Virtual Workshop, 2026
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."
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.
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. mousepound64
It is ugly. It is expensive (total BOM cost: ~$340). It requires a firmware engineering degree to flash. And yet, when you finally master the "thumb-roll to pinky-chord," there is a moment of silence. The cursor stops jumping. The carpal tunnel stops whispering. Your hands become one with the pound.
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).
Inside the cult-like devotion to a 64-key keyboard, a trackball mutation, and the ergonomic revolution no one asked for. Virtual Workshop, 2026 As Vexel wrote in the
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?"
The device was first conceptualized in 2021 by an exiled industrial designer known only as "Vexel." Tired of switching between a Planck keyboard and a Logitech MX Master 3, Vexel did something unhinged: he cut a $300 keyboard in half with a bandsaw, routed out the PCB, and hot-glued the guts of a trackball into the cavity.
Critics call it "arthritis speedrun." Users call it "flow state." You cannot buy one assembled
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.
Mousepound64: The Unsung Workstation of the Digital Rat Race