music as profession

music as profession

I still don’t know whether or not I’m still living within a delusion. Often times it becomes clear what I’m doing is awesome, but many of the time I wonder if I’m actually just deluded and carrying on my life within a fantasy world while everyone else is doing real life. Although this thought remains in the back of my head, I’ve learned to mostly ignore it and just do things that I enjoy as well as take life and myself less seriously. Even still, I’ve noticed that over the years of constantly doing music, I feel like I’ve become slightly neurotic. However, I haven’t lost touch with reality, rather I just feel like I’m living a life that I find suitable for me. Only time will tell whether it is right or wrong. I’m certain that I will do well, but I can always be wrong.

There are so many countless anachronisms and quotes that tell you how to live life: without regrets, courageously, compassionately, vividly, etc, but in the long run I think that we make up our mind about those principles on our own. I lived nearly a quarter century piling up my own way to live life, based upon my traumas and habit; I’m certain that a quote or witty saying that makes profound sense won’t change my ideas and expectations of the future. This goes for why I don’t like new years resolutions or TED talks either. Both seem like a sham that overestimate a human’s ability to forthright change overnight — but then again, whatever floats your boat. What I do in life is not who I am, but it does serve a decent reflection of the principles and ideals that I’ve collected over the years.

It’s been about eight years since I started music, and only very recently have I begin to think that it’s actually any good. Not being arrogant but rather forthright with my honest observation, I honestly think it’s pretty good. I’m starting to change this hobby of dreams into an actual profession, from which I can eat. I’m frankly very tired of not having put out anything, but this I can only blame on my own insecurities and shortcomings as an artist. There has been a period of artistic incubation and I want it to come to an end. It’s like I’m an egg pooping out of a chicken’s asshole — I haven’t even been born yet into the musical community. Because of this, it’s only natural to not be taken seriously. Really, I’ve gone through much of my later adolescence with people not taking me very seriously. I think because of that, I took myself wayyyy too seriously. Rebellious and anxious as a young teen, I took the mantra of “I do not give a fuck” as my lifelong persona only to realize that I took myself way to seriously and tried way too hard to be apathetic to my actions. Not only do I realize it was incredibly naive and misguided, I think that part of me has grown up much more. I’m growing out of it. Back then music was a dream and the teenage angst and emotions were only natural, but now it’s actually a realizable profession. To do what you want to do for the rest of your life, while also making money might be the most amazing thing to happen in the professional world, a dream only few have seen come to fruition. Money will never make who I am, but it might make me do some things — because I like having money.

There were so many moments in high school where I seriously considered whether or not it was worth being happy. I cringe at it, but at the same, I think that that melancholic time was kinda sweet too. I was naive and didn’t know shit about the world or myself (not to say I know much more now… just a bit better), but it was a period that made me who I am. I like who I am. And I like music too.

thought dump

thought dump

There’s a lot of times I’ve made the mistake of expecting to be understood. I don’t think it’s possible to be fully understood by anyone — its just not possible. The things and emotions that run through our heads can’t ever be fully understood because our mouths and bodies are inexact and insufficient communicators for the loads of shit in our heads. It is possible to communicate well with certain people, different people for different things but it’s a mistake to think that it’s possible to be one-hundred percent understood by one person. Because it’s impossible, there’s always going to trouble when you expect it, particularly in a relationship.

jump

Relationships are funny. One of my least favorite things when people get into relationships is when they stop hanging out with other people, as if they’re meant to only align themselves with one individual that holds capability of fulfilling their needs and understanding their heart. It’s not true; people need different sorts of relationships for different parts of themselves because people have complex needs and circumstances. I want to be understood because I dislike the feeling of loneliness, but I also know that it’s nice to be understood in smaller ways by different people. There’s no one-size-fits-all solution for a human — not like two puzzle pieces that interlock and form a complete whole. I just think that’s just a corny romantic sentiment that lonely people conjure up because they think that their desolation can be solved by the entrance of a perfect human being into their life. To be fair, in concept and theory it makes sense, but in reality, why would a perfect human being find their fulfillment in only one person? I’m talking about understanding on a purely platonic level; I don’t think that polygamous relationships are healthy.

