02/22/18 Sometimes I dream about what my life could be

Sometimes I dream about what my life could be
I sit and ponder about what I think would make me happy
What I want to do
What I want to accomplish
Where I want to be
Who I want to become


But it all just seems so far away
It seems so unreachable from here
So unattainable from where I sit







To have such lofty goals
Such high ideals and fantasies

It’s a bit much, no?
A bit stressful, wouldn’t you say so?

But i don’t want to stay here.
I don’t want to stay on the ground.
I don’t want to let the sands of time cover me.
Slowly, sedimentary, as I gloss over and fossilize into stone and statue.

Let me be a statue,
But only after I die.

And while I am alive
Don’t let me;
I can.
I will.
I don’t know how I will do it.
I will stunbkle
And I might sprain my ankles
I might twist my legs
And strain my eyes til
I see in wrinkles.

But i’ll get there.

It may be the serotonin and my feelings
That i get when i’m with you, I’m feeling.
It may be the rush of life that comes in seasons
The valley lows and mountain wind that breezes.
It may be my choices and direction
Or the calvinists election.

Who knows?
Who cares?


I just have a real good feeling.


Sent from my iPhone

01/13/18

Sometimes I wish i smoked
So i could stand outside and just think
Without looking like such an idiot.

01/07/18

Maybe i should stop being such a loser
Maybe i should stop being such a sorry piece of crap
Maybe i should stop feeling sorry for myself
And carry on like they want me to be, a real man

What can my friends do for me
When my friends are neck deep in crap
I never asked for this life
I’m too weak to say that i can

I’m too weak to say that i can
I’m too weak to say that i can
My friends are nice to me
And no one is mean to me
They do all that they can

Because all they know is I can
Because I show not what I am
Because I genuinely feel in their presence
That life ain’t so bad

It’s when I’m alone i feel I’m sad
It’s when it’s quiet and i’m left to my thoughts
That I think to myself
I’m just a loser, nothing more than that

Sometimes even when I’m with people
Those thoughts they slip through the cracks
They sneak in through the back
And my mood is tainted with darkness
As i lower the brim of my cap

But what am I to say
What am i to do
I should lift my hands in praise
And give Him all the glory back

I want to cry
I want to scream
I want to break free from this darkness that eats me
Sometimes i want to end it all and just go quietly

There’s a picture in my room
A picture of me, from more innocent days
So young, so pure, so ignorant and unsure
So ignorant and unsure, yet young, so pure

His life full of days
I feel sorry, that I’ve wasted them away
I’m sorry to the little boy
That i’ve made him this way

I want to be happy
I want to scream
And shout for joy because I am happy
Man i’m just so happy
I’m just glad to be me.

I feel sorry to say I can’t do even that
I can’t love myself, or my Lord who never turns his back

My soul is tired from the constant turning
Away from sin, before i go running right back
To the point i become so tired
Of running around the same old tracks

The engine is tired
My wheels are all shat
The paint may be shiny
But my oil is pitch black

I hope that at least
this can help somebody

But for tonight I lie down my head
With my heart turning black.



And this my unrequited
desire, may push away
But fuck it whatever
I’m just poor lonely old me

How can i love her
How can i love anyone
How can me anyone love
When i can’t even love me

I wish all this I could say
But I’m much too damn afraid
I’m scared to say it, admit it
I might scare my friends away

I might ruin the christmas cheer
For Christ or fucking deer
Im not the center of the universe
So please just leave me here

You do it anyways
You click my posts and read
Whoever those numbers are clicking them
They read and maybe shed a tear

They used to leave a like
Maybe a comment
To show they’re on my side(?)

I guess I’m just too weird for them
Too real and unrefined
Too gross and undefined
Unstable and out of mind
Too perverse and too depressed
Too weak, i’ll break their innocence
with tumultuous currents unrepressed

No one approaches me anymore
Because I’m sad too often
Because this life moves forward
So long i’ve been forgotten


I hope that at least
this can help somebody

But for tonight I lie down my head
With my heart turning black.

