The world should be better.

Like you, we believe it’s possible.

Together, let’s discover the intersection of
technology with humanity, meaning, and ethics.

Because if we don’t, what are we really doing?
And what good is technology at all?

It’s about people.

Let us tell you a story. »

Act I

An empty stage.

There once was a person.

A PERSON enters stage left, hands clasped together, holding something.

In the beginning of time, the universe gave a gift to the person. “But know this,” they were cautioned. “It is a beautiful and yet dangerous thing.”

If they opened their hands to look at it, the results would be uncertain. It could mean death! Or life beyond dreaming. But either way, their existence could not continue as before.

Each day, the person held tightly to their gift. One particularly daring day gone past, they were on the verge of looking, but the stakes were so high.

No. It was impossible.

ANOTHER PERSON enters stage right with hands clasped together, holding something.

One day, another person appeared holding a gift they could not bring themselves to open. The two met. Recognizing themselves in each other, they spoke until there were no words left. When all the words ran out, they stood in silence.

The silence grew until it filled the earth. It pressed down and down until the two could no longer stand. Instinctively, one person unclasped a hand to catch themselves.

From a tiny light in the palm of their grip, a shock of fire lit the world. The person held tighter and tighter, waiting for the pain to stop, not wanting to lose the sudden astonishing beauty of their only gift. The tighter they held, the more the fire spread, until it consumed its host and the person was eaten by darkness.

The other person was again alone, now with a terrible knowledge and an even more terrible longing for kinship.

That moment of revelation echoed in the silence, their mind never more full of curious fascination, their hands never more tightly clutched in fear.

A PERSON is offstage left.

And yet someone else is now waiting in the wings.


You, too, have been given a beautiful and dangerous gift. And you, too, have a choice. You can stay offstage and continue your life as it has been up until now. Or… you can choose to enter stage left.

What will you do?

Enter stage leftStay offstage


You have made a good and safe choice. I wish you well in your travels, my friend. Go, remember what you have seen, and take care with your beautiful and dangerous gift.

And remember, you can always change your mind.

Before you go onstage, we need a few details for the programme:

We’re only asking for your info to send you some things that are part of this experience.

enters stage left, holding tightly to something in their hands.

You enter the stage. You walk toward the other person, brought to their knees under the weight of silence.

You greet the person. The silence lifts.

Still, you both know one day the words will run out. The silence will return, heavy and sure.

At first, you both ration your words. But then, you start to notice something.

There are dreams inside the words. Dreams that include worlds you didn’t know existed. Dreams that involve hands. And a brilliant, illuminating fire.

One day, the words slow to a trickle. Silence threatens.

But you know there are only two choices now: to suffocate underneath the silence, or to open your gift and release it before it consumes you.

What will you do?

Open your gift and let it go

Suffocate with dignity


“What is that feeling when you're driving away from people and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing? —it's the too-huge world vaulting us, and it’s good-bye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.”

—Jack Kerouac, On the Road

Maybe next time you will choose differently.


Slowly, you open your hands.

The other person shouts to stop you, but it’s too late. The brightness of the fire is brilliant and shocking; the pain even more so. You don’t want to let go.

But you do. You release your only gift.

Instead of spreading, the fire contains itself into a shape both familiar and surprising. You have seen this shape before, and you recognize it as yours alone.

The stage lights up, and it is no longer empty. There are paths to worlds you’ve seen only in your dreams. There are rivers and trees and everywhere, color.

The other person looks unimpressed. You realize they can’t see what you see. But they can see that you haven’t been consumed. And now, there are more words, endless amounts of words, and you begin to describe what you see.

To be continued…