A life in fragments.

Taking it as it comes...

The Architecture of the Unseen: A Life in Fragments and Foundation

I. The Crucible of Geometry (Hammond to Fort Eustis)

I was born in 1974 in Hammond, Indiana—a place defined by industry and the hard, honest work of the heartland. My youth was soundtracked by the raw, unvarnished grit of bands like Nirvana, whose music captured the disillusionment and the drive of our generation. My foundation was laid when I traded that civilian uncertainty for the rigid lines of the Indiana Army National Guard.

At Fort Eustis, they taught me the art of aircraft sheet metal maintenance. They taught me that if you don't respect the stress points of the metal, the craft will fail. That training became my secular scripture. Serving in Desert Shield, I learned that we are all, at some point, operating in the middle of a war zone—whether it’s on a battlefield or in the chaos of daily life.

II. The Industrial Crucible: Crane to Contractor

My path required that I hold onto that discipline while navigating the civilian industrial landscape. From 2012 to 2014, I worked at NSA Crane, where the scale of operations demands absolute precision. It was an environment that mirrored my military roots, requiring a focus that doesn't allow for distraction.

Following that, I transitioned into defense contracting with Building Associates and Maven. These years were a deep education in the technical and the hazardous. I mastered the complexities of asbestos removal—a line of work that became both literal and metaphorical. Dealing with hazardous materials is an act of purification; you are tasked with identifying the rot that others fear to touch and systematically extracting it.

III. The Architect of Linton (Independent Service LLC)

I brought that resilience to Linton, Indiana, when I founded Independent Service LLC. But my work as a contractor is defined by the moment the fire begins. In January, I faced the ultimate test of my training: I saved two children from a burning trailer. When the smoke and the chaos arrived, I didn't think; I acted. That moment was the culmination of every safety protocol, every piece of hazardous material training, and every ounce of grit I had acquired in my life. It was a reminder that the true purpose of a builder is not just to erect walls, but to ensure that the people within them can survive the night.

Managed alongside Michael Faulk, my Operations Manager and lead carpenter, our work at Independent Service LLC is a balancing act. Whether it’s the emergency response of 'Indy First' or the heavy, tactile reality of installing underpinning for a cabin, we operate with a zero-tolerance policy for failure.

IV. The Deep Dive: The Seeker’s Map

For the last two years, I have allowed the tarot to speak to me, but my interests have always been a broader excavation of the human condition. I find myself drawn to the ghosts of the past—walking the quiet, heavy ground of Civil War battlefields, where history is literally etched into the earth. I find meaning in the stillness of art museums, where the paint on the canvas speaks to the same shadows I explore in my Gothic poetry and my readings with the Ouija board.

These milestones—the art, the history, the music, the cards—are the blueprints of the soul. They show us how we have suffered, how we have created, and how we have endured. They are the "cultural abatement" that clears the mind of modern noise, allowing me to see what is behind the wall of the present moment.

V. The Harley and the Open Road

My Harley-Davidson is the vessel for this realization. It is the manifestation of the Americana spirit that burns beneath the professional exterior. When I am on the road, the rigidity of the contractor vanishes. The motorcycle is a machine of pure, unadulterated freedom—the only place where the sheet metal and the spirit collide without a permit required. It is the physical embodiment of my creative writing, a way to move through the landscape of the Midwest while contemplating the philosophical weight of my own existence.

VI. The Hearth: The Ultimate Construction

But all of this—the military discipline, the defense contracting, the business success, the occult investigations—is secondary to the true, load-bearing weight of my life: the dual responsibility of raising my two sons while caring for my mother during her battle with Alzheimer’s, all while I was finishing my degree at Ashford University.

During those years, my life became a testament to the weight of the middle. To be a father is to look forward, to build toward the horizon for the boys; to care for a mother in the fog of Alzheimer’s is to look back, to shore up the foundation of the house you came from. And in the quiet, late-night hours, I was there—buried in books, completing my studies at Ashford.

It was a time of immense, quiet labor. I was learning the structural integrity of the mind in the classroom, while simultaneously witnessing the dismantling of a life in my mother’s room. I acted as the architect of three distinct legacies simultaneously: the one I was building for the future, the one I was preserving in the present, and the one I was securing through my own education.

VII. The Final Blueprint

We are all just antiques, waiting to be found. We are all living in a house that needs constant repair.

I have built my life to be a testament to this truth: that you can be a man of iron and a man of ink. You can hold a hammer in one hand and a tarot card in the other. You can save a life from the flames and sit by a campfire to contemplate the dark. You can serve your country with precision and your family with soul. The fire burns, the cards are turned, the roof is sealed, and the story continues. We are the builders of the seen, and the stewards of the unseen.