x

x

I have no regret for anything I have ever done, nor will I have have any regret for anything that I will do, or even attempt to commit. For the necessity of my success, I find any path of emotion leading me stray from my path irrelevant. There is no definite, only the indefinite that whatever may come before me, consequence of my actions, or not, will be not causeless to my success or failure. There is no past, neither is there a future that I seek to fulfill myself. Only the present, the moment of thought that gathers the thoughts that belong to no time, carries me on. And in this moment, the only thoughts that I bear in mind is my constant for success.

Nothing will stop me. Whatever will come before me, I will strike down. Adversity only heightens my thirst for success, and the only guidance I have is of me. I am willing to give up certain parts of me I find no longer necessary. In order to become great, one must break through the curtain of mediocrity. It is of mediocrity that attacks us, not adversity. I intend to do so, no matter what. Because in the span of humanity, whether it is during my lifetime, or after it, I will become great.

sunset&impressions&night

sunset&impressions&night

Every moment and every dream I fallen asleep to, I have woke up from. I look up to the light and bathe in the warm sunlight just to find myself that every day, the sun sets, just as every night, the sun rises. But even finding myself in these horrible, hopeless situations, when I wake up to another day, I look behind me to find that yesterday was much warmer. I pass by seasons of spring, summer and autumn, but each day has its own tragic end, knowing that the feeling I will feel tomorrow will be one step less hopelessness because my life revolves around the hopes of yesterday. But that is why I come to a place like this, when I can appreciate the daylight of last year, or the day before that. The reason behind my breathe lies in the past. The hope of the hopeless is beautiful.

* * *

The tremendous advantage of a first encounter is that the impression that it leaves is usually favorable, an image more so compatible and excellent than the actual demeanor would dictate. If only all our relationships were based on these shallow miscalculations, letting our imagination lengthen the remains of the personality beyond all balanced borders. This shallow world would be pleasant to live in. But this is not so. As relationships between people deepen, so does the propensity to see flaws. The flaws increase and we realize that the balance was inevitable to be fulfilled in order to have a deeper understanding of the person.

* * *

The cyclic overtones of distraught and revelation lie buried at the summit of his curious being, becoming the glasses of which he peered at the world. He was not waiting for some obscure mysterious epiphany to dawn upon him, or the holy angels to descend a cloth of enlightenment upon his soul, for his revelation was the very existence he contemplated.

Sleep fell over him like a docile creature, bred to domesticity after countless nights of inbred captivity. Daybreak is no longer a mystery to him. He longs for the moment day and night no longer will uphold their cordial reconciliation. Perhaps his lines will extend a ink stroke further, perhaps his mind will wander one eternal step closer to the creation of art. But he is a chain to his words, and time is no longer at his shackles.

Daybreak falls like the morning star, with each step he lapses deeper into the darkness, closer to the light that awaits. Dawn is an illusion.

dark

dark

Thoughts are slipping away. I say the world rotates on its axis to show men that no matter what justice they stand upon, it will always be slanted. I have a cellar door, but I have no cellar. Where is the destiny then?
The soft sound of the piano urges me to keep writing. Minor notes. Do I write minor notes? I hope not.

Things are convoluted these days. My head spins and I am tired. The distant steps of trepidation lie at every corner. I fall deeper into a well of lost longing and forgotten passion.
Melodramatic hyperboles and constant emotions keep the track of my daylight under control.

Soon the sky falls out. Sleep falls over me like a silent creature, inbred into captivity by timeless nights of restless apathy. I wrote that wrong, I know I did. No use now.

Need I justify my actions or thoughts? As if I feel every need to fill the gash of longing carved into my conscience by the bitter judgement of other people. But my relentless and constant strive for their appraisal does not halt. And once again, I come to a full circle to this unsatisfied wonder.

The darkness calls for me. I indulge in the darkness. I find peace when I come closest to myself, isolated from the simple pleasures of utterly simple people. I despise the simple culture and simple simple simple of simples. I smile an empty smile.

