Communication that works like real life — real people, real moments, seen and then gone. Invite-only. Nothing archived, ever.
Get the letter There's no sign-up. There's an invitation — and it comes from a person, not from us.Walk down the street and people see you. They don't record you, index you, or train a model on you. Being seen and then forgotten is how life has always worked — the permanent record is the recent invention.
And it's changing how we speak. Every message weighed before sending. Every photo a future liability. Every platform quietly keeping everything, scraping it, feeding it to machines, and calling that a privacy policy.
We don't think the fix is better settings. We think it's a place where memory works the way memory always has — human, fading, temporary. What we refuse to build is the perfect kind: the archive that never forgets and never forgives.
The fresh cut. The Tuesday-night nonsense in the group chat. Your child doing something daft. Moments you want the right people to see — not moments you want archived, analysed and attached to your name in 2036.
On BLAST you share them, your people see them, and then they're gone. Like it happened in a room, not on a record.
BLAST is private and invite-only. Everyone here was vouched for by someone. No strangers, no bots, no audience of millions.
Photos and video are captured in the app, in the moment. No polished uploads from a camera roll — presence, not performance.
You choose the lifespan when you post. Nothing on BLAST outlives a moon. No exceptions, for anyone.
A message lives for one sun — 24 hours from the moment it's seen. Read it, reply to it, let it go. And nothing unseen outlives a moon.
You can't sign up to BLAST. Someone already inside invites you — a QR code shown in person, or a link they send you. Invitations are few, so people spend them carefully, and every account traces back through a chain of real people who vouched for each other.
We never issue invites ourselves. Not for money, not for hype, not for anyone. If BLAST reaches you, it's because somebody who knows you wanted you in the room.
And you won't find usernames here — not yet, anyway. You're given a number: your place in the tree, in the order you were vouched in. Add your name and that's what people see. Swap numbers with someone and add each other — you're connected only when it's mutual. Nobody gets to know you one-way.
Every platform makes promises. Here are ours, with the limits attached — because a promise without limits is just marketing.
When your content expires, it's deleted from our systems. Not hidden. Not "deactivated." Not kept for analytics. Gone.
No ads. No selling or sharing your information. No profiles built from your behaviour.
We never touch your address book. Growth happens person to person, on purpose.
Closed network, real identities, vouched entry. Your moments aren't public and aren't sitting there for search engines or scrapers to find.
Someone you share with can screenshot, photograph a screen, or repeat what you said. That's true of a conversation in a pub, too. BLAST keeps that risk human-scale — everyone who sees your moment is identifiable, vouched-for, and bound by conduct rules with real consequences — but we won't pretend we can stop a human remembering.
What happens on someone else's phone is outside our reach.
BLAST is early software built by a very small team. There will be bugs and mistakes. Our commitment is to tell you first, fast, and specifically.
When deletion ships, we'll publish how it works technically — so it can be checked, not just believed.
This threat model stays public, and gets updated whenever reality updates it.
Leaving your email won't get you into BLAST — a person will. What it gets you is the letter: what we're building, what we've decided, what we got wrong and what we changed. Written the way you'd report to stakeholders — because that's what you'd be: someone with a stake in whether a platform like this deserves to exist.
Your email is used for the letter. Nothing else. Unsubscribe and we delete it — obviously.Someone already on BLAST invites you — a QR code in person, or a link they send. Invitations are limited, so they're spent, not scattered.
Because the chain of real people vouching for each other is the product. It's how BLAST stays free of bots, strangers and pile-ons. The door is the privacy feature.
It's deleted from BLAST — our servers included. Not archived, not hidden-but-kept, not retained "for safety." A day or a moon, then gone.
Yes. Humans can always capture what they can see, and we won't insult you by pretending otherwise. The difference here: everyone who can see your moment is a real, identifiable person who was vouched into the network, and misusing what you're shown carries consequences. We stop institutions from remembering you. Friends are on their honour — as they always have been.
Disappearing messages are a setting you switch on, on platforms that archive everything else. On BLAST, expiry is the architecture. There is no "everything else."
As little as the thing can run on. No contact books, no ad tracking, no behavioural profiles. If all you ever do is read this page and leave an email, an email address is all we hold — and you can take it back any time.
Not yet — and never with ads or your data. When BLAST charges for something, it will be honest, optional, and announced in the letter first.
A founder building the thing they wanted to exist. Small on purpose, early by admission, honest by design.