xneuronal note · Paul likes comics, board games, and hiking: plenty of ideas for a gift.
memory · xneuronal · neuron #3f2a
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9:00
Monday, May 3
My Journal
My Week
S·W·
2 pretty good evening(s), 1 heavier, 2 without a page.
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generated by xneuronal
created · 1 hr ago · via xneuronal
The last mild evening before autumn
Around 9pm. The week drained me, but I think this is the evening I'll remember. Léa had the idea to put the small table on the balcony "while it's still nice out," and she was right: it was 72 degrees at 8pm, the sky was turning orange behind the rooftops, and we could hear the neighbors across the way laughing at their window.
We ate market tomatoes with burrata, still-warm bread, and opened the bottle of rosé we'd been saving since July. We talked about everything and nothing, mostly nothing, and it had been a long time. At one point, Léa said we should do this more often, even in winter, with blankets. I said yes. I hope we really do.
And then I finally called Inès back. I'd been putting it off for three weeks. She told me about the move, the boxes Sacha refuses to open, the cat sleeping in the bathtub since they arrived. We laughed for an hour, like before, when we shared the same room and told each other about our days in the dark.
As I hung up, I thought that nothing was forcing me to wait so long between calls. I'll call her back next Sunday, just because.
memory · xneuronal · neuron #9c41
generated by xneuronal
created · 1 day ago · via xneuronal
Came home drained, but the bike ride was good
Complicated day. The 2pm meeting was supposed to last thirty minutes, it lasted two hours. We were presenting the project, and after ten minutes the director asked the question no one had prepared for: how much does it really cost. Silence. I answered what I could, but I felt so small.
Afterwards, I spent the afternoon redoing the numbers with Marc. He told me it wasn't my fault, that we should have worked on it together. It felt good to hear, even if I only half-believed it.
What was good though: the bike ride. The sky was heavy, all gray, but it wasn't raining yet. I took the canal path, rode slowly, and for twenty minutes I thought of nothing. The first drops fell just as I put the bike away in the yard. I took it as a small gift.
In the evening, I was drained. Tom showed me a dinosaur drawing and I barely managed to pretend to be impressed. Tomorrow, I'll tell him it was really beautiful.
memory · xneuronal · neuron #5be2
generated by xneuronal
created · 3 days ago · via xneuronal
Tom's first practice
Tom's first day at the new soccer club. He'd put on his jersey right after his snack, two hours before, and he asked me four times if his cleats were "the right ones." In the car, he said nothing, hands on his knees.
On the field, he stuck to me throughout the warm-up. Then the coach, a tall guy with an orange whistle, called him by his first name, and he ran off without looking back. I don't know why it made my throat tighten like that.
As for me, I was a bit tense. I don't know anyone there yet. The other parents were talking among themselves, with their coffee thermoses and jokes I didn't understand. One mom did ask me if I was "the new kid's dad," and we talked for ten minutes about Saturday's schedule. Her name is Nadia, her son plays defense.
On the way back, Tom had mud up to his ears and recounted the entire practice without taking a breath. He scored a goal, "well, almost." He wants to go back on Thursday.
memory · xneuronal · neuron #d07a
generated by xneuronal
created · 4 days ago · via xneuronal
Mom's pumpkin soup
Nothing special, and that was perfectly fine. Work in the morning, groceries at noon, and a quiet afternoon where I finally tidied up the office.
In the evening, I tried Mom's pumpkin soup recipe. She'd dictated it to me over the phone last week, adding to each sentence "but you make it to your taste." One pumpkin, two potatoes, an onion, and the secret: a pinch of nutmeg and a drizzle of coconut milk at the end. She says she found it in a magazine in 1994 and has never changed a thing.
The smell in the kitchen took me straight back to her house, October Sundays, when we'd come back from the forest with boots full of leaves. Not bad at all for a first try, a little too salty. The little one had seconds twice, Tom ate the croutons one by one and left the soup.