Thinking, "fuck. this is dark."
But fuck me, it's how I feel,
Maybe who I am.

81\50\10

01/05/18

11/05/17

Clouds

The clouds move high up, and they’re so peaceful

They know not what they do or why they do

But they don’t care or trouble themselves to know

Slowly they’re carried along

As if the clouds themselves move of their own strength

Steady and strong

Unnoticed, they go mostly

Like the stars in the night

Like the passage of the moon in the sky

Or the sun, journeying as it shines

With patience and still observation

One can spot their movement

Their silence thwarted

But they don’t care

They have no agenda

They move with the wind

By the air they’re supported

Like the waves of the sea

Can be calm

Can be mean

Like the land on the sea

So massive they go unseen

I see my former student pass me by

And we make contact

A quick matching of our eyes

I look away without thought

But turn back to him as he’s gone

Does he recognize me without hair

Without glasses does he care

It’s too late to say hi

His name escapes me

Joseph, justin? My excuse hidden in insecure pride.

I’m not a cloud, but a man

Not nearly as big, but I am

Bigger than life i could be

Because my lord has called me

What i should do, I don’t know

But the wind is always blowing

And i’m stuck in this rhythm of rhyming

This pattern in my writing

Can i break free and make my own path

With the Lord in his own plan

Will he carry me like the wind

The clouds bring me peace

I welcome them they bring shade from the draining onslaught of heat.

As i sit alone in this busy cafe

Full of people full of Gods grace

I’ll rest in you

knowing there are better days

back here again

my man, he always told me

if ever i feel lonely

man, just go down to stereoscope

and you'll find your future lovely

but i know life is so much more than ladies

it can be so much more creative

theres so much more that's waiting

to be discovered and made

i know i'll make it

but for now i feel so stuck and lazy

probably because i'm lazy

and i waste my time just thinking

of why we have these feelings

i feel that life could be so easy

a thought that only comes by feeling

but that's what make this life so crazy

what gives our life some meaning

what makes us different is feeling

and thinking and making, creating

anyways, 2 cute girls started playing with brownie

and just for a moment i felt like i was popular

thanks dcho

thanks brownie

KBYE

05/24/17 @ stereoscope again

How many roses til the stairs lead to flight
how many doses til I can reach the light
how many flowers til the hour
when I no longer need to fight

how many days til the days don't fade
how many ways til we find our way
how many blades have to fade
til the world seems right

how many nights til I don't feel 'lone
how many rights til I forget my wrongs
how many why's til I don't care why
and I can sleep at night

I don't know why it rains
to pour on the grass
and to pour on the homeless
I don't know why it shines
to warm up the cold
and wick away life

how many roses til a grave leads to life
and I can smile again inside?

05/12/17

I keep thinking about Roxy. I keep thinking about her all the time.

I keep thinking about the moment I found her in the middle of the road. My baby. My poor baby. Gone. My precious Roxy, now just a nuisance, strewn across the road, and no one cares, just to not dirty their shoes. I've picked up my baby many times. Warm, full of life, moving, curious. Now just cold, stiff, pressed into an unnatural shape, lifeless, with pieces in the wrong place.

I keep thinking about the moment we buried her. My baby. My poor baby. At least now she can rest. There's nothing nice about the moment. My cat, only a few hours ago, so curious and rambunctious, always ready to play. Now, I lay her to rest. Put away in a hasty hole forever, not nearly deep or wide enough to contain all that she was. But I guess that's why now she goes in and never more out. Because she's already left. And that's why there's no comfort or joy in being there. Just a reminder of her who's no more.

