Gokkusagi Starship
A spaceship that thinks it's a school. Human-sized holograms, interactive floors, AR costume simulation, and 970 square feet of projection-mapped immersion — built so kids could touch space before they understood they couldn't.
Twenty-five years of turning impossible ideas into things people live, feel, and touch.
Optical sensor arrays. Multi-touch hardware. Immersive systems with their own operating logic. I start at the PCB and I don't stop.
Fifty custom products across nine categories. Museums. Science centers. VR venues. A 75-kilometer wireless link. I turn prototypes into production.
P&L. Fundraising. Team. Tremendous growth at the companies I've led — and a trusted hand for foreign businesses entering the US market.
Goldenwrist is not one company — it's a federation of verticals. Construction, development, property management, commercial, industrial, energy, insurance, consultancy, and software all operating under one leadership table. My job is to make them work as a single machine.
The current anchor project — a thousand-acre master-planned community in South Houston with 1,500 homes, retail, healthcare, schools, and industrial — is the kind of undertaking that tests every operational muscle a C-suite has. I sit where strategy meets execution: deal flow, governance, reporting, vertical integration, and the quiet work of keeping a holding company from behaving like a holding company.
A spaceship that thinks it's a school. Human-sized holograms, interactive floors, AR costume simulation, and 970 square feet of projection-mapped immersion — built so kids could touch space before they understood they couldn't.
The industry said untethered, warehouse-scale, eight-player VR wasn't practical. I engineered the optical sensor array from scratch and we shipped it — a venue experience in 25 sqm with zero cables and real-time positional truth.
Before Apple normalized multi-touch, I invented a way to detect it without capacitive overlays — infrared laser planes sensing interaction on any surface, at any scale. It became the DNA of every interactive installation I built for the next decade.
Airflow made visible. An interactive science center teaching HVAC physics through touch, projection, and play.
A museum built over live archaeological excavation. The tech had to disappear so the history could do the talking.
Manuscripts and artifacts made browsable with a fingertip. Centuries of history, zero physical damage.
Keynote technology as set piece. Interactive installations that made Samsung's engineers the ones doing the demo.
Cartoon characters that respond to an audience of children. Live theater augmented with real-time interaction.
A thousand-square-foot proof of what a location-based experience becomes when science is the story and projection is the stage.
Not every innovation belongs in a museum. Sometimes it belongs in a property portfolio — replacing clipboards with IoT sensors, manual inspections with cloud dashboards, and paper leases with contactless tenant experiences.
Different problem. Same instinct. This is what the same thinking looks like when the goal isn't to make people say "wow" — it's to make a real business run quieter, leaner, and more profitable.
Hover any node. The horizontal axis is career distance from the solder iron.
Hover any stop. Notice how the color warms from left to right — that's the same story this whole site is telling.
Enterprise IT, hotel chains, airline catering. The grounding years.
MAT Bilisim. The patent. Museums. The DNA of everything that came next.
Seed-funded VR venture, US crossing, multiple ventures, now COO at conglomerate scale.
I do one of the most satisfying jobs in the world. I get to think of a thing that doesn't exist, build it with my own hands, hand it to a stranger, and watch their face change.
Twenty-five years in, I still haven't grown out of that. The tools change. The scale changes. The industries change. The feeling — that narrow moment where "it won't work" becomes "how did you do that?" — has been the same since 2001.
Somewhere along the way I also learned to run the company that ships the thing. That part is less magic and more discipline — spreadsheets, governance, hard conversations. But done right, it protects the magic. That is why I do both, and why I suspect I'll always do both.
Making space technology safe, reliable, and actually accessible. A stealth-mode venture at the intersection of immersive simulation and aerospace training — where decades of interactive-systems work meets an industry that still thinks in million-dollar simulators.
The organization I founded to connect Texas enterprises with Turkish technology companies. Government relationships, investor summits, and the quiet diplomatic work of turning two economies into one handshake — at scale.
I'm most useful in conversations where the problem is interesting and the people are serious. I don't take many of them, but I take the right ones. If that sounds like yours, the doors below are open.
For boards, principals, and considered introductions. Goes directly to my inbox.
For anyone doing due diligence before a conversation. Career chronology, endorsements, the full stack.
This is where most executives stopped being useful in 2005. I'm still here every week — because "I can't solve that without calling engineering" is how bad decisions happen.
Where hardware becomes product and product becomes platform. Twenty years spent here. This is where I'm most comfortable — and where "impossible" gets redefined.
Where most "technology executives" can only describe things in slides. I've sat in every C-suite chair in real operating companies, not as an advisor.