Stories

Making my book was not as easy as I expected. I thought I would just answer a few questions and receive a memoir, like ordering a sandwich,. The first night I talked for two hours. The next days, less, because even my ego apparently has battery limits. Some questions made me laugh. Some brought me to tears. Some made me tired in that very elegant way where you stare at the wall and reconsider your entire personality. And then, suddenly, I had my book. This ir the best part! Book is on the way to Gaucin. Reading what I created with my stories .... it was strange. I saw my life differently. Not as random something with silly confidence, but as one clear drive: always running toward freedom, building worlds, escaping the ordinary, and slowly discovering that what I was really looking for had been beside me all along. Very rude of my 60 programmed agents to understand me better than I did.

I created Biography Machine because the world is full of people with ridiculous, beautiful, tragic, heroic, embarrassing, completely unbelievable lives — and almost nobody knows about them. Not because these people are boring. Usually the opposite. They have survived marriages, countries, children, bankruptcies, miracles, stupid decisions, brilliant decisions, family legends, private wars, romantic disasters, and at least three moments where any reasonable screenwriter would say, “No, this is too much.” And still, when asked to tell their life story, most people say something deeply useful like: “Well… I was born.” So I thought: fine. Let’s build a machine that can actually pull the story out. Easy. A person talks, AI listens, a beautiful biography appears. What a clean, elegant idea. Naturally, it was a nightmare. Because even the most modern AI can summarize words, but a life is not a tax document with childhood trauma. It has emotional background, character development, broken chronology, five people with the same name, one uncle nobody can explain, and a main character who usually has no idea what the plot was until thirty years later. The hardest part was balance. If the machine pushes too hard, it feels like a police interrogation conducted by a therapist who also teaches algebra. If it becomes too gentle, everyone has a lovely conversation, feels emotionally seen, and produces absolutely nothing resembling a book. Charming? Yes. Useful? Adorable, but no. And then came the structure. Oh, the structure. Behind Biography Machine there are around sixty AI agents, each doing its own tiny obsessive job, because apparently one artificial intelligence was not enough — I had to build a whole nervous system. One follows the timeline. One watches emotional truth. One checks names and places. One looks for missing scenes. One tries to understand who the person really is. Another probably sits somewhere in the dark, quietly judging everyone’s life choices. All of them work together behind the scenes, following rules about what to ask, what to notice, what not to invent, how to connect memories, and how to turn a spoken mess into something with rhythm, structure, tension, personality, and actual chapters. Basically, a writers’ room, but without cigarettes, egos, divorces, or anyone pretending the third act is “almost there.” I know this is probably nothing. Humanity has invented cinema, airplanes, antibiotics, and self-checkout machines that still need staff intervention every nine seconds. But for me, Biography Machine feels like a small masterpiece. It is built from my film directing experience — from years of looking at chaos and trying to find the story inside it: the gesture, the wound, the joke, the silence, the moment where a person accidentally reveals the whole movie. Biography Machine is not here to make people sound important. That would be vulgar. It is here to prove that most people already are — they just needed someone, or something slightly insane, to listen properly.