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Mood
Sites you keep watching after you meant to stop.
141 sites · page 3 of 3
Sandwiches rotating slowly on a loop, under a tagline that reads simply, and accurately, that's it.
Three colour fields flipping between red, green and blue as you move, a fixture of the useless-web canon and a strobe risk.
Run through a tunnel in space where the walls become the floor whenever you turn. An entire generation played this instead of maths.
Archive of notable animation cuts, tagged by the individual animator who drew them. Studying the craft one sequence at a time.
A falling-sand game with several hundred materials that all react properly, including a dozen ways to end the world by mistake.
Falling-sand physics with fire, water, plants and lava, plus a public gallery of what everybody else set alight.
Tetris where the blocks collapse into falling sand, so a line only clears when one colour touches both walls. Fiendish and lovely.
Drag one slider from quantum foam to the cosmic web, with every object in between labelled at its true size.
Thousands of full-screen graphics experiments, each one a few hundred lines of maths you can read and edit live.
A full year of merchant shipping movements animated on one dark globe and split by cargo type, which turns global trade into a visible swarm.
A live feed of OpenStreetMap edits as they happen, zooming to each contributor's patch of the world one small correction at a time.
Enter any two articles and get every shortest path of links between them, drawn as a graph you can drag.
Roll a ball down an endless neon slope at rising speed until the geometry wins, which it always eventually does.
An endless sheet of virtual bubble wrap that pops under the cursor and quietly refills itself behind you.
Ride a lift from the ground to geostationary orbit, passing every layer of atmosphere and satellite on the way.
Extrudes type into three dimensions, wraps it round shapes and lets it drift, exporting the result as a loop.
Paste any text and it flashes one word at a time at a speed you pick, which is either speed reading or a mild trance.
Wiggle the mouse and a black worm follows; wiggle harder and it strobes violently, so treat the epilepsy warning seriously.
Swing a stick figure between grapple points using one button, then trust momentum to carry the mistake.
Drop fruit into a box, merge matching pairs and watch the pile creep towards the line. Physics does the rest of the work.
Breed meat, then drones, then queens, then things with far too many legs. The exponential curve is the entire narrative.
Ascending through increasingly abstract mathematics, with a community that treats optimising it as a competitive spreadsheet sport.
World atlas of traditional dishes and the specific places that still make them properly. Endless, and reliably makes you hungry.
Scroll outwards from a human to the observable universe, with each step making the previous one look absurd.
A painting that zooms into itself forever, assembled by a dozen artists so carefully that the seams never quite show.
Superhot's trick in a browser: time only moves when you do, so every room becomes a slow-motion puzzle with guns.
Wikipedia's calmly written schedule of everything still to happen, ending long after the last star has gone out.
Cast, catch, sell, upgrade the line, cast deeper. The loop is completely transparent and it still takes forty minutes off you.
One line of maths drives a sixteen-by-sixteen grid of dots, and the gallery of what people fit into that line is humbling.
Fly down a rotating tunnel of coloured obstacles quickly enough that your eyes take over the steering from your brain.
Same idea as typing but with notes rather than drums — write a paragraph, receive a surprisingly pretty melody.
Type words and each letter becomes a drum hit, so your own name comes out as a loop you will struggle to stop playing.
The browser build of the auto-shooter that ate 2022: you only move, everything else fires itself, and the screen fills with skeletons.
Weather models rendered beautifully enough to watch for their own sake, with layers for wind, rain, snow depth and wave height.
Two decades of hand-picked short films, still the most reliable place online to find something beautiful in nine minutes.
A dictionary drawn as a spring-loaded graph, with related meanings pulling away from each word you type.
Drag through a full-screen fluid that swirls and bleeds colour behind the cursor, at full frame rate even on a phone.
The space station's position, ground track and next passes over you, with an orbital countdown that is oddly hard to stop watching.
Wikipedia articles served as a vertical swipe feed, which is either a public service or the end of civilisation.
The forecast as an animated map, with wind, waves, temperature and a dozen models to argue between, free and without an account.
Look out of a stranger's window somewhere else in the world for as long as you like, then swap to another one.
Live counters for population, emissions, water use and books published, ticking faster than is entirely comfortable.
A browser planetarium stitched from real survey data, letting you pan the whole sky in visible light, infrared or radio.
Real-time fractal zoomer ported to the browser, smooth enough that the boundary keeps unfolding as fast as you dive.
The sequel quilt, darker and stranger than the first, still folding into itself with no end and no explanation.
One button, one detour. Press it as often as you like.