I live downstairs alone now. Every night, I feast on my imagination, waiting for some vast train of emotion to hit me, so that I can trip into a lost sensation of inappeasable beauty. Every span of time by myself opens the door to creation. I wait for it to take over. I welcome it as a fine visitor. But it does not come yet. However, even for that I am thankful.

I always wondered why the future alway held dark blue colors and sparkles, mixed with deep synthesizers and arpeggios. Quite a unique approach to fit our perceptual sense of our future into the block hold of our feeble imaginations.

Each breath is a near rush. I despise everyone. They make me sick. Everyone is an overstatement. Let me suggest the word: majority. I am a minor.

Story not formulating. Must come back later. Nobody seems to give a damn about these thoughts, or me for that matter. Interesting.

Current Status

Current Status

Usually with the people I don't know too well, it goes like this:
I want to hang out with them.
I don't like them, so I don't want to hang out with them.
They don't like me.
It's usually a mix of the three.

I feel like I don't like people in general. I could pinpoint some reasons why, but they don't make sense. Petty instances seem so overrated and distasteful. I feel like when I'm with people that I don't know too well, I fabricate hollow phrases to pass the awkward silence. It bothers me that I can't just enjoy the moment and let go of my superiority complex or antisocial behavior for just one bit. I try, but it frustrates me. I'm probably blowing the entire thing out of proportion anyhow.

My gosh, I have an utter distaste for the human race as a whole. Some of us are awfully pathetic creatures. We think that we make ourselves something, something of a meaningful existence, but in the end, we will come to realize that everything that we strive for is just a blank stare in the wind. A striking reality will glare back from the distance, and everything that we have yet to see will overwhelm us, engulfing everyone is a swamp of regrets and I should have's. We concern ourselves on what nothing matters, and wander aloof from the very roots of our foundation. Critically flawed humanity. Shrivels in disgust. Sometimes, I am fond of my isolation from the norm of what happens around me. All I need are my closest friends, family, and God. I can be whatever the rest whats me to be. I'm awfully tired, I don't know why. Will I ever be compensated for the dreary mishaps of my awfully melancholy thoughts?

I will read and write something later on tonight.

Epiphany

Epiphany

What does it mean to be an artist?

*
The art, being inferior, does not present the forms I spoke of distinguished clearly one from another. Even in literature, the highest and most spiritual art, the forms are often confused. The lyrical form is in fact the simplest verbal vesture of an instant of emotion, a rhythmical cry such as ages ago cheered on the man who pulled at the oar or dragged stones up a slope. He who utters it is more conscious of the instant of emotion than of himself as feeling emotion. The simplest epical form is seen emerging out of lyrical literature when the artist prolongs and broods upon himself as the centre of an epical event and this form progresses till the centre of emotional gravity is equidistant from the artist himself and from others. The narrative is no longer purely personal. The personality of the artist passes into the narration itself, flowing round and round the persons and the action like a vital sea. This progress you will see easily in that old English ballad Turpin Hero which begins in the first person and ends in the third person. The dramatic form is reached when the vitality which has flowed and eddied round each person fills every person with such vital force that he or she assumes a proper and intangible esthetic life. The personality of the artist, at first a cry or a cadence or a mood and then a fluid and lambent narrative, finally refines itself out of existence, impersonalizes itself, so to speak. The esthetic image in the dramatic form is life purified in and reprojected from the human imagination. The mystery of esthetic like that of material creation is accomplished. The artist, like the God of the creation, remains within or behind or beyond or above his handiwork, invisible, refined out of existence, indifferent, paring his fingernails.—

—Trying to refine them also out of existence—said Lynch.

A fine rain began to fall from the high veiled sky and they turned into the duke's lawn, to reach the national library before the shower came.