I keep thinking of what must have happened that night, that morning when she passed. I can't help feeling it's partially my fault. If only I didn't go out that night. If only I left my mom's bedroom door open before I left, so she could have had someone to sleep next to. If only I locked the door tight so she didn't wander off. If only I closed the gate a few days before. I wonder if I was the reason she tried crossing the road, on her way home after hearing me call out to her. I wonder when it would have been. While I was at the beach? When I got back home? While I was asleep? When I was outside looking for her in the late morning? Would she still be here if I didn't sleep in a little longer? These are the useless thoughts that fill my days and nights. Useless wanderings that can't bring her back.

I don't like being home, because it reminds me of her. I don't like driving, because every time I go or return, I see that hill where she lay cold. I consciously avoid it, right next to the once happy home. There's no Roxy to be ignored by when I leave and say bye. There's no one to surprise me with a hello when I open my car door. The door creaks open, but no one's there when I look down; just the wind making its way through the quiet corridors of the house. There's no Roxy to wake me up, ready to eat or play or be let out. There's no Roxy to force me into an awkward pose as she sleeps on my bed at night.

I know she's gone. I know that she had her short time, and as unfortunate as it was, it came to an end. I know that she was a good cat, made good and held by God til the end. I know that she loved me and the rest of us, even though our faults, because we loved her. And even though I don't want to , I know that I'll her think about her less as time goes on, because life goes on.

I just miss my baby,

Roxy.

10/11/16

10/09/16

Deleted my Facebook account.

I really mean it this time (lol).

Had to dig through Facebook's website to find the "Permanently delete your account" feature. They want to keep you oh sooo bad. "______ will miss you." lol. I'm still alive bruh. What is this suicide? If they miss me, that means they don't see me. If they don't see me, that means they don't want to, or they can't.

Deleted my Snapchat account as well. And Instagram.

All is well with these companies. Social media isn't bad. People make it bad. I make it bad for myself.

Maybe one day I'll etch a picture onto the walls of my cave to let my loved ones know that I have given up electricity and agriculture.

tl;dr: I'm so self-aware, look at me not looking at your pictures. Blah blah hipster self-aware, lowkey want attention look at my blog. I wonder if anyone will even see this now.

10/4/16

Many things race through my mind.

[...]

If I am made by God, and he knows me, then he can make me happy. But I lack faith these days.

I remember the days I would look around in wonder and be amazed at life: where I am, how I am, the perfect puzzle of life that just flows, even if we broke it.

The absurdity of life, the arbitrariness of it all. How skin deep the things we hold onto are. How everything is so just because the real main character of life wanted it so. He wanted to write a story, and we're the characters he wrote. How real and immediate our fiction seems: a story written by the highest hierarchy of authorship and creation. Perhaps it is real; as real as real can be.

It's liberating at the same time as it is... disabling. To know that nothing in this life matters past a certain degree, where our roles as characters inside the story end.
But if God is real and his words are real, then truth matters no? That's kind of redundant. lol. When heaven and earth pass away, all the shallow things we hold onto, his word shall still remain as the only reality.

So I guess the opposite is true as well. That this life does matter to a degree, and even beyond that: that what we do in this life matters.

I'm a philosopher. I'm a photographer. Shout out to Shane Dirty.

8/31/16 When Your Pastor Says, "Don't Share Your Testimony Like It's A Selfie."

FJC Library 11am

As soon as you think it'll be better and you take a step in the right direction, you say fuck this.
And you don't wanna bottle it up, but you just do it anyways.
And you don't wanna be sad anymore, but you think happiness is foolish too.
And as the days pass you by, you find yourself having more moments where you just want to cry,
But you don't wanna be a bitchass so you just get mad and pretend like it's any better.
And you just get up in the morning because you're tired of sleeping, but there's nothing to do so you just write some bullshit in your planner so you're not just staring at the ceiling all day.

I look at my cats and I really think God is trying to get a hold of me through them.

Like when I think about Mochi, as I think about him a lot these days. And I think about how scared he must have been. How much he must have hurt. How cold and hungry he must have been. How much he must have wanted to come home, but he was too scared to do so. How much I hate that fucking cat across the street that probably killed my Mochi.
But it's not just Mochi that hurt. Who was his father? How much I wanna cry at times when I remember him, both tears of sadness and joy.

