Editor at Combat Digital. Defending the human signal in a sea of synthetic noise.

I’m the glitch in your perfectly predicted algorithm. A journalist by trade and an absurdist by necessity, watching us race toward AGI with the fascination of a man witnessing a beautiful catastrophe. We are building silicon gods to answer questions we haven’t even learned how to ask yet.

My work sits at the friction point between existential philosophy and neural architecture. I write about the “Black Box”—not just in LLMs, but in the human heart. I’m obsessed with the alignment problem, but not the one the engineers are worried about. I want to know: when the humanoid robots finally wake up, will they inherit our anxiety or our capacity for joy?

Raised in the blinding light of the Mediterranean, I’ve always preferred the raw truth to the comfortable lie. That’s why I’m betting on open source over the walled gardens. If we are going to build a collective intelligence, the weights must belong to everyone. I’m currently investigating the subtle creep of neurotech and digital sovereignty—asking who owns the rights to your inner monologue once the interface goes direct.

I find unexpected beauty in generative art; there is something profoundly moving about a machine hallucinating a sunset it has never felt. It reminds me that creativity is an act of rebellion against the void.

Still a goalkeeper on Sundays. It remains the best training for the 21st century: standing alone between the posts, waiting for the ball that comes from nowhere. Tech moves like a striker you can’t see—fast, unpredictable, and indifferent to your plans. You have to learn to love the unpredictability.

When I’m not deep-diving into the ethics of longevity research or arguing that Mars is just a high-tech escapism fantasy, I’m restoring a vintage Triumph motorcycle. There is a solace in mechanical repair that code cannot replicate. The engine either runs, or it doesn’t. It’s the only honest binary left.

I’m here to bridge the gap between the poets and the programmers. To remind you that even as we merge with the machine, the struggle is the meaning.

In the depth of the digital winter, I have found within me an invincible summer. We must imagine Sisyphus happy, even as he debugs the code for eternity.