Your GitHub, continuously published.

A Swiss type specimen on black that the scroll typesets: your name splits to reveal the work, each project pins as a plate, skills run as marquee lines.

A hacker's terminal you read by scrolling: green phosphor on a near-black screen, your name as an ASCII-art banner, a short handshake as the session opens, then every section a real command whose output prints its own way, built from your real GitHub data.

A 1930s cartoon short restored and shown at a great old cinema: your name on its title card, each project projected in its own colours in the gate and changed by its own edit, and one red dot that lands as each title's full stop until the iris closes on The End.

Your work as a relief atlas: a title sheet with its neatline, cartouche and legend, a living contour map under every page, each project shown by its own picture on its own summit.

Warm paper and ink-black floors that take turns, and one wide glossy ribbon of ink that leaves the full stop after your huge serif name, weaves under and over your work as you scroll, turns each floor over itself, and ends as the dot of Contact.

A night field drawn entirely in characters: your picture stands in the grass as a figure of type under a slow blood moon, and one wind carries every title and project in from the left and out to the right.

A black and white manga chapter read by scrolling: your GitHub avatar printed as a white halftone on the cover beside your name, then one fast samurai cut splits the cover onto your projects, each a tall page of panels ruled in white ink as the camera pans down, a screentone dissolve into your skills as speech balloons, your career as four-panel strips, your year as a screentone calendar, and a white last page swept in for つづく and your contact.

A slab of black volcanic glass with your name etched huge into it and shell-shaped ripples catching one cold light that the scroll moves across the stone; each project is a polished face of the glass that turns into the light as it arrives, the light clears your story line by line, the rest of your work falls as shards struck off a core, your skills open along cracks, a year of contributions is raked by the light, and your contact line settles into the glass at the end.

A red-orange first screen with your name in heavy condensed caps among flat black discs sized by your languages, then the scroll turns the camera sideways: an amber ring wipes the red to violet for your story, one long strip of cream paper slides past with each project on a black tape-label board under a tilted print while its flat shapes roll, swing and land around it, then white columns of your experience, skills and activity, ending on a red Contact screen that echoes the first.

A near-black page where your pictures do the talking: your name over your first project's picture, full-bleed, which the scroll shrinks into the centre card of a row of tall pictures dealt out of a thumbnail strip, then the row slides sideways under the name of the one at mid-screen and slides away into a quiet column of your story, experience, skills and contact with a small text map of the page beside it.

A near-black framed page of hairline cells: fine contour lines drift across the first screen above your role in giant condensed caps whose letters roll one at a time as you scroll, then your figures, skills and experience in cells that each uncover their own way, a doorway into a wall of giant W O R K letters where each project's window flies in and stops at mid-screen, a floor of words crawling to the horizon, and a disc that opens onto your address.

A counter climbs to 100 on black, then a split screen: the first line of your bio as a big statement on an off-white card beside your grainy avatar, then each project takes the screen as a framed picture or cover while a side index with a huge rolling number marks the one at mid-screen, down to about, skills, a year of activity and contact on the same near-black ground.

A grey board with one long row of white cards that slides sideways as you scroll down: your name and bio on the first card over an ochre disc, then your sections as giant black words cropped by their cards, every project a card whose cover moves its own way, and on phones the same cards in a stack.

A near-black page in condensed off-white caps: your name as a giant block beside a filmstrip of thin greyscale slices of your project pictures, which slides sideways as you scroll and opens the slice at mid-screen into a full plate under its name in giant caps, then your real figures beside your avatar cut into seven slices, your other repos each opening its own way, skills as columns of data, a ruler for every role, a year of week ticks, and two edge plates closing in round your address.

A long black film in warm cream type: your initials form a monogram, your name and languages rise line by line into a wall, your top project's real picture drops in as a round aperture that opens, pulls back and turns in-plane through four short chapters of your own story, then your skills sit on three glossy flat shapes, your projects slide along a hairline, your year's contributions run as three waves, and your name closes the page letter by letter from the centre.

A filmstrip on ruled paper between two black film rails: a thin strip of tiny tiles of all your work slides under a playhead, and as each project reaches the middle it bursts into a loose collage of its real pictures, language swatch, name label and stars card, then gathers back as the next one bursts its own way, until a black band rises on a stepped edge of your contribution weeks with your bio closing in from wide tracking, and lifts off onto the paper to write to you.

A summer sky over a drafting grid: your first name floats as a glossy inflated word with a blue pointer aimed at it, the sky bleaches to chalk as your projects slide into their cells on a crosshair grid, then the pointer grows until its face fills the screen and carries you into night-blue space, where your career, skills and certificates fly in through speed lines, and back out into the sky to write to you.

A tactical HUD on near-black and acid lime: your photo glows as a CRT bust beside your name, your bio types itself across the screen in a glyph wave, lime cells wipe in a board of your numbers, your projects ride a circuit trace sideways, and at the end the lime develops up through a dot screen into your contact slab.

Your portrait glows in a calm, luminous dark with your name parted round it; the scroll dives into it, and inside, your work hangs weightless while one thread of warm light, drawn by the scroll, links it all in order, until it draws a line across the dark, two lids of night close on it and open on a pale dawn at Contact.

A run of full-screen posters in black and white by turns, inside a thick black frame: your name huge across a black disc in a turning ring of your title, then your projects as a deck of rounded cards that slide up over each other, each real picture in a great circle, and every list read under a band of the other ink.

Poster's sibling where the type is the picture: every section one giant word, solid black on the paper and a fine paper keyline on the black, inside a thick black frame. Your name opens half solid, half outlined, and each sheet that rises from the foot changes the weight of every letter it passes, solid to keyline and back.

A Swiss page on a visible hairline grid: the columns divide and your name condenses to stay locked to them, then every section climbs in on its own floor through a staircase cut, black and white by turns, each project's picture set onto the grid its own way, and the grid itself becomes your year of commits.