jump

Most of our thoughts get lost in translation most of time, but that’s okay because that’s life. I think talking to people becomes much more relaxed when you taken in the fact the you’re not gonna get everything — it’s not a moment where you shuffle in between each others thought but rather you just try. There’s pleasure in trying, and even more pleasure when you can get through at least a little bit. It’s nice to talk to friends and you just get it and things are properly communicated. There's like, beauty in that moment or something lol

jump

I think recently I’ve been blabbering a lot about “feeling the emptiness of my soul”. I think it’s too pretentious so I’m going to be more exact about it. What I mean is that usually I just feel neutral. I don’t feel anything much of the time, unless there is some external situation that creates an emotional response in me. And then time passes and I revert back to my mean emotional state — neutrality. I looked at some news from seven months ago about the Tianjin explosions and I felt sad — for about fifteen minutes. I empathized with their losses and wondered for a moment what they went through. And then I drank a whiskey — it tasted good so it made me slightly happy — for about an hour, and then I reverted back to neutrality. I think it exists — being joyful. Instead of reverting back to my mean neutrality (feeling nothing), reverting back to a mean joy. I don’t think that means to be estastic and happy all the time, because I don’t think such is possible to sustain, like perma-molly, but more like a fulfilled state of satisfaction. Well, it’s what I’d like to believe. I do believe there’s a permanent sense of balance in the world though, so maybe not. I’m having a pretty good time right now though. I’m not even sure if that’s possible for a twenty-something because I literally have jack shit in terms of possessions and my internal self is begging for some external satisfaction like money and chains.

jump

I laugh when things aren’t funny because laughing makes me feel like I’m understanding what people are talking about — and understanding feels good. My contention is that people talk to be understood and people listen to understand. Laughing and smiling is another way to do such, although it has slightly different implications. Some people overly do it (laugh when nothings funny), and I think that’s trying a bit too hard. I catch myself doing it all the time — feeling foolish afterwards if people catch me not really getting the joke and just laughing because I want to look like I understand. I should really stop.. Like I said, i don’t think full understanding is truly possible, so why pretend? Pretending is not awesome, unless you're acting for sport.

jump

Developing a thought on a previous blog post: I don’t think we align with circumstances and just work it out. I don’t know about twenty years of marriage, but I think it’s completely possible to find "the one”. I don’t think it’s a good idea to settle for less. With this hope in mind, we can all be less thirsty people and unpossessive and just have a good time. When I go out with the guys, there’s always some guys that are always trying to pull bitches, and somewhat sad when we don’t pull bitches (because we always end up not pulling the bitches). While it is a good time because it can be fun (also I’ve definitely been that guy before lol), I am now a proponent of awesomeness and that shit is not awesome.

what is love? pt. 3

what is love? pt. 3

the romantic aspect of booty shaking and bosom holding upon the dance floor is finally unveiled to me in a mcflurry of wicked cool moves against each other. at first i hold back because i did not deem my opponent a vicious opponent, cautiously revealing my “dugtrio pelvic grind” as my first move. the constancy and rapidity of the thrusts was like three diglets combined, hence the name, and my opponent although impressed retaliated with formidable force with her move, which she called: “global warming 2016 the death of the pole through friction”. needless to say, i was decimated, but not without resolve to come back much more fervently, much more enthusiastic and dead set at obliterating this foe with my next move.

i wretched the beautiful creature away from me with admirable force (anyone would say) and said in a deep yet soft voice —

preparing hurricane love tornado

shocks from all around the auditorium were felt at the reverberations of this move being rendered into the realm of possibility. “not possible”, “nobody does the hlt” were the whispers hushed across and about the room. like seagulls sensing the upward velocity of bread or crackers upon the shores of time, their eyes migrated towards me as if my aura was the byproduct of thousands of years harvesting the most amazing carbohydrates on earth.

i swiftly planted my hand into the ground, feeling the soft pebbles of dirt amongst the cold darkness of the ground. coiling my body in a spring-like fashion, i prepared to unleash my torpedial energy into the minds of my peers and lover. in a triumphant rage anticipating my foes imminent dance floor demise, my jaws let loose these words:

engage: hurricane passions unleash!!!! ultimate windmill of adoration!

my elbow drops when the beat does, and the synchronization of my foot propelling against the wind of the stuffy basketball court were to be envied by even the sun and moon. lilac pedals of sweat popped into the air like cherry tomatoes into the mouths of healthy youngsters, and the dizzying centripetal force of my windmill was making all the females in a twenty five foot vicinity wet like the small lakes of yosemite which bears find their liquid sustenance. but for them i paid no heed, it was only my foe and lover which i desired to gracefully lap like a hyper animated bear thriving in the caspian sea. was such possible? the moves at my liberty, practiced through weeks and months of devotion to love passion and excersize would choose the verdict.

