Hello, World. Why Another Tech Blog? (But Not Really)

TL;DR

bitzany explores tech’s conceptual edges — the why-behind-the-how.
It’s not a trend blog. It’s a space for diffs, detours, and reimagined systems.
If you love debugging abstractions as much as code, you’re in the right place.

For me, tech isn’t just a field — it’s a terrain. Sometimes smooth and logical, often lumpy and strange. What pulls me in isn’t just the elegance of a well-factored system or the thrill of solving a hard bug. It’s the friction. The places where things feel slightly… off. Where the reasoning slips. Where the surface says one thing, but the structure underneath hints at something messier, older, or weirder.

This blog, bitzany, lives in that friction.

You won’t find trend roundups or listicles here. No “10 productivity hacks using this new JS lib,” or “Ultimate roadmap for [buzzword].” Not because those things don’t matter—but because there’s already too much air traffic in that part of the sky.

I’m interested in something else: the edges.

The tiny rifts between “how it works” and “how it feels.” The decisions that got locked in long ago and calcified into gospel. The overlooked, the under-explained, the historically accidental. Tech is full of those — choices made under pressure or constraint that stuck around so long they became sacred. And once you start noticing them, it’s hard to stop.

But this blog isn’t just about noticing. It’s not just about the “why.” It’s about what happens after the pause.

Sometimes the pause leads to a rant. Sometimes to a reframe. Sometimes it opens up space to build something new — or at least squint at what already exists from an odd, useful angle.

I call some of these explorations diffs. Not code diffs (though those might show up too), but conceptual ones. Diffs between how a thing could’ve been designed and how it actually was. Diffs between an interface and its unspoken expectations. Diffs between the narrative we’re told and the one embedded in the source. Diffs between what we assume is fixed — and what might still be up for grabs.

Not all of them will be critiques. Many will be playful. Some might feel like sketches, or alternate histories, or speculative redesigns. Others might lean toward systems-thinking, or explore how ideas from far outside tech — mechanics, biology, art, anthropology — suddenly click into relevance when you’re knee-deep in a dependency tree or rebuilding CI for the seventh time.

The point is: they aren’t just about asking why. They’re about poking at the shape of things. Tinkering. Remixing. Reimagining. Sometimes breaking things down just to see if they can be put together differently. They’re not meant to always resolve. They’re meant to open.

Sometimes a diff will begin as a “why” — Why does this tool behave this way? Why does this convention exist? Why does this DSL bend toward unreadability? But the real juice is in the follow-through. Once you’ve got your why, what do you do with it? Do you accept it? Do you subvert it? Do you trace its lineage or rewrite its fate?

bitzany is a space for that kind of follow-through. For questions, yes, but also for nudges. Provocations. Weird side-paths. It’s where I’ll try to distill the stuff I find myself thinking about when I should be shipping, or sleeping, or eating breakfast. Sometimes those thoughts spiral into late-night prototype rabbit holes. Sometimes they just become blog posts. Either way, this is where they land.

This blog might orbit compilers, CI systems, API design, developer experience, or the ergonomics of thinking in code. But don’t expect a clean taxonomy. Expect mood swings between low-level internals and high-level abstractions. Between tooling, theory, and raw curiosity. Sometimes a post might read like an essay, other times like a memo to future-me. Sometimes it might just be a breadcrumb I want to leave in the forest.

I’ll write about interfaces — not just the kind you click or call, but the kind that mediate understanding. The mental interfaces between thought and system, language and architecture, expectation and experience. Because that’s the part of tech that feels most alive to me — the connective tissue, the parts where meaning forms.

There’s an inherent joy in watching a diff unfold — not just as a comparison, but as a storytelling tool. A way to surface alternate realities. A way to say: it didn’t have to be this way. And maybe still doesn’t.

Even the act of diffing is generative. It forces attention. It slows you down. Makes you trace the outlines of something you thought you understood and ask: what if we nudged this edge? What if we inverted the constraint? What if this abstraction were shaped differently, not because it's broken, but just because we can?

That’s where I want to write from. That twitch in your brain when a thing doesn’t sit right, and instead of letting it pass, you follow it down the rabbit hole.

And even though this is a personal project, I don’t want it to be a monologue. I want bitzany to be a place where people who think weird — who notice the friction, who chase the glint in the corner of their eye — can feel at home. If you’ve ever caught yourself staring at a config file wondering about its philosophical underpinnings, or found poetry in an error message, or restructured a build system just because it felt like a better shape — this blog is probably for you.

What’s coming next? Not a roadmap, but a few clusters of thought. Diffs, yes, in many flavors — technical, conceptual, narrative. But also glitches. Asides. Thought-experiments that don't cleanly belong anywhere. Some of them are already half-written, others are just gut feelings waiting for the right question to spark.

This won’t be predictable. But I hope it will be honest, strange, and maybe even a little useful.

So: thanks for being here. Thanks for reading past the fold.
And welcome to bitzany. Let’s explore the edges together.

P.S. I sometimes use AI to help refine what I write — tighten structure, catch blind spots, reshape tone — but the core? The detours, the glitches, the sideways questions? That’s all me.