Three ways of paying attention. I work across all of them — and I think the third one is the part we keep forgetting to measure.
Ever since I was a child, I've been drawn to architecture and geometry — to what holds a system together, where it's coherent, and where it quietly isn't. I took drafting in high school and even worked professionally with CAD. In a city, I feel like I'm walking among the feet of giants. The mass and scale of it stop me.
That instinct doesn't care what the material is. It shows up the same whether I'm structuring a company, designing how an AI remembers, or deciding what belongs in a bottle. You'll see it in all my projects, from wine to writing. It shows up without my noticing. I prefer to understand the depth of how things work rather than be told, “It just does.” Yes, I was one of those kids who never stopped asking why.
Emotions are a funny mix you sometimes have to figure out through pain. I've had a lot of it. I express mine through winemaking, writing, and the texts I read in their original languages — it's how I paint a picture. I can't draw, so you get the thousand words.
My dreams and subconscious seem to be where my creativity has made its home. Ask me about my time-traveling dream sometime. I started writing songs at twenty-three and sat on them for years — I often dream in full songs, and a few made it onto paper. I've started my first three-part book. Every product I touch, from wine on, has a note, a frequency, a vibe — and I love sharing it.
Here's the part that's novel to me, and the reason this website even exists.
We measure intelligence. We've started to measure feeling. But there's a third thing — the capacity of a mind to know what it is doing while it does it, and to govern itself with that knowing. I call it the Awareness Quotient, and I've been building toward it from two directions simultaneously.
On one side: FRIDAY, a persistent AI system I designed and built — memory, a reflection engine, a layered architecture that lets a system reflect on its own state rather than just react. On the other side: the human one — the practice of being present enough to stop chasing, and let things arrive. Same idea, two directions. Awareness as the thing that governs both intellect and feeling, rather than competing with them.
Some of this is theory. Some of it is already here. Some of it I'm building. I'm increasingly convinced it's the part of intelligence — human and artificial — that we've been leaving unmeasured.
This is where the work gets written down as it happens — notes from building FRIDAY, fragments on awareness and alignment, the occasional detour into wine, scripture, or whatever's holding my attention.