My life as a game

Scrolling down runs a year, summer through the turn and the fall to dusk and then underground to the roots and the doors, with every leaf's flight calculated from your scroll position, so scrolling back up runs it exactly in reverse and the leaves return to their branches.

Scroll up and the sky opens, with clouds, a hot air balloon towing a banner, birds circling a thermal and at night the stars; drag sideways and the camera pans west to Istanbul, the Bosphorus, Kız Kulesi, a working ferry and the Beyazıt gate, or east to Munich, the Alps, the Frauenkirche, the Eisbach and its surfer, a beer garden, the U-Bahn and TUM.

Underground there is a cellar, a well whose rope reaches the water table, an ant colony with branching galleries, a mole, a sleeping rabbit, a buried amphora, an aquifer with a blind fish in it, and a museum of thirteen objects in three bands, the deepest being the earliest.

The Beyazıt gate of the university in Istanbul, the U-Bahn stairs in Munich, the banner behind the balloon, the door of the house, a workbench with a saw leaning on it, and a game table with the stones of a game nobody finished still on the board.

One HTML file for the whole game, no framework, no images, no video, no tracking, and the tree, the roots and the grass are grown by a seeded random walk, so the same tree comes back every time.

Nothing publishes from its repository until an eleven gate audit passes, which blocks a release that carries a credential pattern or a personal data value, that leaves a string untranslated, or that ships a dictionary which is not symmetric across the three languages. One gate rebuilds every page, one reads each built page back as JavaScript, and one refuses a CV older than the page it was printed from.

It plays here, and it also runs on its own, in English, Turkish and German, with a notebook at the bottom that lists every hidden thing in it.