after completing five extensive circles with my back against the ground, i let the torrents of energy calm with the air of a practiced composer. i settled to an andante and slowly i came to a complete stop, bulbs of sweat slowly erotically protruding from my forehead like snakes in the grass. my vemon had struck and my opponent was not only defeated, but dazzled by my performance. the audience was equally mesmerized by my moves, and i was the black knight of my lover’s desires.

take me! she said! deafening screams of an imaginary gladiator ring exploded through my ears as my succumbed to my dance floors skills.

i am your designated lover for tonight… for life!!

to be continued

buy a house

buy a house

When I stay in LA for too long, I become jaded. I lose grasp of my bigger visions and usually only start focusing on small things while being frustrated how larger goals don’t come to fruition. My spring break just started and so far, I’ve been distancing myself from things that made me feel empty before (internally) and I think I’ve gained a much cleaner, fresher perspective on my life.

I want to buy a house. Most of my friends have already graduated and going full steam with whatever they’re doing, leading busy-non-fuccboi lives. More than inspiring, it was just like a fresh breath of air (not to say I’m leading a fuccboi life.. but I always think I can and should work harder). Also lots of past qualms I had about the stagnant nature of circumstances have been alleviated by just meeting new and interesting people. It’s a reminder to become more awesome on the day to day.

I think the primary reason I become jaded when I stay in LA for too long is that I don’t feel necessarily challenged by my peers here. But in SF all my awesome theories about life and people are either shot down or furiously questioned in the smallest ways, and I’m like what ‘hm okay, let me think about it again and strengthen my observations’. I feel that’s how people should be. Not nagging, but constantly encouraging each other to do better rather than just think, “that’s not bad”. That mentality of “not bad” is probably the worst poison to a 20 something. Like I said, people start aging when they stop growing.

I want to buy a house. Not only because I’m sick of not being able to play loud music without cops and neighbors on my sac in the AM, but for a sense of autonomy. In one sense, out of self-respect for myself, but also our of respect for my parents. I want them to know that they didn’t raise a loser — although I know it’s the mentality they will ever have — I need some results for myself to convince myself of it. I guess that’s my 20 something motivation for cash. I never thought it was something that I really validated in my life but I have a deep hunger in my soul for something. Although I know having a lot of cash won’t change me in the long run in that sense, I need that shallow sense of achievement in order to not lose myself in frustration.

Being hopeful shouldn’t be a state of mind affected by results or progress. It’s more like an intrinsic and deeply rooted philosophy shaped by a person’s general outlook on life and what it means to be satisfied. Often, I catch myself being completely goal oriented, even though I know the actual enjoyment of achieving things matters only in relation to the process of getting there. And although I like to think that I have a positive outlook on future stuff as well having fun in the present, lack of progress is discouraging. Much more discouraging than the opinions of other people; i’ve numbed myself to the criticism in a good way. Spring break will be a good time to reset my jaded and empty perspective on myself and other people.

what is love? pt. 2

what is love? pt. 2

sometimes i need manly tears to affirm that my love is strong, like both the stable log of the redwood tree and the soft and delicate whimpers of joy from a small otter. is this the paradox of love? again my lips are desert chapped, begging for moisture but not burts bees.

i had put on my best dress shirt that night because i knew that anything else wouldn’t make me stand out to you. on the dance floor, i writhe, not dancing, but writhing in agony because i want to be with you. delicately, i see a small figure arise from the darkness of the auditorium, like an angel of darkness being borne out of countless years and schemes of dreams and desires. the other people around you fade away and start swirling around you like the stormy clouds of jupiter around its great red storm. in my heart you are that great red storm.

you are wearing white, untarnished, innocent and gullible. and i start ten feet away from you enraptured by your eyes, stuck in time wondering how to proceed. i want to be your dark knight — to keep you safe from the tyranny of evil men, to stay steadfast with two smoking barrels in my calloused hands protecting you fro those who don’t know who you are.

