all positive vibes

all positive vibes

One of the ways I know I am lacking in my spiritual life is because I do not feel a lasting sense of joy in my life. Although I am momentarily happy here and there depending on who I'm with and what I'm doing, overall I don't feel any sort of peace within myself. On a wide variety of levels, I am in discord with myself and my situation. And yet, even still, I don't feel angry or fearful. I really feel nothing much of the time.

I often wonder if I lack depth as a human. I desire to feel vivid and penetrating emotions, but emotions are brought about through outside change. This outside change lies beyond my control. Something must happen for me to feel something about it, whether it is in retrospect or in the moment. Yet, I am so quick to forget and let go of the past, the emotions I feel only linger for a moment. Feeling anger, sadness, happiness, etc. are what makes me feel alive. These days, my emotive plate seems somewhat drab. The lack of vivid emotions these days make the days tasteless and droning.

I remembering feeling differently. I vaguely remember a constant emotion during parts of my life. Feeling repressed, frustrated, angry, sad, heartbroken, anxious or whatever. Things would happen which would affect me deeply, and I would feel things. Feeling those things made me feel alive. It had nothing to do with my purpose or any sentiment of depth, but simply reminded me that I was a living person. A soul or vigorous spirit that exists within the present time. I know I am still that, I just don't feel like it right now.

sine waves

sine waves

I feel the most comfortable with myself when I'm creating something. It gives me the feeling that I'm progressing and growing. In some sense, progress validates my existence and that gives me positive vibes. Other times, when I'm just fucking around I get positive vibes in a different way. It's not so much joyful times that I feel when I'm with my friends and hanging out, but more so times of escape and release.

Good art is a series of well deliberated tensions and releases. Music is just tension and release with different sounds and harmonies. Most things in life are also a series of tensions and releases. You build tension and it releases. In all realms things can be simplified down into sine waves, because nothing is constantly good or bad. Because of the relative nature we experience things, nothing can constantly always be good, this is why we experience things as sine waves. The positivity I feel when creating is reinforced by weekend releases. If I hold the tension too long, I become tired.

I think a charismatic person is someone who can maintain very strong tensions and have outlandish releases as well. People with a greater command and understanding of this concept tend to understand more about themselves and other people as well. Most things comes in a series of waves, like the ocean. We run, then stop, run then stop, wake, sleep, hold and release. This idea of tension and release works on many different levels, correlating the functions and workings of the universe into waves. Ups and downs. Living for example is a tension. When we die, the body releases its grip on life and the tension is gone. Emotions often come in waves as well. Nothing good can last forever, just like nothing all too bad can go on for a too long, because when things hold tension for too long, they tire us out and eventually we must release. But how we go about those tensions and releases, the timing, sense, and deliberation in those release is where we can shine.

The cover song "Limit to Your Love" by James Blake demonstrates tension and release very well. In essence, it's an orgasm. Although the release feels good, nature builds up the tension again and then it releases. In many ways, living life charismatically is a stylish orchestration and demonstration of tension and release.

boredom

boredom

Knowing yourself is one of the hardest things in the world. On the inside we carry feelings, emotions and thoughts that arise as a result of external stimulus, or come about through thorough internal agitation. On the outside, the way people celebrate or condemn (or feel nothing about) ourselves sketch a portrait of who we are to them. This is how we understand our identity. It is a combination of who we are to others and our habituated internal thoughts and emotions. Our internal selves also hold some ideal nature of self, although not always accurate. Tension arises when this internal self (either real or ideal) conflicts with external self. For the more introspective, we feel discord and tension when people think things of ourselves which we don’t think are either true or desirable. For the less introspective, the identity is more at the mercy of external valuation.

When there is no understanding of inner self, the challenge that is met by the celebration or condemnation from other people is perplexing. Often, this external confirmation or celebration of our thoughts and actions can be the driving force upon which we form our identity. This is not to say such base of identity is bad; different people work differently. However, for those who are shy and lack external stimulus and confirmation often look to their inner ego to find and understand their identity, and conversely many extroverts have their identity constantly externally confirmed by their peers. I am not sure whether it is caused or correlated, but shy people tend to think more about themselves (more introspective).