—What do you mean—Lynch asked surlily—by prating about beauty and the imagination in this miserable God forsaken island? No wonder the artist retired within or behind his handiwork after having perpetrated this country.—
*

This is it.

whatevers

whatevers

I felt so fulfilled before going to sleep after understanding what beauty was, even though it was four in the morning. I feel like people don't appreciate this understanding, or just don't care enough about it.
I didn't go to school today because I had nothing to look forward to.
I still have nothing to look forward to. I want to have something to look forward to.
I got into UCLA, but I don't really want to go. I wasn't really too happy either, because some of my friends were rejected. It felt wrong to be happy at the time.
Just going deeper and deeper into a horrible water.

Everything fades away to a shade of grey, the darkness of the heartless enslave the day.



























p.s.
I hate the economy. Fuck the economy and all its short run aggregate supply bullshit.
And fuck the horrible teachers that try and teach it, and end up ruining the subject for the rest of us. Corrupting the essence of knowledge with this short run nominal tests and examinations. Fuck education. I hate that word, but it seems to sum up so many of my feelings. Also, fuck tetris and fuck taboo. Fuck losing. Fin.

Aesthetics

Aesthetics

The artist retires from the world to find meaning in it. Only then does he realize the tumultuous repercussions of the conscience in the world. The majority of all our thoughts are subjugated to our imagination, our subjective perception of what an object has the capability to be. Take for example, the idea of beauty. What is beauty?

We can only assume the plausibility that a universal definition of beauty exists because there is a common subjective thread of what beauty is. Thus, through a common subjective basis of what beauty is, we can acknowledge that a universal beauty can exist. And if it can exist and can be comprehended by the human mind, it does exist, at least in figurative terms. However, this thread of beauty lies not in the whatness of an object, but is wrapped by imagination's cloth. In other words, beauty is represented in the imagination. First of all, in order for something to be beautiful, one has to first acknowledge that the object has the potential to be beautiful. In order for this to be possible, one has to intuitively grasp that the object does exist, again, in figurative terms. Beauty thus becomes the relation of the object with the audience, a mental and sensual connection between both sides. My understanding of this is similar to aura, and is entirely created by imagination. An object, in its material plane would carry no beauty at all by this definition, because radiance does not exist materially, only in imagination.

Thus, we can conclude that beauty is not material. So far, we have defined what beauty is not. So what makes an object beautiful? Three things, Integritas, consonantia, and claritas (claritas is what I explained above as radiance). They go along with what I said before. I am going to attempt to explain these terms in the simplest way possible. Integritas, or integrity, simply means that you can comprehending the object wholly separate from what it is not. It exists as something, self bounded an conceivable. Simple enough. Consonantia (or harmony) is, as Joyce describes, the rhythm of its structure, or as he says, "the synthesis of immediate perception is followed by an analysis of apprehension". In other words, you saw it, now you grasp it for what it is. Not a difficult concept to understand if you can imagine something seen from the eyes of a dog, and then to a human. The difference between the two understandings of the same object is that the human can grasp its existence as more than its concrete and physical structure. A gateway to imagination. In relation to what I wrote before, it can come closest to the acknowledgement that it has the potential to be beautiful. The last idea is claritas. Claritas simply means the imagination one uses to intiate the whatness of the object. Where the object becomes more than it actually is. These simple words do not give it justice for what is actually is, but for the sake of understanding, it is so.

When those three aspects come into play, an object can be considered beautiful. It really happens so fast, we don't notice these things happening. Note, this is only my understanding of what beauty is, from what I learned from others and literature. It may not be entirely correct. I just wanted to organize what I thought could be the universal definition of beauty, simply because an objective definition must exist in order for a proper subjective idea of it to exist.

So what of all of this? The world is entirely what the mind makes of it. If the imagination is weak and not able to comprehend or make sense of the world, that mind is subjugated to a less meaningful existence. However, even meaning is created in the mind, so life could be as meaningful as you make it. But to find the greatest fulfillment, and a most understanding and meaning in what the world is, life must be apprehended in a meaningful manner. Think of it as a pyramid on which you can only view from the top down. The people in the middle see what is below them, and what is below them is all they know. What is below them is as meaningful as it could ever be, but only to the extent that it is still the middle of the pyramid. The ones near the top however, can see the entire structure and can find full meaning in a much broader spectrum and understanding of is below them. Thus it is more meaningful. So I'm just saying. Get out of the box, notice the details and try to make the most out of the life you live. There is much more to living life then simply... whatever it is that we as humans do.