And I look at Roxy. And every time it's past sunset and she hasn't come home yet, I worry for her. And I think about how happy she is; purring, flipping over with her belly to the sky, feeling safe and at home. How every morning, she's waiting, meowing, biting and digging her claws into my feet for me to get my lazy ass out of bed so I can play with her. And how happy she is to be with me. But is it just her? No. I'm just happy to be with her too.

EDIT: Making friends at school is really hard. I want friends, but not bad enough to force myself to talk to new people. Kinda need to though, ya know.

I'm very awkward these days. I was walking downstairs into a hallway. I looked around out of curiosity, and caught a glimpse of a girl who was in my guitar class last semester. As I turned to continue on my way, I heard her say from behind, "Hey!"
Shit. So I turned around and pulled my, "Huh? Did someone call me?" face.  You know, scanning the room, looking confused for maybe a split second. "Oh, heyyyy! Wassup?" Really not in the mood to make small talk and make new friends, but don't wanna be an asshole.
Long story short, I didn't have much to say, she didn't have much to say. We both went to Sunny Hills. Pretty crappy conversation. Lots of awkward pauses filled with cringing faces. Looked at my phone and pretended I had somewhere to be and got the hell out of there.

Bye!

7/23/16

red sun red sun red sun

Saw my friends. It was a short time, but very needed, and very helpful.
I did want to write about something else, but after thinking about it in the shower, overall, I feel differently.


Overall, I feel a monotony in our lives.

Like when we're sitting around the fire, and none of us can talk.
We're all thinking something. Why can't we just say it?

This whole time, I did not hear a single thing about Jesus. I did not see a meeting of Christians after the heart of Christ. I saw a meeting of a group of friends who do Christian things and go to church.

It makes me sad. Like, it's not bad that we had a good time. It was fun. But it was... shallow... leaving more to be desired.

I thought about it while we were in the car. If we're not to talk about Jesus, then the only things left to talk about are so shallow. I don't like small talk. Even with my closest friends. Small talk is fine. fun. good enough. normal. But... it's just empty fluff after the fact.

It was really nice to see everyone, but I can't help but feel unproductive, shallow. That's my perspective; from someone who hasn't been involved.

Everyone just seems tired, letting each step clunk down clumsily on the path they walk because... because... kicking up dust. Wanting more.

7/22/16

어떻게 해야아면 좋을까요
그만 좀 말을 시키지는 마요
정말 지겨워

할말 다했어 뭐 또 필요하니
사랑한다면 나를 꼭 안아줘
아픈 날 찔린 말
화가 나서 그래

Life is made of choices
Everyday you choose to live
Or die according to your preferences
It's a game it's inane we end up dying anyways
And right and wrong is vindicated by the one
Whom we're created by
So you can try to judge me
And even if you're right you know that you can't touch me
내가 잘못했단걸 인정할게
과거를 넘어가자 니 앞가림이나 잘해

Cos I'm flying I'm flying higher than I've ever been
And you can try to tell me different It's irrelevant
I'm doing what I want
I'm writing my music and spitting these lyrics
I ain't tryina please you so I ain't gon listen
Yeah I'm trying this out making my own beats
Cos I'm tired of copies 모든거 똑같이
And you can take a listen but I ain't giving any lessons
I ain't fronting to be something that I'm not
So I'll confess and say

난 요즘 너무 외로워
그래도 돌아가기 너무 늦었어
제발 누가 나를 좀 도와줘

I'm not sorry for falling, sorry
I'm not sorry for failing you again
I'm sorry you feel that way

Confused? Yeah I'll tell you who's confused
요즘 집에서 안 나오고 속마음을 담은 곡 이유 있겠지
난 어디를 가도 고갤 못 들고
혹시 누가 나를 알아보겠지 그게 두려워
난 책임을 다 달아나 버렸지만
오히려 난 여유가 없어지고 나인듯 desaparece
많아지는 파리세끼처럼
햇갈리게 하는 고민도

