Biography

This is a biography I wrote in 2026 and will keep updating as things change. It covers what I believe, where I come from, and how Mango Studio happened. I consider it the best way of getting to know me.

Who am I?

From a bird’s eye view, I am:

1. A builder first. I learn by shipping. Every system on this site started as a question about whether something was possible, and the first version was always wrong in some specific way I could only discover by running it.
2. Self-taught in public. Nobody handed me this. I learned automation by being the person stuck with the repetitive work, and I document what I build as I build it, which keeps me honest and keeps the receipts on file.
3. Allergic to slop. I use AI everywhere it earns its keep and nowhere it doesn’t. The judgment stays human. Nothing we ship should look like it came from a tool, starting with this site.

A brief history

Before any of this made sense from the outside, it did not make much sense from the inside either. Here is how I actually got here.

Growing up at Michaelshof Sammatz

I grew up on the grounds of Michaelshof Sammatz, a community in rural Niedersachsen that runs four separate businesses off one campus: a farm, a café, a youth program called Peronnik, and whatever else someone on the property decided to try. It is the kind of place where home and workplace are the same building, so the line between the two never really existed for me. For a stretch of those years, before I turned eighteen, I lived in a house on the property run by a woman named Clara, who managed the place and, in practice, managed me too.

Leaving school at fifteen

I only went to regular school for seven years total, and even that number is generous. I started at a school in Lüneburg and hated it enough to leave after the fifth grade. For about two years after that I worked in the stables at Sammatz instead of sitting in a classroom. Then, for roughly a year, an older woman came to the property to tutor a handful of us who could not go to normal school, teaching basic math, a bit of German, a bit of English. When Sammatz eventually opened its own school, I spent one more year there and left with a Hauptschulabschluss, the lowest secondary-school qualification Germany has, at around fifteen. The school could not offer anything higher yet because it was too new to be accredited for it.

The trading money

When I was thirteen, my dad gave me five hundred euros to trade with and see what I could make of it. For the first couple of weeks I did what he told me: check the business behind a coin, check how many people actually held it, treat low volume as a reason to buy and high volume as a warning to stay out, because high volume is exactly when a coin can crash or spike hard enough to wipe you out in a day. Then I stopped listening to him and started buying whatever looked cool. I put it all into one coin I trusted for no real reason and rode it down from five hundred euros to sixty-four dollars. I never paid him back.

The kiosk

In February 2024 I got permission to use a small kiosk building on the Sammatz playground and turned it into a shop selling snacks and drinks the farm does not normally carry, since everything on the property is biodynamic and this was not. Students passing through on class trips were my customers, and for the first week it worked, two to three hundred dollars a day. Then I was shut down after exactly seven days because it did not align with Sammatz’s values. I kept going anyway, quietly, selling out the back with the windows covered and only the door open, but within about two weeks that had fallen to twenty dollars a day and I gave up on it as a storefront. I moved what was left, maybe a hundred euros of stock, into the attic of the house I was living in and left it there for weeks. When I was eventually asked to clear the attic out I found a freezer and a box of drinks that had gone bad and instant noodles that had absorbed enough moisture to taste like wet paper. I threw it all out, bought new stock, and relaunched online under the name UPA Shop, with real branding this time and business cards handed out to students. Orders came back for a while, about a hundred dollars a day, thirty to fifty of it profit, until I got complacent, assumed word of mouth would carry it, stopped advertising, and watched it slow down again.

Running the Hofladen

My relationship with the farm shop, the Hofladen, went through two very different phases. The first time, around sixteen, I was supposed to be helping build a new online shop for it and instead spent the first two weeks playing video games in the office and doing nothing. I got better slowly, mostly by writing down information from the old products so it could go into the new store. The second time was real. I came back to run it properly starting in May 2025, after I finished my second qualification, and within about two months I had taken over completely: orders, customers, organizing the people who worked there. I will say plainly that I did not give it my full attention. I was maybe thirty percent focused on Sammatz and the rest on my own projects, and it showed. Mistakes happened that would not have happened if my head had been fully there. A few days before I recorded the material this page is built from, my mother called to tell me I was being scaled back for the winter, since there is less to do in the shop this time of year.

The Real World

In December 2023 I joined The Real World, the education platform built around Andrew Tate, and that is genuinely where I learned how to do AI automation and picked up a working sense of business in general. I am not going to pretend that is a fashionable thing to put in a biography, but it is true, and leaving it out would make the rest of this page dishonest about where the actual skills came from. During that same stretch I kept trading on the side, and it kept going badly in specific ways. I once thought I had turned a bag of altcoins into six million dollars, because a bug in my wallet showed fake liquidity as real value; I took screenshots before I understood it was fake, tried to sell, watched the app crash over and over, and eventually accepted it was nothing and posted the screenshot to Twitter as a joke on myself. Later I ran a Twitter account boosting an Italian trader’s meme coin, reposting his hype to TikTok, until he went about seven thousand euros into debt promoting it and nearly ended up in real trouble over it. I traded some of those coins myself too, turned two to three hundred dollars into seven hundred, then sent it all to a scam wallet address and lost it in one move. When the Trump coin launched, I bought in six hours late because I had slept through it, put thirty or forty dollars into a coin already worth six billion, watched it briefly double to eighty, and rode it down to twelve.

Meeting Jesús

Jesús and I first worked together on Sammatz’s own online shop, where he did the design and I did the unglamorous work of pulling every product’s information from the old system into the new one. From there we had our first real idea together, an agency we called Flow AI, meant to build websites and eventually automations for other businesses. I built three case-study websites for it, one of them with a guy named Pablo, mostly sitting in hotel lobbies ordering KFC while we were traveling for something else entirely. Later, when I had more free time during a school term, Jesús taught me marketing in exchange for a few free hours of my time each week, and we filmed a short TikTok and Instagram series together in his room, nine videos over ninety days, about three hundred views each. Then school and the office both got busier, we lost touch for a while, and that gap is when the trading and the fake six million dollars happened. Flow AI itself eventually became Mango Studio, though that is a separate business from UPA Shop, which was mine alone.

Mango Studio

That work became Mango Studio, the agency I run with Jesús Agamez. Jesu is the creative director; before we teamed up he built a TikTok audience of more than 120,000 people, and he is the reason nothing we ship looks like it came from a tool. I build the systems, he makes sure what they produce is worth looking at, and that is the entire company. Our clients now include a coffee franchise in New Zealand, parts of whose marketing run on systems we built, and YourWeb, a web agency whose short-form content is produced by a pipeline instead of a person.

Along the way we started building things for ourselves. The Viral Carousel Bot began as a manual carousel generator and turned into an auto-poster that grew twelve TikTok accounts in eight languages to 7.5 million views in three weeks. The systems that got us there, all of them, are what I now teach inside Mango AI Community: ten modules and seventy lessons of screen recordings of real builds, from first automations to running an agency to keeping systems alive when models update.

Now

I work from wherever the laptop is, which lately has meant Germany and Southeast Asia, and I document most of what I build in public.