About Me

I didn't plan any of this. Until I did. And that's the point.

I grew up in Texas, the youngest of three, surrounded by land, time, and the kind of silence that forces you to figure things out for yourself. I wanted to make things — films, music, stories. I made a surf documentary in Nicaragua and had a shot at chasing that life. My dad offered to help me move to California, buy a trailer, and go all in.

I turned it down.

I took the safer path. I went to a big state school. I drifted. I nearly failed out. I was depressed and directionless. My brother, deployed in Afghanistan, sent me an email. It wasn't sentimental. It was a call to act. I did.

I applied for an unpaid FBI internship the day before the deadline and flew to Zambia the next morning. When I got back, I found out I'd been accepted. I didn't know what I was walking into, but I drove nonstop from Texas to Quantico, Virginia and spent everything I had just to take a chance on it. That turned into eleven years in the Bureau.

I worked surveillance. I learned how people move and how they lie. I studied federal statutes, tracked money laundering, recruited foreign intelligence officers, flipped sources, made arrests, and got people out of war zones...and then sent them back in.

But it all began when I realized I didn't have any technical skills and the Bureau's software was ancient and decaying fast. So I taught myself how to code in the back of a surveillance van. I hacked together a case management system that got an award and a two-year assignment working directly for the Bureau's Chief Technology Officer. I got pulled into leadership. But a decade in, the work got comfortable, and I remembered the oath I made when I graduated from the FBI Academy — that if I ever found the work unstimulating, I would leave.

So I did.

I moved into tech and AI knowing I'd have to prove myself all over again. The systems were modern, the talent was sharp, but the culture was different — more talk, less pressure. I saw the same gap I'd spent my career chasing down: what people say versus what they actually do. That became the thread I followed forward.

Now I write. I build. I'm a full-time entrepreneur, whatever that means. I choose to work with people operating under pressure.

Because here's what I've learned:

Intention doesn't build anything. It's the most dangerous place to live. You don't become what you plan. You become what you do.

And somehow, I've circled back to where I started. While tech entrepreneurship provides for my family, I've returned to the land. I'm building a homestead in Colorado. I'm making music again. I've found my way back to the things I once turned down, but with the perspective that only comes from taking the long road. The tools and stakes have changed, but the desire to create something real hasn't.

The road I didn't take and the road I did have finally converged. The art and the land I once left behind now share space with the life I built instead. Nothing wasted, nothing separate. Just one continuous act.

About This Site

This isn't a portfolio. It's a field-tested AI system that distills what I've learned over 20 years into actionable insight.

Unlike conventional AI, this system is rooted in action, not theory. It's built on first principles drawn from environments where talk means nothing and only results matter. It reflects what I've seen work under real constraints, not what sounds plausible on slide decks.

I built this because I wanted something that bridges the gap between what we say and what we do — a system that cuts through the noise of good intentions and focuses on what actually holds up when tested. It's a record of the patterns I've watched emerge across two decades of work.

Use it when you need clarity that's grounded in reality. It won't give you comfortable abstractions or trendy frameworks. What you'll find here is knowledge curated through action and pressure-tested across contexts where failure had consequences.

The measure of its worth isn't in how impressive it sounds, but in how it serves you when clarity matters.