I sent a photo of the bowl to Mom. She replied "it needs more color, you needed more pumpkin," then three hearts. I think she was happy.
memory · xneuronal · neuron #31f8
generated by xneuronal
created · 6 days ago · via xneuronal
The Heron of the Lake
Market in the morning. It was already mild at 9am. We got apples, a goat cheese the vendor let us sample three times, and a bouquet of dahlias for the table. The little one got a waffle, Tom a bag of candies he hid in his pocket, thinking I hadn't seen anything.
In the afternoon, a walk by the lake with the kids. We went around the reed path, where the water is so calm you can see the clouds in it. Tom was skipping stones, he managed one with four bounces and demanded we write it down somewhere. So there it is: four bounces.
And then we saw a heron. Motionless at the end of the pontoon, gray and blue, perched on one leg. The little one absolutely wanted to follow it to the end, she whispered "shhh, it's sleeping" as she tiptoed. It flew away when she was three meters away, very slowly, with its large wings, and she was left with her mouth open.
On the way back, she talked about nothing else. She wants a bird book for her birthday. To remember.
Hold the mic, speak, release. Even a multi-step request becomes a neatly organized card: the list, and the recipe below it. No forms, no tabs. And even without reception, deep in the store, you check things off: everything syncs as soon as reception returns.
One sentence, four memories: the reminder, Mom's birthday, Inès your sister, Sacha your brother-in-law. You'll find them in "My Memory," and the next time you talk about them, it knows who's who.
Try this: tap a neuron on the phone, its neighbors light up.
3 · It gives it back to you
At the right time. Without you even noting it down.
You mentioned Paul once, in passing. The following year, a week before May 10th, your phone reminds you. And you set your own rules: "for all birthdays, remind me one week before, three days before, and on the day itself."
Try this: tap the reminder to open its card.
xneuronal notification: Reminder. Mon. May 10 · Paul's Birthday.
4 · It keeps your days
In the evening, you tell it. It writes the page.
Tellmeaboutyourday,Camille.
Every evening, at the time you choose, it asks you about your day. One sentence is enough. It writes the page with your words, and files it in your journal. No notes, no scores: just the mood of your evenings. Your journal isn't shared, and you can reread it whenever you want.
Say it like you'd say it to someone.
Nothing to configure, nothing to learn. It understands the whole sentence and files it in the right place. Tap a phrase to see what it does with it.
you
Remind me of my list 500 meters from the store
xneuronal
Location-based reminder
upon arrival500m around the storeyour shopping list
Everything it can do.
Nineteen functions, one memory. Hover over a neuron to see what it does.Nineteen functions, one memory. Tap a function to open its page.
A personal voice assistant with only one voice and one memory. You talk to it, it organizes everything into interconnected “neurons,” and brings it back to you at the right time. No tabs, no lists to keep updated.
How is it different from Siri, Google Assistant, or ChatGPT?
Siri and Google execute a command then forget. ChatGPT chats but doesn't manage your life. XNeuronal does both: it acts (reminders, notes, calendar) and it remembers, long-term, what matters to you: your loved ones, your habits, your dates.
Who is it for?
For anyone with a full mind and little time: overwhelmed parents, freelancers, easily distracted minds. If you forget things as soon as you put down your phone, this is for you.
Why talk about “neural memory”?
Because it doesn't store your information in fixed folders. Everything you say becomes a “neuron” connected to others: a person, a place, a date, an idea. Like in a brain, memories connect, and it retrieves information through associations, not just exact keywords.
Does the app have menus, tabs?
Hardly any. Everything starts with a conversation. Three pages can be swiped through: your memos and tasks on the left, the conversation in the center, your calendar on the right. Nothing to configure, nothing to learn.
How do I talk to it?
You hold the microphone button, speak, then release. It understands both a simple sentence and a complex, multi-part request, then responds to you aloud and on screen.