you look away and i gasp! your hair, floaty and angelic, defies gravity, unlike the gravity which tore me to my knees when i fell for you. and even now, i’m falling deeper and deeper into your aura — not vain or conceited like the others but pure and innocent like a cherry blossom drifting through the aurora borealis of my passions.

uncontrolled and unrestrained passion takes over my legs and i stop my writhing and i walk. steps pulsate against the dance floor thumping against the richter scale of my heartbeat. fast and deliberate every pace is measured. four feet away.. two feet away.. one heartbeat away. tsunamis of fire makes waves against the small towns and villages of my conscious and they are decimated to dust.

h… hey. ahem.

you pretend not to notice, but maybe you weren’t pretending! even so, the deafening stereos around us can’t mute the constant cannonballs thumping against the walls of my lungs. hey! i repeat, louder this time.. more akin to the volume of my heartbeat.

you turn, slow motion. i try to capture your movement frame by frame in real life and again, your straight black hair whips around the air, leaving behind traces of expensive chinese shampoos enter my nostrils like welcomed guests of honor to my olfactory. i suffocate — i literally can’t breathe. because you took my breath away like the silent thief you are. first my attention, then my heart, now my oxygen — what can i do without you, captor of everything that keeps me alive!

your eyes slowly get bigger and although both of us are exploding inside with passions, neither of us smile because happiness is a feeling fit for flings. this was not happy, it was divine and god inspired, just like your face. i always said i liked pale girls that look like foxes, but not like you! you are a white kitsune to the rest of these foul mouthed canines! our hearts and our eyes both dilate and you say:

hey. i.. i..

too slow, my patience wears thin and tense being stretched from galaxy to galaxy from all the moments i spoke to you in my head.  i cut you off:

would you like to dance with me!

the words escaped through the gaps of my teeth before i even knew what i was saying. the rush and torrent of gasp and sighs all condensed into audible words through which the envy and spirit of my love was solidified. the words had been let out and now let the most gorgeous jury in the court of my heart make her vote. i am guilty only of falling in love with you, but my heart is innocent. whether or not you take me as your captive sentenced to your body is a choice only you and god can make alone!

um.. o.. okay.

explosions! deafening screams of joy from my anxious heart crashing through the ceiling of my skull!

the saga continues later

a.p.v

a.p.v

My goal in life is to be as awesome as possible. I think things should be propelled by awesomeness, all the time. If things are not awesome, then the awesomeness of life becomes less awesome. I try to be awesome, but lots of times I'm not awesome because being awesome is not something you try to be but you are. So on a daily basis, through habits and small traumas, I engrain awesomeness into the core of my being, because being awesome is what life is about. Being awesome means being compassionate, being cheerful, being joyful, good to your friends and family, standing up for what you believe in, being kind to people who don't matter  to you, and having overall positive vibes. Super vibes, to be exact. Being arrogant or showing off is not that awesome. Neither is lying or pretending to be someone you're not. Awesome people get along with awesome people as well. So it only makes sense that in order to meet more awesome people, I should grow to be more awesome. The world will be filled with awesomeness and positive vibes then.

I like hanging out with people that have positive vibes. It's not necessarily that they're happy or optimistic or anything, but that the general aura that is emitted it positive and super awesome. I learn from my awesome friends such that I can take some of their characteristics and work them into my personality as well. I want to be awesome so that I can meet more awesome people and do awesome things. Some people are a proponent of same sex marriage, others pro-life or drag queens, etc. but I am a proponent of awesomeness. Positive vibes and super vibes constitute awesomeness. Awesome people make awesome things. Super vibes forever.

daydream

daydream

She leaned her head against the wall, and despite smiling, I caught brief moments of melancholy shining though the dark beads of her eyes. Timid creatures usually have more thoughts going on — maybe an obvious nature of shyness, but it lines up perfectly with the human desire for self knowing. When others don’t tell you who you are, the natural instinct is to search inside for possible elucidations about our true nature, who we are, and other big specific questions dealing with the nature of the universe. But this moment was not one of those moments. It was rather mundane, and filled with the typical daydream delusions of other moments. She was deluded (there was no more accurate word to describe her constant state of paranoia) — tapes of moments just passed constantly passed back in her head, wondering what if and why not over and over again.

