About Stafford

I build worlds where the dust never settles — where history rots under neon skies and tomorrow is already rusting through.

I'm a writer and artist obsessed with the grit beneath the skin of the future. My work doesn't live in clean lines and polished dreams... it prowls broken cities, the crumbling tech, the forgotten machines still whispering in dead languages. I tell the stories of survivors. The ones too stubborn, too reckless, too damned to quit when the systems collapse around them.

My worlds bleed with the last light of dying stars. They hum with battered engines and distant gunfire. Every setting is a scar, every character is a fistful of bad decisions stitched together by hope, hate, or hunger.

I don't write about utopias. I write about the bastards who crawl through the wreckage because someone has to. Science fiction, cyberpunk, mythpunk, future-grit — I don't fit neatly in any one box, and I don't intend to.

I believe stories should bruise. They should leave dirt under your nails and songs in your bones — songs you don't want to sing in polite company.

Art, at its best, should punch you square in the guts before it even thinks about kissing your forehead. It should haunt you.

A little dangerous, a little feral, impossible to forget.

When I'm not hammering out words or sketching fractured skylines, I'm chasing the things most people would rather not look at. The dying tech empires, the slow decay of our forgotten cities, and the myths our ancestors would be ashamed to tell.