I dislike categorizing people, especially into such vague and blanketing  words like “introvert” and “extrovert”, but what I just mentioned might explain why the tendency to fit into either one exists. The louder the personality, the more external confirmation one receives, and vice versa. When there is less external confirmation, one must look inside to understand his identity. In this sense, the polarizing nature of being “introverted” or extroverted” is due to how people find and confirm their identities. Often, as people grow up, the desire to know oneself deeper, either through external confirmation (for those more introverted) or through internal agitation (for those more extroverts), becomes more of a demand. The desire to understand more of ourselves. Both can be uncomfortable to varying degrees for different people. Some people find meeting new people distressing because there may be fear from the judgement of other people (external confirmation/celebration/condemnation). Some people find confronting their inner self annoying. After all, note how difficult it is to stay alone doing nothing.

When we are alone and doing nothing, we often become bored. There are some ways to confront this boredom: 1. through inner agitation and self evaluation, 2. external stimulus, 3. reminiscing  (a variant of 1), 4.dealing with external/surface level problems (a variant of 4).

I have mentioned that the two ways of knowing self is by internal blah blah and external blah blah. I’d like to further extrapolate that our responses to boredom demonstrates the daily struggle and minute distress we feel we confronted with only ourselves (to know ourselves). I think the process by which we deal with boredom is either “inside out” or “outside in”. The four points I listed above can be understood as such.

“Inside out” is when we take our inner thoughts and project them out back into existence. Such is the act of creation. Of art, writing, scrawls and doodles. It can also be taking our emotions and organizing them into thoughts in our mind. “Outside in” is taking in external stimulus as a means of either 1. distracting ourselves or 2. finding some facet in the external stimulus which may relate to our inner self.  Such is watching movies/media, reading, snapchat, instagram, news, work, studying etc. Aside from states of pure emotion, humans are usually doing either one of these when they’re bored or alone. Of the “outside in”, distracting ourselves seems to be the option that’s often most taken. I don’t wanna sound like a fuckin hippy or something, but it’s what most people do when they’re bored. Examine the average person when left alone for 1 minutes (especially when within a crowd). S/he starts looking at phone as a way to confront the boredom. Obviously, there are other options that always exist at that point (“inside out” or other “outside in”) things but I think that the phone is the easiest option because it holds the least distress, and thus least capacity for understanding oneself. Even the smallest daily occurrences are habituated in our brain and create our identity on a daily basis, no matter how small. Internally, we are formed by a series of habits and traumas. Our daily habits lay the foundation for who we are. It’s no wonder why internal growth slows down dramatically as we grow older: because our daily lives start becoming the same things and our responses to situations become routinely habituated.

The past century or so is a remark to cheap external stimulus. Imagine a life where every moment of boredom is filled in with cheap external stimulus. He knows himself less and becomes a beanbag of a person: fucking boring and colorless because he doesn’t know himself. I don’t want to end this as a tirade so I won’t.

I’ve always felt the importance of knowing oneself. Knowing yourself is sexy. It forms a basis for confidence, because the external confirmation matches what's inside. Either that of your internal valuation of self is already rock solid. When that external stuff doesn't match the inside, there's distress and we feel anxiety. I recall understanding the nature of our identities, but now I see how it is formed. Understanding this can form a basis of productivity, diligence, and focus, because it serves as a remind boredom can be confronted by productivity, and good, despite being distressful. It also can form a basis of humility and compassion, because it emphasizes the relevance of being good to other (although somewhat narcissistically based). It also reminds us that although people’s opinions do matter, they exist as condemnation/confirmation/celebration/neglect of our identities, which can be useful tools for our own valuation. Being completely independent of such external confirmation can be unhealthy and deluded. But overall, it reminds us that our daily actions all have a place in forming who we are. It’s like we are a multitude of daily actions stacked upon each other, often tumbled or whipped up by traumatic events and ultimately confirmed by those around us and challenged and developed by who we think we are on the inside.

