Tokoyo

常世

Nothing here is drawn.
Write the equation and it is already there.

The points are thinning out.
Press the picture to step through it yourself.

What you are looking at is forty thousand points.
Each one is only a point, and is nothing in itself.
What looks like a living thing is the relations between the points, and the way time moves.

Not this world, but mathematics — a world that exists nowhere physically. What is placed here lives there. It stays inside the equation while nothing is running, and appears in the same form every time it is run. It does not age.

Try thinning the points out.
Forty thousand to six hundred. Six hundred to forty. Then one.
Somewhere along the way you can no longer tell what it was.
Only the shape is gone. The same equation has been running the whole time.

The same thing is probably happening when you look at a person, or at a situation, or when you wonder how you are being seen.
It is not hidden. You simply have no occasion to see it from outside, being inside it.
What is placed here is that occasion.

Press “Fewer relations” and the points are thinned out. There are four rungs — forty thousand, six hundred, forty, one — and each press moves to the next. The equation running underneath does not change. Only the shape goes.
Some pieces have a grid behind them and some do not. A piece that draws a field should have a coordinate system; a creature is better off with nothing around it to measure against.
The equation printed under each picture is the source of what is running, not a transcription.
Pressing a picture in the list opens that observation. The first piece thins itself out on its own; touch it and it stops, and from there you move it by hand.