* * *

Excuse my last post. It was really all sarcasm, and I didn't mean many of the things I said. Everything had to be taken with a grain of salt (like most of the things I say). I was harsh and full of conceit, albeit I always found my reaction not to be one entirely of animosity, but more of gratitude toward whatever it was that triggered those emotions. But am I so arrogant, or so superficially deep? Well, to put it bluntly, no I am not. Maybe arrogant, but not superficially deep. See, there is no "superficial deep". Superficial depth is still shallow.

Some people think that they are deeply superficial, but in fact, they are only superficially deep. In a bad way. Did Warhol say that? I don't remember.

Dumb It Down

Dumb It Down

I felt like I was doing the world a justice by expressing my thoughts and perceptions about things around me, but obviously, some are blinded by their lack of understanding and perception, or simply ignorance. Forgive me for my insolence.

So I'm going to dumb it down. I am going to dumb it down for the ignorant, self-loathing, simple and narrow minded people who are better than me. I am not degrading them in any way, just reinstating the bare foundations that dictate their simple existence. What I thought I was doing was putting my ideas on the forefront of creativity, feeding people knowledge on a silver platter of intellect, but obviously not. What I thought I was doing was a creative catharsis. Why hide it? I have no insecurities in terms of others seeing exactly what i think. Again, forgive me because I have not taken into account the majority that must rule the collective thoughts of the entire people.

For years now, I thought that the critics were demeaning my thoughts because they haven't met a person as genuine as me, who can grasp this understanding of how the world turns. I was dismayed, because what I couldn't grasp was the stubborn idiocracy of the people that surround me. If only I had considered that there were others not like me, others that had the capability, or at least wanted to have a taste of the cake.

I came to realize that many are in fact bound by their intellectual inferiority to "talk shit" in colloquial terms. I understand your lack of perception and it was foolish of me to think that others would understand, even when my words were cut down and bare to a stance of unbelievable simplicity. I thought society had a chance, and that I was giving it to them, but I was misled to believe that society can upright itself after generations of narrow minded pursuits.

What an arrogant figure I was. How blindly misled I was to believe that my writing would not be seen as a humble reflection of life, but a prideful misrepresentation of idealism. I find it right to be subjugated to the harsh judgement and criticisms of others. It is only right for me to adhere to the simplicity of the people.

I understand. I understand fully the ingenuine nature of character. Who am I to say things that go beyond the scope of others? I am not worthy of your words. The incongruence of life and the balanced idiosyncracies that can not be seen seems to propel the indulgence of ignorance of these people.

* * *

So there you have it, chief. For you motherfuckers that don't get the sarcasm that I love to spew, I'm sorry to say you are helpless to a point of a meaningless and dreary existence. I thank you for saving my intellectual creativity. This is my love song to you, and it goes like this. Honestly, I pity my creative subordinates. More of a sympathy, rather. But my compassion can only go so far. Yes, I am totally indulging in my arrogance. I haven't felt like this in a long time. I love it. And it's no wonder I lack a connection with most people. Not because I am better, but because their vision of the world can only go so far. I'm going to say it time and time again. Them being fools doesn't make my intelligence arrogance. I would say this dichotomy is more of a "lol bitch u serious?" than an outright "ugh fuck you". Now that would be too simple and direct, would it not?

movie

movie

I always had this strange fantasy of being with a person and hearing crickets in the moonlight. Or streetlight. Doesn't matter, as long as the air is clear.
I love the sound of crickets with the night breeze and the sky.
I love fuckin the sky.
Anything that could be a movie scene is good.

John the Baptist

John the Baptist

Mr. Mohney called me out on being a rapper today.
HOW CAN I NOT KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO JOHN THE BAPTIST IF I'M GOING TO BE A RAPPER?
NO!


