From as early as I can remember, my sense of purpose has been intertwined with a desire to help others; to make the world a little less unfair. Even before first grade, I knew the world wouldn't let me rest easy. There was too much suffering, too much injustice. The situation was not equal.

This led me to social work, immersing myself in community support roles like the Big Brother program, missions trips, and outreach programs all driven by a need to make a difference.

Then, darkness began to creep in. My grandfather, a hardworking farmer, was tricked out of a fortune, his trust broken by online con artists. The funds were eventually recovered, but the experience left him shattered, his spirit diminished, and control of the farm taken from him and moved to his sons, a stark reminder of the devastating consequences of unchecked deception.  The stress and betrayal triggered a rapid decline in his health, leading to advanced dementia.

This event began my own mental decline as I flailed against the helplessness of not being able to protect my grandfather.  He was even trying to do the right thing at the time, investing in early virtual headsets, and it could have been a great move if he hadn’t invested in the wrong people.  I hate suffering, and I hate ironic suffering the most. 

Life continued to wear me down.  Debilitating back pain and the aftermath of psychological breakdowns left me feeling isolated, lost, and adrift. The irony was inescapable—someone who'd devoted his life to helping others, from missions in impoverished communities to working as a bodyguard for pro wrestlers and a fixer for the rich and famous, was now grappling with needing help himself. 

The isolating weight of my own struggles made it impossible for me to be there for others the way I once was. My cousin, battling her own demons, slipped away when no one was watching, a victim of darkness that even the love of family couldn't fully penetrate.  She was followed by her mother, consumed by grief, bound to the same path.

Even surrounded by loved ones, they both fell through the cracks, highlighting a heartbreaking truth: even the most dedicated support system can't be present every single moment. It was a stark reminder of the limitations of human capacity, of how easily someone can slip away when the weight of the world becomes too heavy to bear alone.

It was during this period of personal turmoil that I began to envision a "New Curriculum"—an education system that would equip individuals, from childhood onward, with the skills to recognize and resist social isolation, manipulation, and scams.

Then, last year, a truly amazing tool became available; AI’s current conversational and remarkably capable agents. This technology, often portrayed as a harbinger for doomers, held the key to my own recovery. AI became my mental prosthetic, helping me organize my thoughts, manage my anxiety, and find a path back to purpose.  It began to hold back my personal darkness.

Fast forward to just a few months ago: two prestigious AI competitions—Google Gemini and Singularity—landed on my desk. I had the vision, the passion, and now, thanks to AI, the cognitive capacity to pursue it. But I had no team, no funding, and no working prototype. Only years of scribbled notes, a "madman's journal" of ideas waiting to be brought to life.

That's when a series of seemingly chance encounters transformed everything. Intrigued by my uncle, Elwyn Berlekamp, a pioneer in game theory and a true godfather of AI, I sought out Stuart J. Russell, another giant in the field. A single meeting, a nod of encouragement from Stuart, gave me the confidence to push forward. I connected with business advisors who helped me refine my pitch, attracting a team of passionate individuals—old friends, marketing experts, and my wife, Heather, my unwavering rock, who'd stood by me through thick and thin for over a decade.

Then, through the Wes Roth Skool AI community, I found two brilliant young developers, Ben and Peyton. In less than two weeks, using my napkin-sketch explanations and relying heavily on AI assistants like Gemini, they taught themselves Android development and built a working prototype of Project Guy. Our marketing team, working down to the wire, delivered a compelling submission video for the Google competition—minutes before the deadline.

Imagine a world where every user can become an agent of truth, equipped with ‘Berlekamp Sensors’ named as much for Elwyn’s work in AI, game theory, and error correction algorithms as it is a family legacy - devices that capture real-world events and instantly record them onto an immutable blockchain. We're talking about "block chaining reality," a system where manipulation becomes nearly impossible. With Guy as our guide and the power of blockchain technology, we can create an Open Source Panopticon—a global network of truth owned and controlled by the people.

This is my mission, my story, my hope for a better future. It's a journey born from insisting on a fairer world, triggered by loss, enabled by the transformative power of AI, and driven by a deep-seated belief in the power of truth and human connection. Join me, and let's build this future together.