You are not a machine.
Modern productivity is a myth. It demands that you think in straight lines, work in sprints, and deliver in polished packages. It treats your mind like a factory, optimized for output.
But creativity is not a factory. It is a garden. It is messy, nonlinear, and thrives on chaos. Your best ideas don't arrive on a schedule; they flicker into existence on a late-night walk, in a half-dream, or from a scribbled note in the margin of a book.
You deserve tools that honor your process, not force you into someone else's.
A sanctuary for the half-formed.
We built scraps as a rebellion against the tyranny of the finished product. While other tools in the age of AI race to automate the making process, to write your final draft, or render your final image, they forget where true creation begins.
They demand clarity. They ask for a title, a tag, a category before the thought is even complete. They are built for the organized, not the originator.
This is a space for the starting line. For the pre-idea, the hunch, the whisper. It's a tender, private place where bad ideas are not just allowed, but essential. Where your subconscious has room to breathe, and where fragments are treated not as clutter, but as clues.
Originality in an age of imitation.
Leading researchers like Yann LeCun argue that even with the advent of multimodality, today's autoregressive models are not on a viable path to AGI. While they can now process images and sound, this remains fundamentally different from the high-bandwidth, interactive sensory stream humans use to build a world model. These models learn from vast but static datasets, optimizing for next-token prediction based on statistical correlation. They don't develop a true causal understanding of the world from embodied, real-time interaction. Their reasoning is a masterful act of pattern-matching, not a product of lived experience. That gap between correlation and causation is where human originality begins.
That frontier is unmistakably human. scraps doesn't try to finish your thoughts for you; it invites them into conversation. It keeps half-ideas in play long enough for them to collide, recombine, and mature, so what emerges feels discovered and not manufactured.
Let the algorithms tug at the edges of your thinking, but keep the weave in your hands. What matters isn't the prompt it offers, but the pattern you choose to follow.
This is an act of love.
We refuse to build another tool that flattens, rushes, or ignores what is tender and true. We reject software that doesn't trust you to meander, to change your mind, to feel.
Consider this an offering. To the artist sketching in bed. To the founder muttering pitch lines on a walk. To the designer who saves a screenshot they don't understand yet. To anyone who's ever thought, "This doesn't make sense yet, but it will."
We believe your fragments matter. We believe in giving form to the formless. We're building a tool that doesn't just tolerate your chaos; it celebrates it.
For the thoughtful makers: this is our love letter to you.
