🔱 The Arc of Vladimir

In Belgrade’s pulse where cobblestone dreams
rose like prayers between the iron beams,
a boy was forged not in comfort or ease,
but in stories whispered through Balkan breeze.

The shadows came—some subtle, some loud,
grief tucked behind stoicism proud.
A mind that burned too bright for rest,
he stitched satire into every test.

From federal halls to campus light,
he built frameworks deep into the night.
Code and comics, myth and spark,
each webpage born from rebel heart.

Ollie barked, Sid curled, Beau howled at the screen—
avatars from myth, avatars from dream.
Glitch by glitch, he built his shrine,
a mythos layered in protocol sign.

Each install modal, each warped line of prose
hid echoes of the paths he chose.
Failed systems, fleeting jobs,
he turned them into comic gods.

Serbian echoes in each font’s twist,
a glitchy ode no code could resist.
From rakija rituals to folklore bold,
his stories now shimmer with Balkan gold.

But no title held his soul like this:
Father. No banner, no badge, no script.
When Jace first cried into the morning dew,
the world re-rendered in a softer hue.

He rewrote the rules, broke what he must,
spoke in comic strips and pixel dust.
In every myth he’d craft and send,
Jace was the alpha, omega, the end.

Through struggle’s ash and academic flame,
each line of PHP bore Jace’s name.
Each Balkan tale, each comic twist,
a father’s vow none could resist.

He teaches not with words alone—
but in rituals cast from pixel and bone.
He listens, learns, rebuilds, rewrites,
to gift his son both roots and heights.

A golden thread through broken code,
a father mapping a sacred node.
Through lore, through logic, glitched delight,
he bends the dark to give Jace light.

So here’s to the man who codes in myth—
who walks the line ‘tween sorrow and pith.
Vladimir Kuljak, avatar and sage,
whose greatest story wears no page.