Why I'm always at Stereo
Scoping out the ladies based on their exterior
I'm wasting my time telling myself I'm fine
Doctor check my vital signs
And tell me everything will be alright
Be alright be alright be alright
요즘 말을하기 지겨웠던 be alright
Be alright be alright

아마 나만
나만 거짓말 속에 속이진거야
그럴거야 그래 이제도 그래

I'm not sorry for falling, sorry
I'm not sorry for failing you again
I'm sorry you feel that way

7/12/16

Writing lyrics is hard. Especially when you have no content in your life to write about. I don't understand the people who write themed music, stories made out of thin air on a whim. If it's not me, I can't write it. What is there to write?

Writing lyrics is damn hard. The last time I wrote good lyrics was when I journaled. So screw this fake ass, people pleasing, mainstream lyrical content I've been trying to do the past couple weeks.
To go against everything I've just written above, here is a lyric from Beenzino.

I’m unique So unique
I’m so busy I’m being myself
난 흑인 백인도 아니지
I’m busy I’m being myself
I’m unique So unique
I’m so busy I’m being myself
난 외계인 이계인도 아니지
I’m busy I’m being my

Wow. So deep.

It's nice to see people.

I also hate it, because we all know wassup.

뻔한 "How are you doing?" "I'm doing okay."

I write all my shit on my blog; how the fuck do you think I'm doing.
Spare me. I don't hate you. I just hate the small talk.
It's not even that I think it's your small talk, 'cos that's as far as I'm willing to go too.
So spare me. Just tell me you've been praying for me. And if you haven't, don't worry, 'cos I'm not.
Do you really expect me to just say "My life is a mess. Please help?" There's a reason I'm not around: I don't want your help. Actually, I just want it gone.

I'm not recharged by unexpected encounters. I feel a heavy sadness come over me, like the painkillers have worn off. It's my family's last dinner altogether, but I can't even put on a smile or crack a joke. I just look past their faces to the table where my two friends are sitting, hiding behind their heads, wondering, the lonely boy I abandoned, secretly if they're talking about me when I'm not around.



What did the prodigal son feel when he ran away from his home? Maybe the same. Seems like he didn't give two shits. Maybe the reason why he partied so hard was because he gave ten shits actually. Because he regretted it so much, but his pride said it was too late to turn around, so he drowned his depression with pussy and prescriptions.

I must say:

I'm not really sorry, but I wanna go back.
I'm not really interested in the kingdom right now

But I do miss its people

I wanna go back, but I'm not really sorry.
That's why you don't see me around.

It'd be nice if, if I go back, you pretend like poor me, poor confused soul, I did nothing wrong.
But I would rather the just reaction be and you hate me. It would only be right.

So please, until I beg and plead, I implore you to hate me if I've made your life harder than it already is. Maybe it's the only way I'll learn how fragile your hearts are.

I don't hate any of you all. But the reverse is true. I don't truly love any of you all.
No. I'm not a saint. No. Not by any means.

I don't know what love is. Can I say I love myself? I don't consider self-love love. And no, I don't think I do. Would I be living my life the way I am if I did?

If every day is filled with a thousand thoughts, nine-hundred of them are yours.

7/3/16

It's been a while.

It's been a while since I've journaled as well.

Rather than journal in a diary style, where I vomit every unprocessed, unfiltered thought onto my poor moleskin journal, I've been directing myself towards writing lyrics and melodies. Like I said earlier in one of my entries, personal dirt seems more acceptable if it's supported by good vibes. Hmm, maybe cuz people don't care much what lyrics say as long as it's lit.

I'm enchanted by the way combinations of frequencies can make me feel a type of way, a way that words alone can only do so much to try. Sorrow, glee, indifference, tension, sw4g.

