Entropy,brieflytamed.
One of eight billion people who decided their thoughts deserved a URL.
Pocket
Score.
"A tool built for the joy of keeping track. A small anchor for the games we play and the moments we measure."
PocketScore is an expressive scorekeeping hub for Android. It prioritizes the sensation of tracking-turning every increment into a tactile event through high-performance haptics and dynamic Material 3 design.
Haptic-driven feedback for every state change.
Adaptive UI that shifts with the game's energy.
Zero-latency state management via Kotlin Flow.
Jetpack Compose animations for fluid layouts.
mwarrc.github.io/pscore
The Intent.
Beyond the code, my interest lies in how we experience the digital world. I strive for clarity, intent, and a sense of calm in everything I create.
Human-Centric Design
Crafting interfaces that respect attention and prioritize ease.
Intentional Motion
Using kinetic energy to guide focus without adding noise.
Quiet Utility
Building tools that solve problems without demanding constant presence.
I showed up uninvited, the way everyone does.
No say in the when, the where, or the circumstances - just suddenly conscious and expected to have a personality about it.
I've spent a reasonable amount of time since then thinking about the fact that nothing means anything, which, if you do it long enough, stops being depressing and starts being genuinely funny. The universe is fourteen billion years old, will run for longer than that, and somewhere in the middle of all that silence I developed opinions about fonts and got into arguments with strangers.
I don't think there's a plan. I don't think there's a point. I think we are briefly complicated arrangements of matter that learned to feel things, and I find that so absurd it looped back around to beautiful.
So here I am. Doing things. For no cosmic reason whatsoever. Hoping some of it is interesting to you - another briefly complicated arrangement of matter who somehow ended up on this page.
Nobody asked for me specifically. The audacity of that process is genuinely staggering.
I am, statistically, an improbable accident. The exact sperm, the exact egg, the exact Tuesday - any deviation and you get someone else entirely. Someone who probably would have built a nicer website. We'll never know.
What I do know is that consciousness showed up unannounced, handed me a body with unclear instructions, and said figure it out. So I have been. Slowly. With mixed results.
I have strong opinions about things that don't matter and loose opinions about things that probably do. I have read enough philosophy to be dangerous at parties and not enough to be at peace with anything.
I contain contradictions I have stopped trying to resolve.
That's the whole plan. It's not much of one. But the universe doesn't have one either, so I figure we're even.
Identity is the story you tell yourself about yourself. Which immediately raises the problem - who is doing the telling?
There is the body, which replaces most of its cells every few years and has no opinion about your name. There is the brain, which is less a unified self and more a committee of competing processes that occasionally reach a consensus and call it a decision. There is memory, which is not a recording but a reconstruction - edited every time it is accessed, quietly rewritten by whoever you are now.
So what exactly is the "I" that claims ownership over all of this?
The honest answer is that nobody knows. Philosophy has been asking the question for thousands of years and keeps arriving at more interesting versions of the same uncertainty. You are not your body - it changes too much. You are not your memories - they are too unreliable. You are not your beliefs - they shift. You are not your name, which was given to you before you had any say in the matter.
What remains when you subtract all of that is something harder to name. A pattern, maybe. A particular way of moving through the world. A set of responses to things. A voice in your head that has been there so long you stopped questioning whether it speaks for you or simply is you.
I don't know who I am in any final sense. I'm not sure the question has a final sense. What I know is that I keep showing up, keep noticing things, keep caring about things I can't fully justify caring about.
Maybe that's enough to call it a self. Maybe that's all a self ever was.
"Welcome. Neither of us knows why we're here."
Let's make the most of it.