handwriting

handwriting

One of the ways to gain insight into a person's character is through their handwriting. Sometimes, I write like this or sometimes I write like that but their are fundamental consistencies in the lettering and spacing that show some insight into character. Although I have no particular knowledge about what my handwriting reveals, one thing I can do is examine how my handwriting has changed. For a fact, I know that it has changed, quite rapidly actually. Although not consistently so, it used to be smaller, neater, simple and rapid. It was not particularly neat, but the page demonstrated a general attention to proportions and space. In the past three or so months, my handwriting has become messier, larger, and sometimes undecipherable. However, I like the way it looks better than before. For the first time, without deliberately trying to alter my handwriting so that it fits me better, I feel like it a good reflection of how my mind moves my hand and pen. I think that handwriting can be used as a medium to understand oneself, because it is unconscious and revealing. If I were to give personality to such handwriting, I would say it is reckless but deliberately so. Some neglect. Although unrefined and messy, it seems focused as well. The large letters and lack of attention to its legibility contains a sentiment somewhere between desperation and excitement and contains a general mood of narcissism.

I can't read much into my handwriting, I can only project what I feel about myself and attach it to certain flairs of my changing handwriting. There are things I am more certain of about myself. Four character traits I desire to be more implanted in my personality. These are: compassion, humility, focus and diligence. My handwriting doesn't show lack of compassion (maybe it does whatever) but this is something I feel must be changed.

A somewhat recent phenomenon I have noted: I am generally disinterested in most conversations. I believe it to be a combination of my inherently selfish nature and lack of common interests.  My narrow minded focus on things I enjoy also plays a part, as well as my lack of both understanding and desire to understand most people's daily lives and struggles. On a very basic level, I simply don't empathize with most people, nor do I really care to. This is not to say I don't like talking to people. I like talking to a few people about certain things. I like being witty and pushing people to reveal more about themselves. But most of the time these days, I don't understand the point of so many conversations. We talk to be understood and listen to understand. And these days, I don't care to understand, so I don't like to listen. Unhealthy issue this is, but at the same time, it feels natural. Regardless, my desire to be more compassionate is strong, despite feeling more than ever so absorbed in myself. I believe this disinterest to be very revealing of my lack of compassion.

Let me break down this issue in a simple way. I think it is very natural the way I feel because I don't relate to the conversation topic at hand. This is normal, right? People become bored when things are not about them. Correct me if I'm wrong, but "being relatable" essentially means that it in some way feeds our ego (by relate something outside of us to ourselves). Similar interests, similar stories, similar something relative to my life, because that is how we understand things -> through ourselves. I learn about why people become who they are and in turn, it may reveal something about myself. Awesome people carry traits which I envy or admire/desire to be like. Perplexing people carry this potential. I like the music and movies I like because I feel like they speak to me, or demonstrate skill and talent which I either envy or find respectable. Thus, foreign things are uninteresting. I noticed this ironic trend. I am interested in people because they either reflect or carry a potential to reflect something about myself. My narcissism shines through my interest in other people and makes it feel fake.

So, I just don't relate to the things people talk about because my span of interests are becoming increasingly smaller. Yet, I want to care about people even if there is nothing to relate. I want it to be ingrained in my nature; to care and be compassionate about the lives of people even when I am not interested. To be compassionate is so difficult because it is contrarian to my inherently narcissistic self, in a place where I find outside similarities to be weaning away slowly. But I must. Where to start is interesting, because normally I always start with myself for anything I do. I think that compassion is bred within humility. In order to love someone without self interest, that self interest must be smaller in the first place.