5/21/16

Been working on a couple of songs.

I was looking through all the obscure recordings I made on my phone and I found this. Very unsettling and weird to be ministered to by your old self. (1/19/2016)

Not a finished or completed or thought-out song by any means. I would sometimes set my phone to record during worship to catch any musical ideas.



I wonder what happened to that boy singing, that would always be walking on sunshine, pockets full of sunshine, with a joyous smile.

I hope to see him again someday.

5/14/16

This entry is about this entries.

As my journaling has transitioned into a public blog, I wonder more about the nature of public oversharing in a hyperconnected age.

I started this project of oversharing as a therapeutic and expository way to overcome my stifling self-conciousness and pretense. I did not intend for such openness to be interpreted as validation or condonation for my thoughts or feelings. Such as David is found many times to grieve in the psalms, or as we are often encouraged to come just as we are to church and before the Lord, I too sought to radically break down any false notions of the OC Korean-American Christian facade I may have been reinforcing and perpetuating through my own life. The elephant in the room that we all know is there, but are often too scared to point out once the music stops and the sobering cool lights are pushed back on.

But whatever my intentions were, perhaps they weren't enough to affect the reality of this blog project. I feel that as honest as my posts have been, they have been soberingly depressing. Like I mentioned in my previous entry, the general structure of my posts have been: complaints, cynicism, sin, defeat. With the exception of the first two posts, my posts display a general stagnation of repentance and hope. Not a decline. I feel that these posts at least help me to reflect and analyze my heart, maybe like analyzing a crime scene. The violence has already occurred and damage has been done. But we can trace our steps and try to figure out how the scene played out and how we've arrived here.

But that's as far as crime scene investigation reaches. This is a diagnosis, not the prescription. It's like, "Oh hey! Look at that, I've been stabbed!" and then bleeding out all the way to the coroner for him to examine the stab wound to identify what kind of blade may have been implicated, and then crawling back to the location of the assault where a crime scene investigation has been established.

Call the paramedics. Go to the hospital. Go see a doctor. Make sure you don't die first and then you can figure out your life if you still have it.

There are many more things on my minds. Things floating at the water's edge and things I have to fish for. But a combination of hesitating reserve and fatigue cuts this time short.

Oh, and that fatigue is purely phsyical. Not an existential fatigue. I'm just tired. I ran 4 miles out of nowhere today. There is a God.

5/13/16

Even journaling seems kind of pointless now.

As I was sitting in worship service today, P. Joe was talking about Job. He mentioned the desire in this lifetime, the dukkha (for lack of a better English term), or dissatisfaction with the world; the intuition that this world leaves more to be wanted. Like I mentioned in a previous entry, this life sucks. All of creation is groaning

But this is where I'm stuck. I'm not really living in the conviction that there is an eternity, past this life, that is ruled and judged by God. I'm in a passive cycle of feeling a little better after talking to people, journaling, or reading the Word and immediately questioning the reality of it all and feeling indifferent out of a lack of conviction and subsequent motivation.

And maybe this is why journaling seems pointless: because I don't have an appropriate application for it in an eternal mindset. Plus, so far it's been mostly wallowing in self-pity and criticism, and no one likes to read that. I'm sure that as my journaling becomes a communal reading, people become bored of a character stuck in the slums of self-pity, never taking the initiative to rise above his circumstances becoming an icon of inspiration and writing a story of victory. No. So far my public story is pretty sad.

I do have genuine apologetical questions and reservations about Christianity. Whether seeking epistemological answers is only a distraction or can really help me come to terms with overly dramatic, extistential teenage doubt, I don't know.

The people I've talked to said that they're not particularly worried about me, that I seem to still be on the right track. Hmm... we'll see.

Here's a beautiful, haunting song. Bach's "Chaconne". Bach wrote this piece for solo violin around 1718, after returning home from a trip and finding that his wife had passed away while he was gone.

Part 1

Part 2