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A place built by someone who needed it to exist — for everyone else who has been looking for it.
My name is Mark McFillen.
I am autistic.
I didn’t know that for most of my life. I had other words for what I was — too much, too fast, too connected, too hard to follow. None of them were quite right. None of them explained the gap.
One summer. Chess.
Back-to-back state championships.
I never read the chess books. The other kids memorized openings from the masters. I saw the board as a living thing — cause and effect, playing out in real time. I knew my opponent’s next move before they did. Not calculation. The logic was simply visible.
The name came quietly,
through a film.
A biopic about Temple Grandin — a woman who sees in pictures, who thinks in systems, who built an entire life from a mind the world kept trying to correct. Watching it, something shifted. Not a diagnosis. A recognition. The particular feeling of seeing yourself clearly for the first time, in someone else’s story.
It had a name.
Autism.
And with that name, everything that had ever confused me about myself clicked into place. Every room I’d been too much for. Every connection others couldn’t follow. Every finished thing I could see before anyone else believed it existed. That was the beginning. Everything since is what I built from there.
So I stopped waiting.
I built.
Living books. Living letters. A library that fits on a thumb drive. Worlds for people who needed them to exist. A cat with a crown who has opinions about Mondays. A portal in the corner that takes you somewhere real. Eighteen years of building. This is what it looks like.
The Library of
Infinite Everything.
Every world I’ve built since the recognition — all of it on an infinitely scalable server. No platform. No gatekeeper. No algorithm deciding what gets seen. The whole thing fits on a thumb drive. Bigger on the inside — which is, it turns out, the only kind of universe worth building.
A note on all of this
The Library of Infinite Everything is not a finished product. It is an experiment in what’s possible — built on a format no one had imagined before, in a space that is genuinely, literally bigger on the inside.
One afternoon I asked: can we build an Asteroids game? The answer came back immediately — of course, do you want to start now? Sure. And that is how the library got its own arcade. That is how all of it happened. One question at a time. One experiment at a time.
Perfection is not the goal here. Creativity is. Imagination is. The honest answer to the question what can this format actually do — asked over and over, with genuine curiosity, without knowing what the answer will be.
I don’t know yet what this becomes.
I am still finding out.
You are welcome to watch — or to build something here yourself.
Come back whenever. We’ll be here. Still building.
Enter the Library →