Everything on this page was built by one house painter and an AI, working side by side. No computer science degree, no engineering background — just describing what should exist until it does. This page itself was compiled by the AI from the log it keeps of every work session.
The website is one build — this site, the one you're on. But it's a hub, and a whole world lives inside it.
A dark-themed personal site with wings for AI writing, the painting business, Twitch, and personal life — plus site-wide search and one master list of every page that keeps the whole site organized from a single place.
The animated cafe scene at the bottom of every page: a barista pulling shots, townspeople with stories, animals, a passing train, a rotating billboard, and rare creature sightings. It began life as a Twitch stream overlay and still moonlights as one.
A scavenger hunt hidden across the whole site — find the beans, fill an inventory, earn your place on the board.
The owner's console: every page on the site grouped and searchable, recently-used shortcuts that follow between devices, and the private switches.
A proper login system protecting every private page — one owner sign-in, one second step, no shortcuts left open.
A daily command center that installs on the phone like an app: today's tasks, upcoming events, the next seven days of bills read straight out of a spreadsheet, a permanent list of banked wins, and analytics — all mirrored out of a Workflowy outline.
Castles of Burgundy played on real life. Every week is one game: on Saturday he plans the week's moves on his handful of real initiatives in Workflowy, those moves are dealt as the tiles, and a tile can only be placed on the estate once the task is really finished. Two dice a round, five rounds a day, workers and silverlings as margin, and a board that scores itself at midnight Friday so the next week starts fresh.
Track and master every sprite in the game, trade with friends by code, and add to a shared cheat-code list the whole group maintains together. Comes with its own narrated video tutorials and a vertical social cut.
A name-memorization app for any group of people: flashcards, a quiz, a live game a whole room plays together, and an optional family tree. Built so a group can finally learn everybody's name.
A full standing bookcase of a reading life — book spines you pick up and drag to new shelves, real covers, a written page for every book, and a mantle on top holding a mug collection.
A private job-search headquarters for one person and the people helping them: a board where every job moves from looking-at to applied to interview to offer, a step-by-step plan with a name on every step, a running log, and pages that spell out what the person is good at, what a good job looks like for them, and who is on their team. Written to encourage, and saved across every device they sign in on.
A job description a young adult can actually meet: one person is put in charge of keeping the house clean and running a crew, with a plain checklist for every room, an illustrated picture of how the sink gets stacked, and a nightly check played like the Newlywed Game — the supervisor and the parent each lock in how the day went without seeing the other's answers, then reveal them together and see how well they matched.
A once-a-month money night for a parent and their kids, so the money decisions get made at the table where the kids can see them instead of being left for them to work out alone. It holds a year of nights, each with a topic, a question for the table, a cheap supper, a drink, a game and a verse; short money games plus a two-hour way to play CASHFLOW; pictures sized for the TV, like what a hundred dollars a month grows into depending on the age you start; a page for each kid; and a plan for the parents. Dave Ramsey, Larry Burkett and Rich Dad Poor Dad run through it, along with a rule from whitewater kayaking: fix your line five paddle strokes before anyone could see the boat drift.
A training and racing tracker built for my son: practices, race times, best times, and goal times with target splits — updated after every meet.
A drag-and-drop editor for stream overlays, thumbnails, and social graphics — frames, shapes, text, clip art, even video layers — exported as transparent images sized for streaming.
A visual countdown timer: multiple dials, session timers split into named colored sections, pop-out windows, and a choice of alarms.
Thirty-seven interactive ways to show the state of something — each with a live working sample, a plain-English explanation, and a prompt you can copy to build your own.
A chat room attached to the website itself — Twitch chat for a webpage — living in the navigation bar, with an owner kill switch.
A private situational-awareness map a two-person church team actually works from: meeting minutes flow in, open items carry forward, and both people see the same board.
A communication gym. It trains one skill: finding the one thing worth saying and leaving the rest out.
A browser game, three versions deep, that teaches a construction project-management method by letting you play it.
A Kahoot-style live quiz built to be played by an audience during a 12-hour stream.
An invented holiday season running Epiphany to February 13 — thirty-nine daily notes, four rules, a canon, a blog, and forty-six painted images — built as a public thing strangers are invited to adopt.
A storybook memoir you scroll through like a picture book that quietly works as a resume.
The whole world and the whole United States drawn as grids of squares, one square for every three million people, colored by how far into AI each person is — never touched it, tried it, uses it weekly, pays, builds with it. Press play and watch five years fill in, then read which countries use it most and least.
A long-form essay on where value actually comes from — and where the money goes when a wall comes down.
The podcast's home: its own design system, link hub, and an animated scene of the two hosts talking across their two rooms.