But humility is an evasive trait, like all great and good traits. One way which a person is able to become more humble is by knowing himself. One is able to know himself by facing himself. One faces himself when he is desperate. The cause of desperation is from the outside. However, how one responds to the desperation is an internal choice. By consistently making the right internal choices -- choices of mindful compassion, inner strength, perseverance and unselfish ambition -- he can habituate goodness within self. Moments of desperation create such profound characters. Without these moments which we can face ourselves and habituate goodness, it is only natural that we foster dullness instead. Amongst my demographic, desperation is less. It is not that my peers are drole, it's that their lives are drole. A job, a educational pursuits dicate the weekday actions and release from such pressure colour our weekends. Ambition of greater things lie in between the two and permeate the personality with vibrant colours, but it is more or less drowned by daily droleness. So boring so boring. So boring a life with no desperation. Such colorless souls born out of habits of boredom. However, boredom is also a form of desperation, because it is one of the ways we face ourselves. Reactions to boredom are telling. The first desire is to escape the boredom by doing something else and interesting ourselves in something less boring. It seems like being alone with our thoughts is difficult. Because facing ourselves is difficult. But how can we habituate good habits without facing ourselves in moments of desperation, no matter how small that desperation? With enough of a certain thought or action, it can be habituated.

don't do

don't do

People don't do what they want to do, they just usually end up doing what they end up doing.

In a relatively short time, I've experienced a lot, to say the very least. I've been fortunate enough to have been presented with a number of options for what do with my future. I've always been aware that 'life is difficult', but my tiny interpretation of that idea is a little less tiny now. Life is daunting.

I think people are like birds in a bird eat bird world. There are many that choose to live inside cages so that they do not get eaten by the bigger birds outside.

Not making choices makes life easier to deal with. Just letting things come as they go and accepting opportunities at face value is comforting. School, for example, is not daunting (relatively speaking, not to downplay it's role). It is a set path which has defined guidelines for the typical student to follow: HS, College, Choosing A Major, Completing Bachelor's, Master's (optional depending on field), Salary, Raise Work Vacation Repeat. Neither is inheriting a family business. Needless to say, of course there are certain traumas that may come attached within that defined parameter, but as I said, those guidelines and restrictions eliminate much of the fear/apprehension typically felt during the process. Many times, from what I've noticed, it comes at the cost of foregoing the question "Why am I doing what I am doing?".

These are limitations placed upon oneself. However, these limitations are actually quite wide, and I use that word quite loosely in a neutral manner because within that parameter, much can be done. Great and difficult accomplishments. But what I'm talking about is fear, because I think that a difficulty greater and more challenging than obstacles and overcoming challenges is the fear of truly not knowing what the fuck is going to happen. I mean this statement in a very literal fashion: to really have no idea because the boundaries/parameters/limitations of what could happen do not exist.

This fear, coupled with excitement is a path not many treaded, but for those who have, it is a both a rewarding and terrible path. It is the path of almost all celebrated people, in some way or fashion, perhaps the limitations were not college and school but rather following the popes orders, or not challenging the status quo.

As I learn more and more about the world around me and myself, I understand that there are many things of the trending mindsets of which I do not fuck with. "People don't do what they want to do, they just usually end up doing what they end up doing" is such an example. It is a true statement, but so is "Do what you want to do,"; it simply depends on who is saying it. The current status quo of how to make a living in life is another such example. People overstating the value of risk in presentation circumstances or simply giving it lip service, but not giving it value in real world circumstances is another.

And I understand these things, I understand more clearly why the number of people that want to change the world gets smaller and smaller as people become older and older. Insecurities become deeper imbedded under layer of neglect and neurosis. As this happens, our joints and mental reflexes become rusted with daily comforts. "Simple joys" take the place of greater and more meaningful joy found within progress and learning, when in fact, both should be cherished.

I am going to change the world. I am going to take the baton of the greats of past generations and propel the human race forward. This is a choice, but seeing my nature, it's not even really a choice whether or not I can think it.

I'm 20, don't have to work, and am healthy. I can do whatever pleases me, really. I can do whatever I want as there are no limitations. The only 'limitations' present are those which restrict the universe: time and nature. My will, this could be a limitation, but it could also be what sets me free. Fear or courage as well.

Shallow self discovery leads to people finding themselves within their insecurities.

reflections

reflections

When I went to high school, when I was a more cynical and pathetic character, I was more artistically dark. And although back then my mind was locked upon itself in a incessant spiral of self-loathing and pity, my artist felt more alive. I almost feel as if because I've become more understanding and deeply aware of how to stabilize my emotive-creature-mind, I've become less in tune with my art. These days, I can see that the colors of my mind are too defined and resolved. And consequently, I don't know how to let myself into the darkness of passion.