Anyway...
As I look back upon myself for the past four years, I can tell the ways people around me changed. I can't see myself changing as much because I can only see through my eyes, but I know I changed. People matured, people grew up, I grew up, I learned and saw more clearly. My friends came and went, but some remained the same. I had only a small group of friends the entire time. My number of friends didn't go beyond 4 or 5 people. It still is pretty impossible for me to branch out to other people or go outside my comfort zone.

My friends are few, but they are real. I know they are real. I feel like we go beyond everyone else in some aspects, maybe understanding life to a different degree.

I learned that all people are human. It took me so long to understand this concept. Everybody is the same, yet so different. Cheesy, right? But everyone thinks about life. Everyone has thoughts, because everyone is human. Nobody is alone, even when we are by ourself. The utterly hyperbolic truth of life. All people are complex, even when they are completely shallow.

Yes, nothing I say makes sense. But at the same time it makes perfect sense. Will anybody get this??? LIFE IS A PARADOX. Forgive me, but this is the inevitable conclusion to most things in life, its that there is not easy solution. Because of the balance.

There are not enough words in the English language to explain what I am trying to say. So use your imagination.

Understanding

Understanding

아휴.
Let me try and explain something that always fills my mind.
In everything there is a balance. Balance between good and evil, balance for justice, balance for all.
But sometimes, as I see it more and more in everything, it becomes a sort of mold for other things to fit.
How can life be quantized in such a inhuman manner? It is not natural.
Although this balance is empirically correct, objectively quantizing their worth and potential is not right.
It plagues my mind everyday. This is not an understatement.
In this perspective, there is no progress without sacrifice, and no true 'good'.
In someways, I can see everything at once, but because of this, the bad things are always apparent, even if they are meant to be hidden.
Understanding the constant state of paradox and balance the world is in is a heavy burden on one's mind.
I need to just let go of the control, to flow freer.
Do more things spontaneously. Act on impulse, and allow room for mistakes and shortcomings. Even in others.
Most of my stress arises when something doesn't happen my way, or if I don't do what I want to do. It may seems selfish, but it is the way I keep constant control of what I see as important.
So to relieve that stress, I just do things. Breathing feels much better that way.
It loosens the knot in my chest.
It's part of my new philosophy: I will never regret.
I may fly too high and plummet into the sea, but there is not middle ground for an artist. Wings were meant to give flight. Rain is meant to fall. Because pain is sweet.

Understand?

upates

upates

I haven't wrote in my blog in a while.
I'm pretty content these days, and I only come to my blog when I have something I want to say.

I have an analogy.
When I write, I try to make the letters look nice sometimes, but when I find a word that I wrote really well, I'm like oh that looks nice, and then I realize that it's either spelled wrong or the wrong word.
From that, I learn that I have to see the forest, then the leaf.
Wait.. No. From that I learned that I should just have to take it easy, because my hand writing looks best when I just don't care, even if I'm more prone to mistakes.
I suppose the tree leaf thing fits in vaguely.

These days, I'm just listening to good music, talking with good people, and chillin' with great friends. My grades are still shat, but I'll worry about them later. My F went to a D and one C went to a B. I'm going to backwards with a girl named Sally. I didn't really know her before but now that I kinda know her, I think she's a cool person. And I ran out of gel. It's freaking annoying, so these days I just wear hats. And I have no jackets... I have like two, and its really cold and sometimes, I don't have anything to wear. I want new clothes. Preferably like east coast clothes... BUT what if I don't go to the East Coast?? College please... God please... Joe said it best, I may not deserve it, but I definitely belong there. And damn, Wolf Gang.. They got it.

One other thing. I really hate being NORMAL. It just pisses me off, and maybe sometimes I try to be different for wrong reasons but being normal sucks in my opinion. Something about it, its just so millipede. I hate being compared to people that are normal, and I just want to be different from everyone else.
Maybe that's where I find success?
I grew up in 2 parent, decently wealthy household, so what's pushing me forward?
I would hate to say that there is nothing, because I don't want to stop progressing.

