The Seneca is my middle finger to the aesthetic homogeneity and economic over-optimization of 21st century life.

Its intricate mechanisms can only be assembled and tuned by human hands, over hours of skilled work—typically by a single artisan, from start to finish.

Every component is custom made (right down to the individually-machined screws), hyper-engineered from first principles for maximum acoustic, artistic, and tactile refinement—costs be damned.

On paper, nothing about this makes any sense. It is over the top. Needlessly lavish. Exuberantly irrational.

And that is the point.

If you’re looking for a keyboard to solve only an earthly practical need, the Seneca is admittedly maybe not for you.

It took me a decade obsessively honing the art and science of typing instruments to be able to make this techno-dream real. And in every choice I have optimized only for joy, nostalgia, and magic.

The Seneca is for builders, writers, coders, and thinkers. Those of us who sit down to our desks as a refuge from the boredom and disappointments of everyday life. It is meant to be a sentimental escape hatch to a beautiful and better place—a world of sensual luxury, insane engineering, and visions of a glimmering future.