Personal knowledge base
Your second brain, minus the part you quit.
You don't lose ideas — you lose them in the gap before you file them. Dump them in plain language, in your own words: nothing to rename, nothing to file. They become a connected map of your stuff you can open and just ask.
Sound familiar
You've started a second brain before. It worked for about three weeks.
The first week it was beautiful — clean folders, a tagging system you were proud of. By week three you were spending more time sorting notes than using them, and one day you just stopped opening it.
It was never your discipline. You catch a thought, open your notes app, and it asks a question you don't want to answer: which notebook? which tag? what do I even title this? By the time you've decided, the thought is half gone — and that decision, made before you're allowed to keep the thing, is the filing tax.
Pay it a hundred times a week and you don't quit because you're lazy. You quit because the tool made you the librarian of your own head.
It draws the map
Dump it. It draws the map.
Type it, paste it, drag in the whole messy export — a thing a friend said, a half-thought from July, Mom’s meds, the apartment hunt. Naumu reads it and draws the lines you never would: the book to the person who recommended it, the appointment to the person it’s for. A connected map that grows as you add to it.
Watch it work
You just say what happened.
No app to open, no folder to pick. You report it the way you’d text a friend — and it’s kept, and quietly linked to everything it touches.
Noted in a sentence — no app to open, no folder to pick. Illustrative; on the live page you say your own and watch it land.
Keep it — and bring the pile you already have.
While you’re just trying it there’s no account, no email — and nothing is saved. Watch the map build, poke at it, close the tab and the trial is gone. The only question left is: want it here tomorrow? Tap Keep and it saves to your private space, there on your phone, your laptop, next week — keeping it is seconds, not Sunday. That’s minus the part you quit.
You don’t have to start at a blank canvas, either. Drag in the folder of half-finished notes, paste the export from the app you abandoned. Drop in 200 pages and it’s honest about scale — it shows what came through clearly and what to double-check, so you fix a handful of links instead of auditing the whole thing. And it keeps your words: call it "Mom’s meds" or "the apartment hunt" and that’s exactly how it’s kept, because the names come from you.
Nothing is saved until you tap Keep. Your space is private to you; the AI acts as you and sees only what you can. How your text is processed: /docs.
Who this is for
You loved the idea of a second brain and got tired of being its full-time staff.
If you love tending a note collection — if the gardening is the point, if filing is soothing, if your tagging system is a craft — Naumu will feel like it took your favorite chore away. There are good tools for that person: Obsidian for local files and plugins, Notion for polished docs and databases, Mem and Reflect for the lightest, calmest daily capture.
Naumu is for the other kind of person. Three abandoned note collections and a notes app you're scared to open. If that's you, you were never going to stick with a system that makes you do the filing.
Why it holds up
Minus the upkeep that killed the last one.
It connects, not just stores
Your notes app files each thought in a folder you chose. Naumu links what relates on its own — a book to the person who recommended it, a person to what they need — so the picture stays whole as you add to it.
Every answer traces to its source
Ask in plain language and the answer comes back with the notes and timestamps it came from. Nothing invented; nothing floats free of where you said it.
Keeping it is seconds, not Sunday
You skim what it filed and tap to keep — the only chore left. No folders to reorganize, because there were never folders. It stays useful without you re-filing it.
FAQ
The stuff you're actually wondering.
Drop your pile.
Throw in a thought, a note, or the whole messy export, and watch it build into something you can finally just ask. No signup, no email — and nothing is saved until you tap Keep.