What if I prefer to type?
Tap the “Aa” satellite next to the microphone: a text field opens. Voice remains the default, but typing is always an option.
How do I find my reminders, my shopping, my appointments?
Ask aloud (“show me my list,” “my reminders”): a card opens. Or swipe to the right page. And XNeuronal sends you notifications at the right time, without you having to look for them.
What's the difference between a memo and a task?
A memo is a note (recipe, contact, idea). A task is similar, but with a deadline. Both are illustrated cards, organized on the same page.
Does it bother me all the time with notifications?
No, it's the opposite. By default, it stays silent. It only notifies you for what you've asked it not to forget, at the useful moment. You can even tell it to be quiet about a specific topic.
Can I share a list or a card with someone?
Yes. You say “share the shopping list with Sacha”: they receive the card in their app if they have XNeuronal, or via a simple web link otherwise, without creating an account. With two people on a list, each can check off and add items, everything stays synchronized. You can even delegate a reminder: “remind him to buy bread.”
Can I attach photos or documents to a card?
Yes: photos, PDFs, audio recordings, links. An attachment added to a card is read once, on its own, so you can find the card by what it contains. Then it transcribes a voice note, summarizes a PDF or deciphers a photo when you ask, and keeps what matters. Links are not opened.
Can it remind me of something at a specific location?
Yes. “Within a kilometer of home, remind me to bring in the bins” or “within 500 meters of a bakery, remember the bread”: the reminder triggers when you enter the set zone around the location, even without opening the app.
Does it really remember everything I say?
It sorts out what's useful on its own. From a single sentence, it can create multiple memories: a reminder, an anniversary date, the connections between the people you mention. And it brings them back to you at the right time.
What if it remembers something incorrectly?
You correct it by voice: “no, Paul's birthday is on the 10th, not the 12th.” It updates the memory without erasing the history: it simply knows the information has changed.
What happens if someone else uses my phone?
You can warn it: “my brother is speaking.” XNeuronal then attributes what's said to the right person, without mixing it with your own memory. Your memory remains yours.
How do I erase a memory, or all my memory?
These are two different things. By voice, “forget that” mutes the memory after confirmation: XNeuronal stops using it, but it is not destroyed. For real erasure, go through the app: a card is deleted from the card itself, and the settings, Memory section, erase by type (reminders, notes, conversations…) over the period you choose. That one is permanent.
Is my data private?
Yes. Exchanges with XNeuronal are encrypted, your neurons are hosted in Europe, and your conversations are never used to train a model. You can see everything it has remembered in the app, and you can delete everything, card by card or by type.
Are my conversations used to train the AI?
No. Your memory belongs to you and is only there to serve you. Your conversations do not feed the training of models.
Where and how can I see my saved data?
In the app, at any time. Open the settings with the gear icon at the top right, then tap on the card that shows your neuron count: “My memory” lists each saved card, and you can open any of them to read it. Deletion is in the same place, card by card or all at once by type.
What happens if I delete my account?
Everything is deleted: your neurons, your history, and your settings. Deletion is permanent.
Does it work without a connection?
Voice conversation needs internet. But without a network, everything already saved remains accessible (your cards, your lists, your calendar), and what you check, edit or write goes out on its own as soon as the connection returns. A small icon in the top bar tells you when you're offline.
Which phone?
Android first, iOS planned for later. The experience is designed for mobile, usable with one hand.
Do I need to create an account to start?
No. You can start right away, without an account: your neurons are saved and backed up from the first conversation. Creating an account later allows them to be linked to you so you can find them if you change phones.
Can I change the assistant's voice?
Yes. There are more than seventy voices, around ten per language, that you can listen to before choosing, each with its own speed. You can switch whenever you want in Settings › AI Voice.
How do I talk to it?
You hold the microphone button, speak, then release. It understands both a simple sentence and a complex, multi-part request, then responds to you aloud and on screen.