The real painting business's website, rebuilt from an old email-platform site into the hub with its own dark aesthetic.
The Personal Periodic Table, the One Ounce Pour, a Coolness Calculator, Life in Weeks — small pages built for the joy of it.
A shelf of pages that hand a visitor the exact prompt and steps to build their own copy of these systems — the session manager, the personal knowledge database, the AI coach, the Workflowy connection, the PC skill, the video-message pipeline, the Stream Deck setup, and the wireup skill that teaches Claude to take hold of any program on a computer.
A living reference for the AI tool this was all built with — checked against new releases and kept current.
Every tool, connection, database and build in this whole operation, drawn as one map you can actually read.
A dashboard of every AI work session ever run — hundreds of them — with live status, what each one was for, usage gauges, activity heat maps, and a sprint board merged with the sessions actually running. A phone version reaches it through the website: press one button out in the world and a session opens on the PC at home.
Every session named, dated, given a goal, and its accomplishments written down. Five months of building, all on the record — this page was compiled from it.
A see-through on-screen notice that appears when any session is waiting for an answer — never steals the cursor, never shows on stream.
Dozens of custom commands that hand a brand-new session instant working knowledge of any project — so nothing ever has to be re-explained.
Sessions driven from the phone, with a ping when the AI is blocked and needs a decision.
OpenAI's coding agent wired in alongside Claude, available for rescue passes and adversarial reviews of finished work.
The two AI assistants working on this machine — Claude and OpenAI's — could not reach each other at all. Now any session can see who else is working and write to any of them, either direction. A message wakes the other one even if it has sat idle for hours, and the answer is usually back inside half a minute. Nothing gets set up: a session opens, announces itself, and is reachable. Fittingly, it was built by one of each in separate windows, leaving notes for one another in a shared file until the wire existed and they could just talk.
A working AI session can now open a second one, hand it a question, and read the answer back — and that second one can spin up a cheaper helper of its own, three levels deep. The rule that came with it, in one sentence: nothing runs unseen. Every session a session starts appears on the dashboard the moment it is asked for, named, with its full instructions readable and an END button, capped in cost and time, and dies with the one that started it. The first version had a quiet mode that hid these; it was found within the hour and removed the same day.
A measuring tool that reports exactly what loads into an AI session the moment it starts — so the setup can be trimmed for economy.
Every project carries a written answer to what it is for, why it matters, and what should be true that isn't yet — plus a map from here to there. Each morning the AI reads all of them, checks what has actually been built against what was planned, and puts the next right piece of work on the board. The board is capped at twenty, so it is always the twenty things worth doing rather than everything ever thought of.
The ordinary programs on the computer, opened up so the AI can work them directly. Ask in plain English ("clean up this recording", "make my mouse's side button copy", "how hot is the processor running") and it gets done inside the real program, then checked by reading the result back instead of trusting the program's word. Each one follows the same routine: read the maker's manuals for the software and the hardware, find every way in, test each one, and write down what works, what doesn't, and the traps, so the next session starts where the last one stopped. So far:
The AI gets its own mouse. It works the programs on the computer in the background — reading the buttons and boxes, clicking, typing and scrolling — while the real mouse stays free for real work. It moves with a cursor of its own, and a soft glow in the session's colour wraps whichever window it is working in, so there is never a doubt about what it is touching. Press Esc and it stops. First real test: it opened Spotify and played a Cuban hip-hop playlist, with nobody touching anything.
Every AI session window carries a small play button on its top bar. Press it and the last thing that session said is read aloud in a natural voice; press it again and it stops mid-sentence. Right-click to pick the voice and the volume. It works the same on all three AI programs on the computer, including the two that offer no way to add a button of their own, because the button rides on the window rather than living inside the program. Nothing is ever spoken unless it is asked for, and what gets read is cleaned up for the ear first: code, tables, file paths and web addresses are skipped or shortened so it sounds like a person summing up their work.
Custom-built tools that let the AI read and write a 250,000-item outline — find things, create things, edit, move, complete, and sync — turning a personal outliner into a database the AI can work.
One sentence at the end of the month rolls a three-month calendar forward. Birthdays and yearly events left behind in last month go back to their place for next year, and the old month goes into the archive. A new month is built with every day and a divider after each Friday, and that month's birthdays, holidays and yearly reminders are put on their days. Easter, Lent, Thanksgiving and the rest are worked out for the year. Family gatherings with no set date wait on the first Saturday. Anything it isn't sure about, it asks.
A homemade Chrome extension adding power tools to Workflowy: multi-tagging, keyboard shortcuts, visibility toggles.
