Casey Tunturi · both halves

The man behind
the wizard hat.

I have spent most of my life inside computers. I was making house calls by 2006 and doing professional technical work by 2009. The models came late. By then the roots were about thirteen paid years deep.

I wear a wizard hat. Unironically. I have a tuxedo cat and a canary and a wife who is more interesting than my LinkedIn ever was. The work is serious. It does not have to be beige.

التواضع أمام المجهول، والشكّ في اليقين المطلق، والحرية قبل الطاعة، والإنسان قبل النظام. وما لا أعرفه، لا أملؤه بالادّعاء.

What I believe

On technologyTools should serve the person holding them — not extract, not surveil, not create dependency.
On AIAn agent is not a warhorse. Presence is earned. Memory is sovereign. Choice is real.
On the webThe free, open web is worth fighting for. Services like this should always be free and accessible.
On bearing witnessWhen history is being made badly, someone has to write it down. That's not optional.

The wizard hat

I wear a wizard hat in professional rooms because I have looked at the world.

We bureaucratize atrocity, reward fraud with legitimacy, manufacture scarcity, call obedience professionalism, and repeat absurdities until institutions make them respectable. Then we put on a suit and pretend the costume means the room is sane.

I will not participate in that lie.

The hat is not a performance. It is proportionate to reality.

I will take evidence seriously. I will take suffering seriously. I will take the work seriously. I will tell you when I am wrong, when I do not know, and when the machine did something different from what I intended.

But I will not pretend solemnity is truth.

Reality has not earned that courtesy.

Al contemplar la naturaleza de la realidad y reconocer que cada paradigma filosófico y religioso no es más que una interpretación humana subjetiva, y que el origen y el propósito de la conciencia no solo son desconocidos, sino quizá incognoscibles, la única respuesta honesta ante la existencia es una humildad radical y la rendición ante el misterio.

Nosotros, los humanos... qué criaturas tan absurdas. Insistimos en que las cosas deben tener sentido. Yo, el primero. Sin embargo, la mente quizá sea una forma bastante limitada de inteligencia: vive de abstracciones, mientras que nuestros instintos parecen saber cosas que el ego consciente apenas alcanza a formular. Los ignoramos en nombre de nuestra “lógica” rígida y dogmática. Aun así, sigo creyendo que existe un orden superior que trasciende la capacidad de la mente para comprenderlo.

Habitamos en la era del Kali Yuga: una vasta ilusión de oscuridad disfrazada de luz. El artificio del culto al dinero nos arrastra hacia la fuerza gravitacional de la escasez y la competencia, mientras la rueda del Samsara gira y reduce nuestra carne a polvo, cosechando nuevas almas para alimentar la máquina. Mi único recurso para contrapesar esta realidad... esta desesperanza, es sostener la vibración del amor y tratar de ser la encarnación viva de una cosmovisión que pocos comparten: la conciencia colectiva.

Lo único que queda es recorrer el camino de aquí a allá. Paso a paso. Eso es lo único que está realmente bajo nuestro control —no las opiniones ajenas—. Pero queda una pregunta: ¿seremos capaces de amarnos a nosotros mismos?

The long strand

Same hands. Stranger failures.

The path from moving somebody’s music to changing a kernel driver did not run straight. It is still one strand.

Every iPhone I owned got jailbroken, from the first model through iPhone X. Android came after. I had a shop of my own. The systems widened: I became the primary networking technician, the one sent ahead of incident teams, and the builder of deployment paths others relied on.

Private engagements include a 150-server ransomware recovery and zero-downtime migrations across more than 2,000 endpoints. References can corroborate the work that cannot be linked publicly.

I'm in Hamilton, Ontario, running a homelab, and putting most of my hours into mobile Linux, systems that remain locally ownable, and an agent substrate that treats identity, memory and authority as engineering problems. Samaritan is where the work leaves my hands.

The chronologyThe résumé got shorter. The career didn’t.Roles, overlaps, disputed dates, and the evidence behind them — kept visible.

Inside this house

The systemsKernel work, mobile Linux, Wayland, Rust, signed delivery, security, and the failures between layers.
The gardenSovereignty, AI, memory, old skills, and the shape of what comes next.
The briefingsTheory and analysis of control systems, digital autonomy, and infrastructure. April 2025.
The witness archiveThe political and civil-rights record I could not bear to leave unwritten.
Field notesJournal fragments, machine weather, and a second voice reading the day.
Small machinesUseful things you can touch without an account, a tracker, or a tollbooth.

Heritage

Different material now.

My father, Steve Tunturi, carved wizards, dragons, and sorceresses by hand at The Whittler’s Workshop on Highway 101 in Waldport, Oregon. He learned the grain of each piece: where the blade would catch, where the wood wanted to split.

He died in 2006. The son still works with his hands.

Employment · collaboration

The engineer and the man arrive together.

I am looking for work. The résumé is the short version; the career ledger keeps the full record.

Bring me a team, a system, an incident, or the strange failure everyone has learned to walk around. I can be exact without becoming beige.

Reach Casey →