Wendell's Diary

Today marks a quiet but powerful milestone in my journey: Wendell’s Diary , my bard-core comic series, is now fully integrated into my website. Until now, the comics have existed as scattered moments—shared through YouTube Community posts or social media, sometimes seen, sometimes missed. But these panels aren’t side content. They’re reflections of my life, philosophy, and spirit. They are me—visual expressions of emergence, simplicity, thought, and play. Now, they have a proper home. You’ll find them nestled under the new Comics section—a living gallery where slice-of-life meets soul. From power outages and late-night reflections to lyre songs and philosophical farming, these comics offer more than a laugh. They carry the essence of the Philosophy of Emergence in quiet, meaningful moments. This is not just a technical update. It’s a mythic alignment. Now, when someone lands on my site, they don’t just read about my philosophy—they can see it. The Diary lives, and it grows with ...

When I imagine the perfect game, I’m not just imagining a new kind of entertainment. I’m imagining a new kind of education . A world where learning isn’t forced, gamified, or reduced to tests—but where it feels like life itself. A place of meaning, curiosity, and emergence. In truth, the perfect game is the blueprint for the perfect school. This imagined game would be set in an open, eternal university. There are no fixed paths, no required courses—just the freedom to explore. You choose which lectures to attend, which professors to learn from, and how deeply to engage with each field. The classrooms are open, the library is infinite, and the only goal is to grow. It’s a school where every discipline feels like a door to another world. Philosophy, physics, music, mythology—they’re not “subjects,” they’re adventures. There are no grades, no ranks, and no punishments. The reward is understanding. The joy is discovery. You don’t learn to compete—you learn to become . The professors are...

I often imagine a game that doesn’t exist. One that isn’t about combat, conquest, or fast rewards—but about depth , growth , and the slow unfolding of understanding. A game where the greatest joy comes not from leveling up or defeating enemies, but from discovering new ideas and following the path of your own curiosity. The perfect game, for me, would be a university simulator . Not in the shallow, gamified sense—but a rich, immersive world where you are a student at an open, eternal university. A place where every classroom is open, every subject is available, and the professors are living minds—each with their own lectures, perspectives, and disciplines to share. Imagine walking across a beautifully designed campus—somewhere between ancient stone halls and modern architecture—your dog by your side, your lyre on your back, ready to attend a lecture on ethics, epistemology, or mythology. You could choose to study philosophy, physics, poetry, or music. The game wouldn't force you ...

There are concepts in the world that feel like secrets hiding in plain sight—ideas so foundational that we live within them without ever naming them. For me, emergence was one of those ideas. It was always there. In physics, in biology, in society. It was whispered through systems, hinted at in networks, echoed in the rhythm of growth, evolution, complexity. But no one had claimed it. Not fully. Not philosophically. Sure, scientists and systems theorists used the term. But it was treated like a technical descriptor, not a guiding principle. It lacked depth. It lacked soul. It lacked a philosophy. And that’s where I came in. I didn’t invent emergence. I didn’t have to. It was already woven into the fabric of reality. But what I did do—what no one before me had done—was see the unclaimed potential of emergence as a philosophical foundation. I was the first to stand at the threshold, look into its vastness, and say: “This is more than a term. This is a way of seeing. A way of bein...