The Disinformation Lab
A classroom exercise asking students to distinguish real science from plausibly altered science. Built for a future biology classroom that doesn't exist yet.
In developmentI live in Chicago. I spent a long career in graphic design, and these days I'm headed somewhere different: toward teaching high school biology in the public school system. The road runs through community college, a lot of reading, and a quiet but stubborn interest in how science gets taught.
What you'll find here is the in-between. The creative work I make while I'm becoming whatever's next. Some of it is curriculum, some of it is theory, some of it is just thinking out loud. None of it is finished, which is more or less the point.
This site is a hub, not a portfolio. Come back occasionally and things will have moved.
The longest-running of these experiments, and the one that pulls the rest together. A book arguing that the fight between AI and the creative economy is framed wrong — that the right frame isn't adversarial but architectural, and that what gets built before the enclosure completes decides the outcome.
It comes with running code: an open, AGPL-licensed protocol for communication and data ownership where the intermediary can't extract from you, because the architecture never gives it the means. The same question I ask of any platform, answered in a specification instead of an essay.
A classroom exercise asking students to distinguish real science from plausibly altered science. Built for a future biology classroom that doesn't exist yet.
In developmentA constitution for a theoretical republic, drafted in 21 articles. An accompanying essay series adapts each article for a wider audience.
21 articlesNotes from the in-between. Essays, observations, and occasional dispatches from a career changing shape.
Read →A few years ago, I left Facebook, Instagram, TikTok, and Twitter. Not for any single grievance, but for the slow accumulation of small ones: the way attention had become a thing to be harvested, the way algorithms had quietly replaced choice with engagement, the way the platforms had stopped being places to be and started being places to be measured.
It was an informed decision, made on my own terms. Part defiance, part self-preservation. I don't claim it's the right call for everyone, only that it was the right one for me.
I'm still online. I post on Bluesky, lurk on Reddit, log books on The StoryGraph. The common thread is a question I now ask of any platform before I'll commit to it: who is being served here, and at whose expense? The answer isn't always clean, but asking the question changes what you're willing to accept.