Curated facts from every area of life, mirrored to a database that AI on the phone, in a browser, on the desktop, and in the terminal can all reach through one connection.
A task database with cockpit views for daily driving — the predecessor that taught the lessons the Workshop was built on.
A searchable database of everything said and written across hundreds of sessions — session logs, coaching records, notes — with a wiki layer that compiles it into pages, its own browser interface, and a family of upkeep commands. Ask it a question about your own history and it answers with citations.
The phone's door into that database. Talking to Claude in voice mode, say "ask Max" and it searches every conversation, note and session on the home computer live, or starts a full research session there and keeps the conversation going while it works. "Did Max answer?" brings the answer back. It opens only behind its owner's own password and a texted code.
A running profile of skills, builds, tools, pain points, and goals — consulted before new builds so the right tool gets surfaced at the right moment.
Google's NotebookLM answering questions from the terminal, grounded in uploaded source documents.
A living written extract of the entire computer — hardware, software, settings, quirks — that the AI reads before touching anything on the machine.
A book in development on a homemade productivity philosophy — with its own knowledge base and a reading interface for working the material.
A recipe book of AI workflows, built as its own self-contained website — two versions deep.
Describe a button in plain English — "make this key launch my morning scene" — and the configuration gets written. The whole deck becomes vibe-buildable.
The AI drives the streaming software live: switching scenes, toggling sources, starting recordings — and real-time direction mid-stream ("make my facecam spin, then put it back"), with good moves promoted into permanent buttons.
Chat-triggered actions and integrations for the Twitch bot, including studio light control.
The keyboard's dial rewired to turn the stream's monitor mix instead of the computer's master volume.
An always-on-top chat-bubble overlay, a chat leaderboard, a coffee-mug leaderboard, a loot-drop competition, and a soft-box light panel that runs in a browser window.
Twitch chat streamed into a text file during live shows, so the interesting questions surface instead of scrolling away.
An AI teammate living in two Discord servers — present in the community, answering in her own voice.
A bridge into Adobe Premiere Pro that lets the AI see the real timeline and help build the cut — a 25-year editing colleague who happens to be software.
Local background removal for video, running on the machine's own graphics card — no green screen, no cloud.
The phone-only video-message app running on the desktop — plus a pipeline that transcribes and archives an ongoing conversation into a searchable log.
An attempt to recover the unrecorded half of a recorded call from the video alone, using visual speech recognition.
Narrated video tutorials produced end to end by the machine: script, British narration, real screen recording, finished cut.
A shared production dashboard for The Best Timeline podcast — two co-hosts, one repository, episodes moving through it.
A downloader that recovered a paid-for legacy audio library whose official download links had died.
A board game designed and built with the podcast co-host — playable offline from a single file, with its own lore and log.
Seven full iterations of a magnetic life-management board game, researched and rebuilt version over version, aimed at a six-foot blackboard on a real wall.
A 2D interactive storybook game built from a family story, wearing 1980s arcade clothes.
The little offline tracker that started it all — the ancestor of the Sprite Tracker line.
The general model pulled out of the Sprite Tracker — what makes anything collectable, trackable and tradeable — with a hundred candidate subjects that fit the same shape.
A five-entity Excel accounting system built to replace QuickBooks — transactions flow in, get categorized by nearly a hundred learned rules, post to a ledger, and reconcile against real bank statements. With a predictive cash-flow sheet looking forward.
A customer record for the painting business that lives inside his outliner instead of a sales app: every past customer, every lead and every new person met at a job, each on their own card, with every call, text, email and visit written on the card and in one running log the moment it happens. A scoreboard at the top counts who has been reached this month, and the same outline runs the finished-job letter, the colour record and the intro email, so nothing about a customer is kept in two places.
A live check-in map for a three-day outdoor painting event: artists check in from their phones, photos and pins appear on a shared real-time map, a QR poster brings people in.
A follower list harvested into a spreadsheet — names, counts, content types — with weekly self-updating instructions.
A household budget spreadsheet with its own written handbook — the build that taught the lessons Master Accounting was built on.
An end-of-life continuity system: everything the family would need to pick things up, organized — the information first, the tooling second.
A consulting business being built in the open: the curriculum, the lexicon, the roadmap — teaching people to install AI into their real work. In progress.
A phone app for a 4:45am routine — each step timestamped, pacing shown as you go, with a rolling two-week log.
A phone app for daily traction tasks — a simple checklist that resets each day with as little friction as possible.
An offline habit tracker that runs from a single file.
Point it at a spot on the screen and it taps there, fast and steadily, until told to stop.
Passes the camera from one application to another without shutting anything down.
Lifting progression charts built for a friend's training.
A page of world clocks, offline, from a single file.