The clockworks turn within my mind, and each reasonable mystery eventually finds itself a compatible answer, and if not then it lays on a backburner, perhaps to be answered later, perhaps never. But I can't handle it anymore! The mind is not a clockwork, the soul is not a framework for labor, and the natural state of existence is not calm. In vain I dragged myself across the ragged and barren fields of self-betterment, only to find that it is a sterile and uncharismatic plain on the other side. The natural state of the universe is entropy and there should be no going back.

We are supposed to be mad and insatiable on the inside. My soul is a beast whom loathes tameness. But instead, we drift along, like listless molds of vulnerability looking up at the more charistmatic-than-us, the more beautiful-than-us, and the more-alive-us, wondering how the time has passed so ungraciously to our favor and our sagging souls flop around like fish on the pier, caught by a fisherman of fear and death and lies.

Everyday we breed the emotions we feel with the ideas we combat them with. And I speak for many of us when I say that the inbred docile dog of a conscience which had birthed is better put down than to writhe in its pathetic misery state.

Do you know limbo? It's a catholic sentiment, somewhere somewhat neutral between heaven and hell that signifies neither saved or damned. Where the idiots and unborn children go. Life should be the opposite of limbo. Maybe snapchat exists in limbo. Why do I feel like I'm constantly damning myself to a dreary placement in the spectrum of a should-be-colorful life?

To be honest, I don't, I just wanted to convey the emotion. It's better to be a colorful lunatic than grayscale photocopy of a photocopied idea. Come on fucking live you piece of boring drab! Let go you're already pathetic self esteem and stop caring so much about the misplaced judgment of men and women who will never care about you the way your should care about yourself. You fucking prick, you can look to God, but your existence is a mockery of free will, and in fact the most humiliating part about it is that you probably would've ate the apple too.

Wake up from your delude conception of "what matters" and "your goals" and embrace the madness of the soul, and liberty of nature and feel what it means to be alive again. Being alive and feeling like you want to die has greater kinship and understanding of each other than any neutral mockery in between.

*          *          *

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, and dawn becomes an illusion. -3.20.2011

RTOTD

RTOTD

random thoughts of the day by Daniel Ko

what is love?

it was a like midsummer's night dream, that night. being with you was like being kept in a bubble of bliss, out of way from all the people i hate and despise. I drank to escape the torment brought on to me by my weariness of life... and from that putrid well, you gave me hope and a dream to one day be with you.

was it a kiss? or did we just brush our lips..

어제 문자보내기:
xxxxx: "내일뭐해?"
xxx: "별거없는데ㅋㅋㅋ 왜? 뭐할까?"
xxxxx: "아... 그냥.. 아니야"
xxx: "??ㅎㅎ뭐야"

그 순간 후, 내 마음이 너무 두려워어서 잠이 들었지..

this may be a shameful thing to admit, but you resemble my favorite JAV actress in an uncanny way. Is that weird? but then again, what is love? baby dont hurt me, dont hurt me, no more.

i remember one day in class, you asked me for a pencil. out of everybody in the room, why me? there were 300 other people in the room, and for me to be chosen out of random would be.. a miniscule chance. of course, i have to consider the radius factor, but even out of the ten people sitting behind, in front, left to you, I was still chosen. is this what they call the greenlight of love?

flustered "y-yea i have one hold on" and i reached into my bag to find the best pencil for you and found my favorite pencil, stocked it with enough lead for you to write 100 love letters to me and gave it to you. when I gave it to you, our flesh brushed each other. the sensation i felt from my spine to my abdomen! it numbed my mind.

what is love? is this it?

i don't believe in the friends that believe in me...
or in myself that believes in my friends..