It was possible that her melancholy came from these constant realizations of self inadequacy. To her, silence was not favored, just accepted over talking because she didn’t know what to say. And so she was rather timid, but to others, who knew what delusional thoughts ran through her mind all the time! And yet, maybe even mine, because here I am sitting across from her, thinking about what she might be thinking about — just something that moments of silence like this beget. And it’s funny, my observations about other people are always deeply driven by my own vanity. Nothing I do is really ever altruistic by nature. I just want to know her better so that I can understand her better, because understanding feeds my ego, as does difficultly acquired friendships. I don’t know. Writing this, I can only guess what is going through her mind, because she is real and the truth is I don’t know.

This inevitable barrier of true communication is what drives my real melancholy of life. Although for brief moments I can gauge her mind and have our thoughts freely flow between hers and mine, these moments are too short lived to be of any real consequence to affect the solitary nature of being sentient (whilst being limited to only talking and acting). After all, we’re not telepathic and neither does the desire for deep pain and empathy exist for most people. All I have with her are words and actions, and how much can you really communicate with those? A good deal perhaps — when she leans her head on the wall, looking at me with smiling eyes, maybe I can see some sort of sadness behind them, maybe boredom. Or when she talks to me, I can take those words and transform them into stints of understanding through my years and years training to be a empathetic human. An empathetic human — what a joke. It’s true, we don’t have to be always solitary, but most of the times we are, because communication most happens on a physical sonic level. Understanding a person’s heart, the complexity of her soul is something reserved for God maybe. Maybe that’s why he gives us comfort, because we know at least one being in this universe holds the capacity to fully understand who we are.

Daydream delusions running through her mind and mine. I know this because she told me. Maybe we’re not so different after all.

old stream of consciousness

old stream of consciousness

He always told himself, life would be so much more than it is right now, but these thoughts remain perpetually amiss. Every single thought of freedom is eventually drowned by time. They say time waits for no one. It's a sad reality, he told himself, but the sad reality was that he wouldn't do anything to help himself. Maybe in a year, when I'm off and away, then I'll be free. Funny, I heard the same thing four years ago, eight years ago. He started counting his chances in increments of four. He loved the number fourteen till he reached it, loved the number eighteen till it found him in his same purposeless thirteen year old mind, and when that number came, he loved the number twenty one, because it sounded like freedom, but when it came around, he lost interest. Everything was at the wrong time. If only he had been born four years before his interests, yet lived in the present. If his time frame of now was instead four years ago, in a body four years older. Wouldn't that be nice? He wouldn't be afraid to try new things, to talk to that pretty girl at school, to say 'no' once in a while, or to take that rock and throw it at that assholes car. But no, it was a shame he was stuck in the present, and the looming irony was that he was never living for the moment

He takes his heavy head and lifts it out of the dirt. Where is he? It must be a dream, he said, waiting for the presence of hopelessness to fade away. But it didn't nothing so out of place fades away like that. I wonder. Why, what? Well there's an idea, the imbecile says, his conscience taunts him. Where. Okay what a wonderful being you are to have the capability to have such superfluous and philosophical thinking! You are a truly, and utterly honest and amazing human being, much more than the ant swarm below us. I am. No, you aren't, silly. You're nothing.

And if I could play his conscience like a indifferent composer, I would. But I would do so much more than taunt him, because I can get away with everything right? I'm his conscience, I'm him, I'm not me, he's me so he blames himself. Take that back, he doesn't even know how to blame himself, so he lets others blame him for himself, a pleasant trade-off. Oh he's just silly, don't mind his blabbering. I suppose that gives him a colorful excuse to think whatever he pleases and get away with it. At the point where others let you think freely, they call you insane, or demented and twisted. If this was true, I suppose in a way it would be so much better to be demented or twisted amongst that flock of seagulls, the mediocre languid pile of dead Holocaust sheep.

Hey, aren't you someone special? Sarcasm feels so good on paper. He can't really move his body. Am I. What do you think you are? Anything worth anything part of any self loathing any any any? Real? Estate? You can't just throw a sentence out there and expect your conscience to understand. Hey you, you! Go to that fridge and pull out the orange juice. Okay, now drink it. Good, let the pulp drench the sides of your dirty, contaminated throat. Now put it back. Hm, this kinda feels good. He looks, but can't see anything. No, don't look or try to see. He stops. Now.. Go live.

From that day on, he was the happiest piece of flesh on the face of the crusty earth. If only we could do something like that ourselves. Just let that little voice in your head click, and off off you run away, into the beautiful, twisted and mental darkness.

