Who is David? So let me tell you my story.

Once upon a time in a land of moose and suspiciously fast internet, powered by equal parts fiber and passive-aggressive swearing at routers, a boy named David stared into the abyss of a ZX Spectrum loading screen and heard the sound of what could only be described as Satan’s fax machine. That sound would change everything. It wasn’t music. It was prophecy. He didn’t know it yet, but the computer did.

He was short. Still is. About 1.71 meters. Chubby, funny, and just a little too good at understanding things he really shouldn’t. Not because someone taught him, but because he once touched a Commodore 64 and briefly saw through the Matrix. The machines whispered to him, and he whispered back.

David grew up before the internet had pictures. He was online before cats were memes. Back when ASCII was art and a GIF took three weeks to download. He sent mail before email through FidoNet. He uploaded files using squealing modems that sounded like they were summoning demons. If the ZX Spectrum was Satan’s fax machine, then the modem was like dialing Satan directly. Eeeeh eeeeh kaaaa krrrrrr brrrr BEEP. He ran BBSes before anyone knew what a forum was. And he never really stopped.

He lives in Kil now. A small town in Värmland where the forests are thick and the people even thicker. His house is what you’d get if Bullerbyn married the Matrix. Imagine an IKEA catalog duct-taped to a Raspberry Pi and sprinkled with moss. Blinking lights in every corner. Enough home automation to confuse a NASA engineer. But it’s cozy. It smells like coffee. And sometimes burnt GPIO.

David drinks a lot of coffee. Probably too much. At this point, his blood type is Arabica. He drinks at least one cup every hour until 5 pm. Then another if it’s raining. Or if it’s not. And one more just to be sure. His automated espresso machine is named Mr Bean. He’s moody but loyal.

His dog, Anouk, is named after his father’s old dog a promise made in the final days. Anouk is now two years old. She is sweet, unreasonably fluffy, and has declared total war on the word “igelkott” (hedgehog). No one knows why. Not even the hedgehogs. But the war continues. She is also Chief Security Officer of the house, mostly in charge of barking at leaves and suspicious clouds.

David used to live in cities: Stockholm, Karlstad, Karlskoga, and smaller places like Forshaga and Deje. Each place was like installing a new OS. Karlskoga taught patience. Stockholm taught volume control. Deje taught humility. But he came back, back to the trees, back to the quiet, back to a place where he could breathe. And in doing so, he found something more valuable than anything the cloud could offer: sovereignty.

Because David is tired. Tired of governments treating privacy like a technicality. Tired of companies asking for trust they haven’t earned. Tired of being asked to accept 46 cookies just to read an article about digital ethics.

So now, he builds his own. One container at a time. But it’s more than tech, it’s therapy. He doesn’t just build systems. He builds peace of mind. One YAML at a time.

He moved his mail off the big platforms. Then his files. Then his photos. Then his notes. He built backup systems, firewalls, networks. He taught himself. He read. He tested. He failed. Then tried again.

Because owning your data is like owning your home. You don’t let strangers walk in and start reading your books just because they can. You lock the door. You set the rules. If someone asks to come in, you get to say no. And the house still works. Also, no one gets to read your embarrassing draft tweets without permission.

David believes in that. In saying no. In choosing. In keeping things private without having to explain why. He doesn’t care what color your politics are, as long as they’re not screaming from the edges. He believes in discourse, but not the kind where two people argue on Facebook in caps lock for six hours.

He believes religion can offer comfort, but becomes dangerous when used as a political tool. He’s spiritually open source. Everything’s welcome, just no updates from 2000 BC.

Today, David works as an IT architect. It wasn’t planned. He was a janitor, then a warehouse worker, then tech support, then a dozen other things. He didn’t climb the corporate ladder, he built it, out of PVC, bash scripts, and leftover server racks.

He designs systems now. Talks to clients. Helps small companies, big ones, and really big ones you’ve definitely heard of. He guides them through the data jungle. He builds. Breaks. Fixes. Better. He has seen things –> things that can’t be unseen <– like legacy databases older than some interns, and VPNs so misconfigured they looped back into despair.

He loves solving problems. Loves helping people. Loves when someone says “oh damn, I get it now”. He believes open source makes better software, and better people. He believes support is worth more than a license. And he wants you to know that even you can take back control. Unless you’re using a printer. Then may the gods help you.

Because it’s not magic. It’s just wires. And blinking lights. And maybe one guy in Kil who talks to his containers like they’re coworkers. Somewhere nearby, Anouk has cleared security by rolling over.

That’s David.
The end. Or maybe just the beginning.

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