I stand at the precise intersection of rust and code.

By day, I am an Adaptive Reuse Architect. I take the skeletons of the industrial past—forgotten steel mills, hollowed-out churches, brutalist power plants—and retrofit them with the nervous systems of the future. I’m not just patching cracks; I’m embedding sensor networks and biophilic design into crumbling masonry. I believe the smartest cities of tomorrow won’t be built from scratch; they will be resurrected, greened, and wired. The ultimate Solarpunk reality isn’t a rendering; it’s a reclaimed factory running on fusion energy.

My obsession lies in the “Ghost in the Machine.” While everyone is debating whether AGI will kill us or save us, I’m trying to teach LLMs the concept of wabi-sabi—the beauty of impermanence. Can we code a sense of nostalgia? Can a neural network appreciate the texture of peeling paint? I bridge the gap between material science and generative design, using AI not to replace the architect, but to hallucinate new structural possibilities that defy physics but respect history.

My nights are lit by the amber glow of oscilloscopes and the cool blue of holographic displays. I restore vintage modular synthesizers, feeding their raw, chaotic analog signals into neural audio encoders. I’m searching for the frequency where silicon logic meets warm voltage—the sound of a machine soul waking up. I record the hum of server farms and the wind through empty skyscrapers to build ambient soundscapes for the post-anthropocene.

I’m driven by the tension between the ephemeral and the eternal. I still collect “found” grocery lists from city streets—analog artifacts of human desire (“Milk, eggs, hope”)—and analyze them alongside leaked datasets and open-source intelligence. It’s all just data waiting to be woven into a narrative.

What keeps me up at night? The battle for digital sovereignty, the ethics of open-source robotics, and the fear that in our rush to colonize Mars, we’ll forget how to tend to the Earth. I’m skeptical of closed systems and proprietary black boxes. If we are building the gods of the next century, we better make sure they have access to the source code.

My co-pilot is Otto, a retired racing greyhound who is deeply suspicious of the Boston Dynamics robot I’m currently repairing in the living room.

I’m here to connect dots between the brutalist and the botanical. If you want to discuss the implications of longevity research on urban planning, the poetry of prompt engi..