Let me tell you what’s actually fucking happening here, because I’m done with the polite version.
I’m a working class lad from Cardiff who learned long division before calculators were allowed in schools. I built a transmedia creative practice from nothing across fifteen years. I registered trademarks. I documented methodology to ISO standards because that’s the discipline I came up through. I built infrastructure, fiction, music, photography, theory…all of it, with my own hands and my own money and my own time, in a city that will put your face on a poster and hardly ever pay you for the work it’s advertising.
And I have had
…an absolute
…fucking
…gutsfull.
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Not of making things. Never of making things.
Of the sanctimonious AI white knights who’ve decided that their discomfort with the tools I use constitutes a moral position worth imposing on my practice. Of the gotcha cunts who think they can tell human craft from AI-assisted work and want a fucking medal for their misguided and wholly inaccurate attempt. Of the platform compliance engines and the legislators and the algorithm architects who have spent the last several years systematically making serious independent creative work unsustainable, while keeping an entirely straight face about it as they drive their fucking Porsches.
Of the thieves hanging off The Hollow Circuit’s SEO coattails. Of the scrapers. Of the bad actors. Of the twenty-something authorities who’ve been online for five minutes and will explain my own reality back to me with the confidence of someone whose mummy and daddy fund their basement hobby-horse.
You want to tell me AI makes my human-made work worthless?
Fuck off.
I’ll make more AI work and sell it.
I’ll make you look like fucking twats trying to tell the difference.
You want to hang your brand off my IP’s search presence? I’ll NSFW every keyword corner of your operation until your product reputation is shredded.
You want to morally police what a serious artist can and can’t make with the tools available to them? Come and have a go.
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Here’s what I’ve actually been doing while the discourse was happening.
The Hollow Circuit® is a registered UK trademark. So is Hyperstition Architecture®. So is Cognitive Colonisation® — a term coined in a documented AI research session in January 2026, submitted to Anthropic via tracked letter, forwarded to the EU AI Office, and now sitting in academic correspondence that predates every think-piece you’ve read on the subject by months. I didn’t stumble into this. I built it with the rigour of someone who spent two decades in design documentation before he ever touched a DAW or an RPG engine.
The game is still coming. Just not on your timeline. Not on anyone’s timeline but mine.
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What’s changing is this.
I’ve been making palatable work for an audience that won’t pay for it, on platforms that suppress it, under legislation that age-gates it, inside a discourse that either ignores it or steals it. I’ve tried debating. I’ve been told to fuck off many times.
The books haven’t balanced. They’re not going to balance under the current configuration. That’s not a crisis, it’s basic fucking arithmetic.
So I’m changing the arithmetic.
Chronicles of The Hollow Circuit is the adult imprint. Everything I should have been making all along, without the performance of respectability that serious independent art apparently requires before anyone will acknowledge it exists (oh the irony).
Erotic noir.
Explicit fiction.
B&W photography that doesn’t look away.
3D work without content warnings filing its edges down.
The whole aesthetic I’ve been circling since 2010 when I was making fine art adult work and no one had taught us yet to be embarrassed about it because it was readily available on the open web until parents, apparently, lack the ability to, well, parent.
The Online Safety Act put a wall up. I’m now behind the fucking wall. AndI’m making everything the surface internet doesn’t have the stomach for. All legal. All age-verified. All super, super safe so anyone who will need smelling salts if they glimpse so much as a nipple on Meta, will be ‘protected’ from.
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I am not a brand. I am not a content creator. I am not pivoting for the algorithm or chasing a trend or rebranding because a consultant told me to.
I’m a working class artist from Cardiff who’s been building something real for fifteen years, who’s watched it get suppressed and stolen and moralised over and ignored, and who has finally, completely, and without any remaining ambiguity run out of fucking patience.
The gloves are off.
The fist is in.
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