"Approaching ninety, and still with the hope / that I could say it, spit it, blurt it all out."

I keep thinking I'll be able to help build a complex of software systems that will pull, filter, sift, boil, and categorize all the information online into a single piece of information, which my uber-modern, uber-minimal computer would simply present to me: the one thing I need to know right now. Behind it would be ...

... an increasingly vast pyramid of nearly-as-important information, accessible in a tremendously intuitive and simple interface. Besides filtering out the vast majority of useless information (especially spam and ads) using the nubile zero-management methods, it would know what I'm interested in, maybe through a set of simple keywords, or bookmarks. Collaborative filtering would leverage subtle, intuitive actions of millions of other people to figure what's connected to what, what's best, what's richest, what's underappreciated, what's overappreciated, and so on. It would monitor all my favorite writers and imagemakers, and it would automatically discover others who are just as good, and who fill new niches without duplicating those I already follow. It would know my deadlines, my tasks, my friends and my enemies; it would know my schedule so that if I'm working late at night I wouldn't be disturbed by news, but when I'm up in the morning looking for inspiration I would be inundated with it. It would know what books I intend to read, and whether I intend to buy them, and whether I have excess time in my life for reading. All of this accomplished by layers and layers of filters, rankers, searchers, that successively filter down what is to what I need (the intermediate levels would, of course, be publicly shared so that others could take advantage of the same editorial policies).

I would touch the screen of my (silent) computer and it would show me one big labelled icon, which I would recognize as the cover of a new Christopher Alexander book, or would indicate "Lunch with Kokoro in 15 minutes," or "Breaking discussion about theology"; and behind it, smaller, successively more transparent, would be yet more icons, which my reptilian brain would immediately recognize; the relationships amongst these things would be approximately indicated by some subtle but effective visual strategy. And this pyramidal information store would also be available on a low-power, low-speed, non-transistor based digital technology, so I could take it on the bus, to a park, on a sailboat—always available, never intrusive, never drawing too much power from the grid.

Suddenly my life would be freed from all mechanical action (taking notes, checking up, copying down) and I would be 100% creative all the time.

In fact, as it stands, I have an excellent organization system to keep up with my many projects, all of which compete fiercely for mindshare. It works like this: beside my desk, for each of my projects, I have a single white sheet of typing paper, which I write on with a #2 pencil. When I start work for a client, I simply write the start time on this piece of paper, and later the finish time, with a short description, in neat columns. The paper calendar on my desk tells me if there's something I should be doing right now. Underneath my keyboard is a small, ripped, doodle-covered piece of paper which lists all of the brilliant and feasible ideas that I've had (example: "mozilla hack—store window-size preference with each bookmark").

When someone interrupts me to say, "Can we add xyzzy to my website?" I just glance at my calendar, then pull out the plain white sheet of paper, look at what I've billed to them recently, and make a judgement. Within minutes I'm back to work, the interruption no more than a nostalgia trip.

When someones calls and asks, "Can I audition for your play on Tuesday instead of Thursday?" I just pull out the sheet for the play and check if there's a slot available. Technology is not the problem; fear is the problem.

Fire up the oatmeal, open the window, hand me the charcoal and the paper. There are cherry blossoms blooming on my porch.