numen
Yours
Your notes stay yours
One folder, on your own disk, in files you can read without numen. No account, no cloud, nothing to escape from later.
Plain files
Markdown, in folders you named. Any editor opens them.
Nothing to import
Point numen at the notes you already keep. They are your library from the first second.
Sync it your way
Dropbox, iCloud, a drive, a repository. It is a folder, so it goes where your folders go.
Nothing leaves
Writing, searching and linking happen on your machine. Nothing is uploaded unless you ask for it.
Direction
A link that says which way it goes
Every other tool gives you one kind of line, and a year later you have a hairball. Here a link knows whether it goes up, down or across — so what you built keeps its shape as it grows.
- upWhat this note belongs to. It can belong to more than one, the way real subjects do.
- downWhat sits under it — the parts, the cases, the notes that make it up.
- acrossThe leap to something in another part of your thinking, without tangling either.
Write a couple of words on a line and they are drawn along it, so you can see why the two notes are joined.
The map
A map that moves with you
You are always in the middle of one note, with everything joined to it drawn around you. Click a neighbour and it becomes the middle. Nothing to zoom, and nothing to lose yourself in.
Never the whole hairball
Only what touches where you are. A folder of ten thousand notes looks the same as a folder of ten: one note, and its own.
Drag to connect
Pull a line out of a note onto another and they are joined. Pull it into empty space and the note you needed is made there.
Side by side
Keep the map, the note you are writing and the assistant open beside each other, arranged the way you like to work.
Finding
Find it by what you meant
Type the word, or describe the idea in your own words. Either way you get the passage that answers you, out of everything you have ever written down.
The word you typed
Wherever it stands, in anything in the folder — a note from years ago, a chapter, a file you forgot you had.
Or the thought behind it
Ask the way you would ask a person. The passage that means what you asked comes back even when none of your words are in it.
Taken to the place
A result opens the note it came from at the line it stands on, with everything that note is joined to already around it.
The assistant
Ask it about your own notes
An assistant sits beside what you are writing and works inside your folder — not on the internet's idea of the subject, but on what you have actually collected.
It knows what you wrote
Ask what a note leaves out, where you contradicted yourself, or what you were reading when you wrote it.
It can do the tidying
Have it draft the note you keep meaning to write, join two ideas that belong together, or rename the mess of a title.
You see every move
Each thing it touches is written out as it happens, and it can only reach what is in your folder.