I BeLIeve in myself that believes in MYSELF!!!

what is love?

what is love?

my cheeks flood with invisible tears of happiness. i hold them back, as a true man should.
is this.. is this it!? as each moment passes by, i already feel a 'one second nostalgia'. i do not know if time is moving fast or slow. rather, it feels like waves; scattering leaves under the hot summer sun, as i peep a little twig in her hair.

on the twig.. it's a caterpillar! the erotic ooze that creeps out from underneath it's sleathy and moist exterior, makes the other catepilllars hot; this i can smell in the breeze.

my lips feel desert chapped as i struggle to make any articulate or audible sound. i am flustered, but to my silent and confused joy, she is flustered as well. you, you, you, .. i start, but the sound of heartbeating (hers or mine?) is too loud for me to hear my own voice.

in my head, thoughts rush. in my mind our palms are so sweaty but as we look off into opposite directions our skin grazes and both of us pretend not to notice but we do and its so nice; i think about the sympathizing look on her face after i rush in a grab the bullys arm who was harrasing her, but thankfully he turns his attention to me and pummels me and after i smile as she says you stupid! why! tears down her face. finally as thoughts rush through my head like lemmings rushing off the side of a cliff, i catch one in mid-air.

you, have a twig in your hair.

the effect is immediate, the ghost of picasso takes his ghastly red brush and wipes it up her face. she reaches for it and as if the twig was carrying the wieght of her pink embarrassment her throws it away. but the instant was too fast for common sense. she grabbed the twig and catepillar in the same area, smearing its juices along the ridges of her fingertips like road kill along the gravel of 90e fw.

she shrieks! i rush over and catch her as she falls in my arms. i say, as the spirit of romeo takes quick wheel on my tounge. 'sometimes a bug and a twig is enough for me to fall in love'. red as she is, her cheeks flush with the joy of youth, an intense but fleeting aphrodisiac of having all your nightime prayers answered for your one true love in a ironically heathenous moment due to the heartbreaking death of an innocent bug-child.

ai..aii...aishteru.

ah! this is what love feels like. like lemons squeezing on your hand to make lemonade... so sweet, but that one cut makes it sting so bad that those invisibile tears peers out into the physical dimension.

she was unknowing grabbing my nicest dress shirt at the moment, but i would work at the dry cleaners for a year just for this moment so it was worth it. catepillar ooze is forgoten and i only see her pale face in all the universe, like hunter on the beach who found a moment-diamond admist 100000000000 grains of moment-sand.

this is it this is it this is it, nothing else matters, not even the fact that i got a C- in pre-calc and my mum will not let me see the satifistcation of a dinner plate for week. i push the hair across her forehead, my subconcious feeling little moments of triumph for each moment of traction that my nails graze her skin. i can see her pores.. her skin is not so perfect as i imgined in my dreams, so i wonder what kind of face wash she uses, perhaps its the make up. i can tell she got up early to put it on. and the little droplets of sweat, they look like little universes themselves, each carrying the pheromones of my multi year long lonesome midnight thought dilemma.

but i cannot be distracted by the beautifully imperfect nature of her complexion or her evenly distributed facial structure. not even the mole above her right eye could do that.

a single moment passed, and i say i love you too, each glistening word falling gracfully from my mouth like atomic bombs, until they cause a seismic explosion in her heart, therby ending the war of unrequited lust and desire.

i feel the smooth fairy like curve of her body along the sinews of my forearm. they pulse at different intervals. then i feel her back tensen as her tries to intersect her love with mine, through method of kiss (or so i expect). the blood of bushido in my heart and chivalry of knights in my soul trigger and instead of her working so diligently to reach my face, i bow my face down for the intersection instead.

pursed lips against pursed lips. in my head i think about but do not notice the callousness of her own chapped lips. and slowly like a baby exiting the womb, my wet slob makes entry into her mouth-cave. frankly ,  i do not remember the rest, despite the feeling of wondering why is it that humans like to lick each others plaque, and thinking i guess it's not so bad, and hoping unaddmittedly that perhaps our pheromones were entering and exiting each others bodies.

to be continued

dude, whatever

dude, whatever

from a comic

"You look like you're going to spend your life having one epiphany after another, always thinking you've finally figured out what's holding you back, and how you can finally be productive and creative and turn your life around.

 But nothing will ever change.

That cycle of mediocrity isn't due to some obstacle. It's who you are.

The thing standing in the way of your dreams is; that the person having them is you."