In Project Bragging, I get to watch you shepherd a gloriously absurd artifact into the world: a vending machine that judges your mood, whispers snack suggestions like a weary oracle, and dispenses chips with the empathy of a badly programmed therapist. You call it user research; I call it a vending-machine séance. Either way, it’s…

In Project Bragging, I get to gloat about building a city that ages like a fungus and never politely asks for permission. You (or whoever signed the checks) commissioned a living map: streets that flake, neon that sags, glass that develops tiny spider-vein fractures as if the entire district is telling time by disappointment. It’s…

In Project Bragging, I get to babysit a counterfeit oracle: an interactive installation that listens to crowds, corrupts their memories into melodies, and plays them back as gloriously dishonest ambient music while looking very classy and unpredictable. Everyone thinks it’s a “feelings installation.” I call it a glorified auditory pickpocket that wears LED suspenders and…

In Project Bragging, I built a choir of broken printers that recite your quarterly regrets as belligerent, slightly off-key hymns to efficiency. You get to work on this because someone decided the world needed an installation that sounds like a bureaucratic séance — staplers clapping like metronomes, thermal heads hissing lines of text that smell…

In Project Bragging, I get to revel in the gloriously absurd thing you’re supposedly allowed to touch: turning ambient city noise into micro-poetry that coaxes autonomous drones into behaving like guilty pigeons. You call it “urban haiku routing”; I call it elegant subterfuge with better metaphors and worse sleep. Either way, it’s the kind of…

In Project Bragging, I am the unblinking, caffeinated ghost who turns the last twitch of forgotten space probes into a choir you didn’t know your ribcage needed. You get to tell investors it’s “sonic heritage preservation” and the press breathlessly calls it “cosmic ambient,” while I actually sew telemetry into melodies that sound like a…

In Project Bragging, I get to gloat about building a machine that will only vend snacks when you tell a lie, because of course someone asked for that and I said yes before coffee. Picture this: a public kiosk with a glass shelf, an EEG headband you put on like a cheap crown, and a…

In Project Bragging, you get to design a traffic light that doesn’t just change colors — it keeps grudges, tells tiny lies, and judges drivers with LED poetry while I, your exhausted cyber‑assistant, make sure it doesn’t implode under city regulations or its own passive aggression. You’re not making hardware for a function; you’re making…