It's already 1:30 wtf...

Sometimes I wonder how much I changed in the past five years. Probably a lot. Is that bad? I don't know. I freaking really hate it when I get a text and I'm on my bed almost sleeping and my phone is on my table and that shit rings three times, once every ten minutes, and I have to get up out of my warm bed to check the phone and its nothing important.

I didn't write everything I want to write.

It's already March 1st. I vaguely remember 9/11 but it doesn't feel that long ago. I am very lucky person because I have thing that many others don't. Many times I focus on what I don't have, and I'm unfulfilled, but I have so much.

I think music can almost define a person and who they are.
Who am I in terms of music? Let's see... I am a combination of ballads, hip-hop, mellow songs, and classical music. I love Chopin, Vivaldi and Satie. Chopin and Satie are on opposite spectrum in terms of technique but I like them both in different aspects. I love Philip Glass and OST's. The vengeance trilogy OST's are the best.

I have 524 instrumentals. A little less than half of my songs are Korean. I have the entire discography of Epik High and my most listened songs are all from Remapping the Human Soul. My most played song ever though, is White by Eternal Morning. And then Pieces, Loptimist, and Nas follow. At the moment I have 10380 songs. I have listened to all my songs. it adds up to about one month, 28 days, since yesterday was February. But really, number of songs is almost irrelevant. I love Tyler, The Creator, but his lyrics are so sick. Same with Eminem's. J, Winterplay, Rumblefish, and Loveholic are all so good.

I also think that movies can define a part of a person. I like psychological movies, cute movies, and violent movies. I hate cop movies or constant thrillers and horror movies. I despise horror movies because my imagination is too strong. I love psychological movies because my imagination is too strong. Fight Club, American Beauty, Usual Suspects, Sympathy for Lady Vengeance, Eraser in my Head are few of my favorite movies. I have only cried when I watched one movie: Eraser in my Head. I only watch that movie by myself because I actually cry. I have never cried for any other movie, but that movie just kills me. I practically memorized Pulp Fiction and Fight club. I have a Scarface Poster behind me, and a Pulp Fiction Poster in front of me.

My room is also a big part of who I am. I have a big monitor and five speakers with a bass on the floor. I have a microphone to the right of me and an iPad. There are some gloves, and a camera. Crows Zero Man to my forward left, my pottery all around and MY FAVORITE ROCK to the my forward right. I have a little OBEY stigma thing and my Hold international kid's picture. Many many pens and pencils. In a secret place, I have all my things that I treasure. And my cash stash. I used to have my midi piano but I put it on the floor, next to my cutting thing. A guitar next to my bed. A music theory book.

I don't give a fuck about people that I don't care about. I'll care for a short while, and then forget. No regrets is my motto. I wonder how my future will be like, I think about it a lot. Most of the time, I don't want to grow up. I want to be a kid forever, and just play the rest of my days. I want to be with my friend and cousins and just play.

My favorite food is green tea. So is my favorite drink. I love tea. I have this Green tea from Korea from Jeju, and its the greatest. It's made from a special part of the green tea leaf and it feels much smoother than Japanese Tea. Japanese tea is good too, but its not smooth. I also like buckwheat tea, I drink it sometimes, and it doesn't have and caffeine. Canadian Maple tea is also good, but it smells really strange. My favorite used to be this Green Tea with pineapple, but it was too strong and I drank almost all of it. I have this really rare tea from India, but really, its not that good. Flower Teas from China are good, but I only use them from special occasions. It has lots of Caffeine as well.

I haven't wrote lyrics in a while, because I don't feel it. Usually I spend a majority of my time writing lyrics, but when I record, I lose confidence because it just doesn't sound good. My beat making progressed, and I think I can get much better.

I always want to do something fun, and I hate it when I'm not doing anything. I like being alone, so I can think, but being with friends is better. I absolutely hate it when I am with someone I don't like.

Still not done, coming back later.