*  *  *

I wrote this five years ago (Jan2011, before graduating high school) and I found it revisiting some of my older writing. It's always interesting reading older stuff because it gives you a window into the person you used to be, and you can judge how much you have changed, or haven't. It was called stream of consciousness.

escape

escape

Escapism for me comes in the form of wanting to escape the emptiness of soul. To do this, I can do one of two things: either fill my soul with permanent solutions — things that bring me a constant state of joy. A real relationship with God for example, and knowing that I have great purpose and hope for meaning. Or I could also escape my soul by ignoring it and actually parting from it. The scariest part about this sort of escapism is that fact that you can actually really escape from the emptiness of soul by parting from it — at least partially. For example, doing drugs and getting plastered. It’s true, I temporarily escape the emptiness of my being by unbecoming myself, but by doing so, I become slightly distanced with who I am. I think a person is most themselves when he or she is sober. This is the constant state of mind of which we are used to and most accurately represent our internal situation. The drunk state, the euphoric state is a situation in which we escape the drollness of sobriety by placing our mindset and shifting our perspective to something different. Honestly, for me, getting drunk is not fun fun. It’s fun because it’s different and I can be a more audacious person and solidify connections with people in more obvious and upfront ways. It’s not fun because it’s fun necessarily, but it’s fun because it’s different from myself — my sober and true self. Different drugs of different calibers take you further from yourself into a places that might not entirely be you.

I think the strongest sense of escape from self is suicide or death. You literally escape by separating body from soul. But you can experience temporary suicide as well, by dissociating yourself so strongly from yourself, that “you” don’t exist as your normal self, at least for a while. In a way it is liberating because you escape, but it comes at the cost of separating from your actual self for a bit. Repeated accounts of this will probably be detrimental for understanding your identity and who you are.

I find relief from stress and mundane routine of who I am on a daily basis by release, temporarily escaping from the dullness of everyday life. But that desire for escape can be filled another way, by realigning my goals for something more substantial and longer lasting than worldly values etc. I don’t want to be a monk, but I also don’t want to be empty inside. I don’t think a compromise exists between those two hyperboles, but there is a way to find inner peace by desiring something greater than conventional goals.

temporary hellos

temporary hellos

Do soulmates exist? Or do we just align with circumstances — affirming an idea that people usually just work out some sort of relationship and even when it’s not perfect (it just works). But where’s that attraction? It seems like relationships tend to lose fire over time, and people say “that’s life” because it happens in every single one. You learn to live with smoldering, but constant state of attraction.

Not sure what I want. Don’t feel any attraction either. I desire female companionship, but at the same time, don’t feel the desire for any real connection either. Understanding is too difficult of a feat right now with all the things I have to do soon that I don’t want to take the time to fully indulge myself in trying. My circumstances right now are boring, and boring circumstances beget boring relationships. My circumstances will change, when that happens, I’m interested in what new things come about.

Many times, we experience “temporary hellos”. You say hello, but it doesn’t mean anything besides the fact you’ve come in contact with another person, at least for a short duration of time. Temporary hellos are okay, because you don’t have to offer any substantial or vulnerable. There’s always a risk of meeting someone incompatible or untrustworthy and that could be draining. But on the other hand, new relationships with people always have positive potential as well. However, these days, I feel like as people get older, putting up risk is overwhelmed by a insincere laziness. I experience this all the time. For example, when I meet someone that has come to LA for a vacation, I will be absolutely uncaring about their life, but fake enough to demonstrate that I’m not entirely apathetic to their circumstance. And it’s cool, I might learn a new fact or something. But overall, I definitely feel that laziness and empty desire for the possibility of new friends. It has not much to do with my satisfaction with my present friends or loneliness, but really just laziness and disinterest in people in general. It’s like I’m trying to meet amazing people — when I myself am not so amazing at all. It’s ironic and it’s disrespectful to other people, really. And the worst part about it is that this sardonic realization doesn’t move my desires or inclinations a hair. I know it and I don’t care.

I guess the extent that it actually affects me is that I want to be a more awesome person. To be frank and conceited (because those usually go together for me), I honestly sometimes think I’m brilliant. But I could be cooler in my own way. Everyone has room to be cooler. On a statistically level, I’ll probably meet people who are in a similar cool range, considering that I’m not talkative or extroverted. I’ll try to expand that range.