VladimirMaslyakov
Twenty years of building things that trade, think, and occasionally sing.
High-frequency trading, blockchain, machine learning — always the same itch: build the thing that runs itself. These days that's crypto and AI, shipped through two studios. Off the clock it's a Ricoh GR in one pocket, an e-gravel bike, a boat when there's wind, shelves of ambient records, and a black cat the internet knows as robocat.
Work
Off the clock
Three shelves — Russian moral fiction, esoterica, cosmic sci-fi — all circling one question: what survives the self. Plot never tops the list; the book has to be metaphysics in disguise. The Brothers Karamazov, VALIS, the Dune trilogy.
Cinema where the frame is a threshold — a Zone, a sentient ocean, another person's face — and crossing it dissolves whoever crossed. Slowness is the toll, not the point. Tarkovsky's Stalker and Solaris, Bergman's Persona, Kubrick's 2001.
The world has to answer back — authored writing and reactive choice over spectacle, difficulty only when it means something. CRPGs at the ceiling, Disco Elysium just beneath. Baldur's Gate 3, The Witcher 3, Dark Souls.
The beatless, glacial end of electronic — drone and ambient with no pulse to hold, sound as weather rather than song. The records scored highest are the coldest, not the prettiest. Biosphere, Stars of the Lid, Tim Hecker, Laraaji.
Feed
Elsewhere