a hundred hands

the book that moves

You cannot read this book alone.

One copy. One hundred carriers, each chosen by the last through a real conversation. The book gives its keeper a kind of person to find; the keeper listens until they recognize them, writes down what stayed, and hands the book on. It moves person to person, in the dark.

This page does not track it. No map, no scans, no count. The darkness between hands is what makes carrying it feel like trust.

Today’s Hand

the same everywhere on earth · gone at midnight

You don’t need the book to carry a hand for a day. This room explains.

Rooms

today’s handone person to find, shared by the whole earth the hundredevery condition — draw one, or open the well the whole lawthe practice, for anyone what stayedkeep a sentence somebody gave you the threename the people who carried you start a vesselany notebook can join the flock

The Flock

If a vessel is in your hands right now: the book has already told you everything you need. Keep it as little as an hour, as long as a moon. Find your one person.

If you are a hundredth hand: welcome home. You are the reason the light was left on. Knock below — the door opens.

VESSEL 01 — OUT
VESSEL 02 — OUT
VESSEL 03 — OUT

When one comes home, one line will change.
That is the entire broadcast history of this project.

The flock is growing. Vessels launch from anywhere now — if you started one, it belongs here too. Knock and tell me its number.

The door works both ways:

← back to the light

This page will never ask you for anything.
No account. No list. It only gives.

— Ian ✦