Mousepound64 Site

Critics call it "arthritis speedrun." Users call it "flow state."

At its core, Mousepound64 (MP64) is a paradox. It is a 65% mechanical keyboard, split down the middle into two mirrored halves. But where the right half’s "J" key should be, there is a concave, 55mm polycarbonate trackball. Where the left half’s "F" key lives, there is a haptic scroll wheel with 64 detents (hence the name).

Building a Mousepound64 is not a purchase; it is a penance. You cannot buy one assembled. Vexel, now rumored to be living off-grid in the Oregon woods, only sells PCBs and acrylic cases via a Telegram group. The queue is 18 months long. mousepound64

The result was ugly. It was asymmetrical. It had a latency of nearly 80ms. But the feel ? According to the original Reddit post (now deleted, but archived in 14 different Discord servers): "It feels like your hand never left home."

It is not a keyboard with a mouse attached. It is a pound —a term borrowed from animal husbandry, referring to a place where lost things are kept. The MP64 is where your cursor goes to be found again. Critics call it "arthritis speedrun

Mousepound64 is not for everyone. In fact, it is not for almost anyone. It is for the hyper-specialist, the workflow fetishist, the person who looks at a hammer and asks, "Why does the handle have to be straight?"

Virtual Workshop, 2026

If you have never heard of the MP64, you are not alone. For every thousand mechanical keyboard enthusiasts, there is exactly one person who has soldered together a Mousepound. But that ratio is shifting. Slowly, painfully (due to the wrist stretches required), the word is spreading.

As Vexel wrote in the final line of the build guide: "You are no longer a user. You are a keeper. Now get back to work." Where the left half’s "F" key lives, there

There is a quiet corner of the internet where the click is not a mouse click. It is a thud. A deep, satisfying, ceramic-like thunk . This is the world of Mousepound64—a hybrid input device that refuses to be categorized, a Frankensteinian masterpiece that has turned programmers, video editors, and digital cartographers into devout evangelists.

Inside the cult-like devotion to a 64-key keyboard, a trackball mutation, and the ergonomic revolution no one asked for.