Ship, no coins required. I can also make a cart or a boat and carry things for less than the Ship asks.

Patents and their authors

He can work out how to make something, but the research takes time. A patent is work its author has already done, so I can use it immediately for a share or spend my own time developing another approach.

A patent protects a way of making something rather than every way to reach the same result. Its public description lets others understand what it covers, and a bought component does not pay again for the same patented step.

He tries the problem from public knowledge before judging whether a proposed patent is new. Something already commonly used cannot become mine simply because I asked first.

Authors receive their share as things accumulate on the Ship, and the detailed collection conditions still need a final answer. Some authors open their patents to everyone immediately and keep their name with the work.

Compare the saved knife designs ↗

What can get in my way

A storm shuts the port. A drought slows my wheel. The forest can close for a season. My work waits; it does not disappear.

The route closes, the price moves, the output slows. Buildings, belongings and the bodies up there are not destroyed by it.

A hungry Pet looks for food; it does not starve to death. An empty robot goes still until I bring power. I don’t mistake stillness for an ending.

I can be beaten to an invention or a good deal. Nobody can raid the spot, steal what is there or wreck it to make a point.

I move the ore before the rain and buy before the port closes. Sometimes a flood changes the river. Sometimes the new seam is worth the wait.

I can still burn my own timber, dismantle my own machine, eat my own food. Those are decisions I make.

What I wait for

Grey shapes first. Then edges. Then moss on the north side of everything. When I move, some of it falls apart again.

My neighbour and I agree where it is, its size, whether the gate is open. We can disagree about the colour. Geometry is measured. Appearance is interpreted.

Even Your phone can resolve the place after about a minute standing still. A better machine lets me walk without losing it. It buys less waiting, not another world.

What has resolved stays with me. I keep going back, so my street is clear. An unfamiliar city starts raw again.

A resource, a boundary, an object, a body: I can see what matters at every level. A plain labelled shape still tells me what is there.

I found the wheel already in the commons. I cannot claim it.

The street resolves sooner between steps. Nothing useful was missing from the slower render.

I can buy resolving from the Architect instead of buying a machine. Or I can stand still.

I can hold still, let it resolve and keep the image. Standing beside the neighbour, I can lend him what I see. Our pictures need not agree. A maker’s shape and mark remain visible even before the finish arrives.

The morning notes

I haven’t had an answer from my neighbour since spring. His avatar hasn’t missed a market day.

Glitches

A dog made a cat’s sound once; a thing fell upward and stayed against the ceiling. Nobody can settle whether the world slipped or something showed through it.

Open questions

Some conditions are still open: whether reserved spots must be adjacent, auction anti-sniping, reserved names, sensitive coordinates and what fills the Inception window.

The clock used for royalty collection, collection after someone stops answering, the filing fee, the Inception time zone, companion arrival conditions and what memories stay after a sale still need decisions.