Eternal Particles
An interactive zine for underground lifestyles and the infinite influences along the way.
Log 0 openCurrent log
Now showing
From this logTransmissions
Gatherings
Live and in the roomThe quiet room
A refuge with nothing in it but whoever else is here. You are a cursor in a colour of your choosing; so are they. Wherever you press, everyone sees a ripple and a mote that fades within a minute. Your particle comes along, and when it meets another they play. Nobody is named, and nothing is kept.
The wall
Contribute
Inquiry & open callIf you could preserve one message for eternity, what would it say?
Open call
The next log is being assembled. If you make something and it belongs in these pages, put it forward.
Log 0 // Origins
Exhibit
Archive
The shelvesTransmissions
The wall
A guestbook. Sign it in a hand of your choosing: a name and a line. They go to the desk, and up on the wall once the desk has seen them.
Audiobox
Your files, on your deviceEqualiser
Effects
Queue
Kept on this device. Your shelf survives closing the app, until you remove a track with its ×. Nothing is ever uploaded.
Selections the zine’s playlists, on Spotify
Nothing loads from Spotify until a selection is opened.
Arcade
Games in the house styleIndex
Est. 2025Eternal Particles is an interactive zine for underground lifestyles and the infinite influences along the way.
Every issue is a log, with its own theme and its own colourway. Every page has a still version and a living one, read one at a time, at the pace you set. Nothing here refreshes, ranks, or disappears after twenty-four hours. Pages are kept, not served.
Standing sections
Article: the long thought.
Spotlight: a figure or a subject, in their own frame.
Review: one work, looked at closely.
Selection: one thing worth your evening, in any medium.
Inquiry: one open question, left open. The answers shape the log that follows.
The rooms
Archive: every log, searchable to the sentence.
Exhibit: the experiences that live outside the logs.
Arcade: six machines and a pet, for whoever wants to stay a while longer.
The particle: a small thing that lives in the Arcade, as a particle or in the shape of a cat, a dog, a bird, a lizard, a frog or a fish, or a mantis, an ant, a jumping spider or a whip spider. Reading feeds it, and so does its dish; play, a sweep and sleep keep it well; take it for a walk, to the beach or up on the roof, and it plays with the others in the quiet room. Now and then it turns up while you read, or plays at the foot of the shelves; a tap is a pat, and it can be told to stay home. It never dies and nothing counts down. Away, it sleeps.
Posts: transmissions between logs.
The wall: a guestbook. Sign it in a hand of your choosing; it goes up once the desk has seen it.
The quiet room: a refuge with nothing in it but whoever else is here, each a cursor. Nobody is named and nothing is kept.
Audiobox: your own music while you read, with an equaliser, effects, and visualisers that take the colour of whatever skin you are wearing.
Reading it
Every log is free. The whole archive, no account, no paywall between a reader and a page. Support is how the next one gets made, not how this one gets unlocked.
Reading
Language:
Translated by the zine, and not yet read by anyone who grew up speaking it. If a line reads wrong, tell us and it gets put right.
Keys: press ? anywhere for the short list of them. Everything they do can be done by tapping as well.
A short walk through the zine, room by room.
Type: for the posts, the notes, and these pages. The logs are printed as they are.
Light: a pale room for daylight, a dark one for night, or by the sun, which turns the room light at dawn and dark at dusk over your place. The pages keep their ink. The switch beside the speaker at the top of every screen flips it too.
Listen: in a log, Listen reads the page's words in your device's own voice. A comfort for tired eyes, not a narration.
Closer: pinch or double-tap a page, or any piece in the Exhibit, to look closer. The app itself stays put.
Your reading
Carry it with you
What you keep here stays on this device: your place in every log, your skins. To carry it to another device, copy this code there and bring it in. No account. Nothing here is tracked: there is no analytics script in the app, and what you read is known only to this device. Something leaves it only when you do something that reaches the desk: a letter or an open call entry, a line for the wall, a name on a board, a request for notices, claiming a holiday skin, or the email you bought with when you redeem a skin. The quiet room and the door count who is there and keep nothing. From 31 October to 2 November, the lit candles on an open altar are counted the same way, with no names. Privacy, further down, has the whole of it.
Where you are
At night the first screen shows the real sky over a place, worked out on this device from the clock. It is the zine's home unless you set yours. Nothing is sent anywhere.
The ofrenda
An altar for the people you remember, kept on this device. A picture becomes a portrait of particles, with a candle lit for each person.
Notices
A feed: every log and every transmission are listed in the feed, for anyone who keeps a reader. No account, no email, and nothing in it that knows you looked.
A word when something new arrives. Off until you say so, and only for what you choose. The desk keeps where to send it and which topics you picked, nothing else, and your browser's own push service carries it.
Skins
The app is black and white. A skin sets the room in a colour. Every log brings its own, free, for good. A holiday's skin is free to claim for a week from its first day, and after that week it comes with supporting the zine. Paste the code you were given, or the email you bought with, and the colour unlocks. The email goes to the desk only to find your code; the desk keeps a scrambled fingerprint of it, never the address itself.
Supporter terms
Every log stays free, and so does its colour. Supporting the zine is how the next issue gets made. What it comes with is the holidays' colours after their week has passed, one at a time or a year at once.
What a skin is: a colour and a look for this app, nothing more. It changes how the zine looks, never what you can read. It lives on your device, with no account.
Getting it: after buying, paste the email you used at the shop into Redeem, under Skins. It can take a minute. The same email always brings back the same code, so if you clear your browser, change devices, or lose the skin, redeem again, or move everything at once with your carry code.
Refunds: purchases are made through the shop, and refunds are handled there too. If something went wrong, write and it will be put right.
Questions: if a code does not arrive, a skin does not unlock, or anything else, write to contact@eternalparticles.com.
Privacy
What stays with you: your place in every log, your skins, your particle, your settings, and where you are all live on this device, in its own storage. There are no accounts and no analytics, and nothing about you is sold, shared, or used for ads.
What leaves, only when you send it:
Letters and open call entries: what you write, and a name if you give one, go to the desk, where the team reads them. A few answers may be printed in a later log.
The wall: a name and a line, shown once the desk has seen them.
Boards: the name you type beside an arcade score, shown on that board.
Notices: where your browser should be sent a knock, and which topics you picked. Your browser's own push service carries it. Turn notices off and the desk forgets it.
Claiming a holiday skin: the desk is told that one more was claimed, and keeps a scrambled marker for the day so that one household counts once. Never the address, and gone the next day.
Skins from the shop: the email you paste goes to the desk only to find your code. The desk keeps a scrambled fingerprint of it, never the address, for as long as the zine runs, so the same email always finds the same code. Buying is between you and the shop, under its own privacy policy.
What the desk keeps: letters, entries, and wall lines stay until the team deletes them. To stop floods, the desk counts how often one address writes in a day, as a scrambled number that is gone the next day. The quiet room and the door count who is there and keep nothing. From 31 October to 2 November, the lit candles on an open altar are counted the same way, with no names. The zine is served by Cloudflare, which keeps its own short technical records of requests, as any host does.
The ofrenda: the people you remember, their pictures and your words for them stay on this device. They are never sent, and they are not in your carry code. From 31 October to 2 November, while your altar is open, the desk counts the lit candles the way it counts the door, and keeps nothing.
Deleting something: write to contact@eternalparticles.com and say what you sent and roughly when, and it will be found and deleted. A skin's fingerprint can go too, and then that skin has to be bought again. What lives on this device you can clear yourself, in your browser's settings for this site.
On your device
Xolotl Kurobara