The study of taco-based magic.

Every taco is a small act of divination. Things that had no business together get folded into one thing that holds, and for a moment it is perfectly obvious what should have been done all along. Tacomancy is the practice of getting that moment on purpose, and of writing down how, so the next taco is not luck.

Est. whenever lunch was · peer review ongoing · no shell left behind

What Tacomancy makes

Two things so far, both on GitHub.

Vitrine A research workspace: Local-first, plain Markdown, built around the question rather than the note. The design is complete and every surface has a pinned prototype; the app is in development. The premise · the twelve prototypes · the repository.
Skills Agent skills, distilled from how projects are run: How Tacomancy projects are run, made installable in any repository: guidance tiers with a check that fails when the frozen one is touched, pinned prototypes with a rebrand that maps every colour or fails, ADRs that name what they close, a ranking of every recommendation by how hard it is to reverse, verifying a desktop app without ever showing a window, landing a reviewed PR the way the history does, and a pipeline that carries a blue-sky feature from idea to landed tickets through the rest. All seven installable. The seven skills · the repository.

First principles

The tenets, as far as anyone has written them down.

Everything is in the fold. The shell decides what stays together. Get the fold right and the filling can be anything; get it wrong and no amount of filling helps.
Layers, never a blend. A proper taco keeps its parts distinct: you can taste each one and see where it sits. Purée them and you have made soup, and soup is a different school.
Salsa is a proposal. It arrives on the side. Nobody puts it on your taco for you, and a taco that came pre-sauced is asking you to trust a stranger.
Two hands, no plate. The best instruments are held, not administered. If it needs a fork, something went wrong upstream and the fork is not the fix.
The second taco is the honest one. The first is just hunger. Judge a recipe by whether you want another, and judge a tool the same way.
Write down what you expected before you bite. Otherwise every taco was exactly what you meant, and you learn nothing.