When People Were People, They Wrote Words

here was a time when people went online to talk.
Not to scroll.
Not to build a personal brand.
Not to collect followers, likes, reactions, karma, achievements, or years of carefully accumulated history.
They wrote words.
And at that moment, those words were almost everything you had.
You could be talking to one person.
Or ten.
Or a hundred.
It didn't matter much who you had been yesterday.
There was no profile containing fifteen years of your life for everyone to inspect before deciding whether your next sentence deserved attention.
There wasn't always a number next to your name telling everyone how important you were supposed to be.
There wasn't an algorithm deciding which sentence should be shown to which person.
You were there.
Other people were there.
And you had something to say.
Your status was what you could say right now
I miss something about that kind of internet.
A conversation had a strange equality to it.
Of course, people still had names and reputations. Some people were known. Some were respected. Some were idiots.
But when a live conversation started, you still had to participate.
Your archive couldn't speak for you.
Your follower count couldn't speak for you.
Yesterday's successful post couldn't speak for you.
You had only what you could say now.
And once you said it, the conversation moved on.
I think we have lost some of that.
The modern internet remembers everything
Today almost every communication product accumulates history.
Messages remain.
Posts remain.
Profiles grow.
Communities build archives.
Search indexes them.
Algorithms rediscover them.
Something you wrote five years ago can suddenly become part of a conversation happening today.
Sometimes that's incredibly useful.
But does every human conversation need to become a database?
When I talk to someone at a table, the conversation doesn't automatically become an archive.
If you arrived twenty minutes late, you missed twenty minutes.
Maybe somebody will tell you what happened.
Maybe they won't.
That's part of being there.
Online communication increasingly removed that property.
We made everything recoverable.
And in doing so, perhaps we made presence less important.
What if you simply missed it?
That's the idea I wanted to experiment with.
A public text conversation where the present matters.
If you're there, you can see what people are saying.
If you're not there, you don't.
If something interesting happened ten minutes before you arrived, perhaps you'll never know exactly what was said.
And that's okay.
There is no obligation to catch up.
No unread counter telling you that you owe the internet another 247 messages of your attention.
You enter.
You see who is talking now.
You can say something.
Or just watch.
Then you leave.
One stream
I also didn't want to recreate the old model exactly.
I didn't want hundreds of rooms.
I didn't want private spaces inside private spaces inside servers inside communities.
So I built Talk around one public live stream.
Everyone who is connected shares the same stream.
You can filter what you see using names and tags, but you don't create another little universe that everyone else has to join.
The underlying place remains public.
It is deliberately simple.
Anyone can come in and read.
If you want to speak, you create an Identity using a Passkey.
Then you have your name and your words.
The messages themselves don't become a permanent conversation history.
Maybe this is a terrible idea
That's entirely possible.
We've spent decades moving in the opposite direction.
People expect synchronization across devices, searchable history, private groups, channels, notifications, recommendations and archives.
Perhaps we've become accustomed to those things because they're genuinely better.
Or perhaps there is still room for something else.
A place that doesn't ask:
What did I miss?
but instead asks:
Who is here now?
That's what I want to find out.
I built Talk as an experiment rather than an answer.
Come by yourself.
Or, better yet, bring a few friends.
Because a live conversation with nobody there is nothing.
But put ten people there at the same moment, and something might happen.
And if you weren't there?
You may never know.
Try Talk: https://talk.sekura.world