This is not content. This is survival.

Memories I can’t quite shake and moments I never want to. Some of it’s true. Some of it might be. All of it’s honest.

I’ve spent decades building things — companies, communities, chaos. I’ve sat across from billionaires and baristas, politicians and poets, trying to understand why I should care about any of it. Sometimes I found answers. Mostly, I found better questions.

This is part journal, part battlefield report, part late-night sermon written in blood.

I’ve seen dreams built, burned, and born again. I’ve watched men rise like kings only to fall like bricks from the sky, with plenty of cheers from the sidelines on the way up and down.

Tech empires. Spiritual crises. Boardroom bloodbaths. Mental breakdowns. Small moments of grace that arrive like a punch to the chest. I’ve walked through the death of old selves and stood dumbfounded at the cracked doors of rebirth, wondering what comes next and whether I’m brave enough to face it.

This is where I come to sift through the wreckage — to explore what it means to be human as the world burns and rebuilds itself on loop. No filters. No PR team. No quarter to algorithms.

Just the bone and marrow of it.