A thought on alcohol

I have this notion that people become addicted to alcohol because people want to experience something genuine and true.

Alcohol lowers and diminishes inhibitions.  This causes people to overstep their self-prescribed boundaries to express themselves more liberally.  Alcohol leads groups of people to forget about insecurities to generally have a good time together.

What people become addicted to, I think, is the condition of genuine closeness they feel with other people, but they project this desire for human relations onto the alcohol since it's the alcohol that catalyzes these events.  It's like loving the gasoline because we enjoy a nice car ride through the city or the countryside-- it's a displaced feeling of gratitude; we appreciate the connection, but we hold the alcohol responsible.

However, the alcohol does nothing but bring to the surface what we feel and desire.  The more alcohol, it seems, the less inhibited, and so the more likely that a person will act on their immediate feelings-- no matter how untrue those feelings may seem in a bigger context.

A group of strangers may find themselves acting in every way like friends after a few drinks one night, but upon meeting again in a sober environment, they are again seemingly distant, as if all the conversations of that night had been nothing but an act encouraged by the alcohol.  But what I think is that-- it is the night that had been genuine, and the ensuing awkwardness the act, put on by the insecurities and distance that people carefully construct around themselves.

But then that leads to the question.. why is it that we even need a social tool to catalyze circumstances into becoming mellifluous?

The only other place I've seen such carefree socializing with such personally genuine conversations in large groups has been... a church.  I think people crave alcohol because they crave truthful interactions without the weight and hindrance of insecurities.  And churches have been the only other places I've really ever seen that.

Well, at least that's what I think, anyway.

The Mic

I've definitely come to terms with the fact that I'm not good enough to really go anywhere with rap, but there's something inexplicably enticing about the mic.  I do it, literally, just to do it.  It's so much effing FUN to simply... create.

I listen to a song and I think to myself something along the lines of "Oh, it would work well if, according to the drumbeats and that bass, if words were said like this."   And what does any man want to do when one becomes so inextricable from a driving idea?  We go after it.

I admit that nothing comes out ever the way I wish it did, and I know that has a lot to do with my lack of equipment and knowledge of the process.  But it feels good to just see how it came out, and I only share because I don't know what else to do with it after I finish.  I know it's not a grand scale aspiration, but when writing one line at a time, and upon meeting the mic, I just forget everything in my life to focus.

And that just feels good.

littlest things

16bars

Intercept the approaching steps it’s like i haven’t slept

my life the widow wept as it rises at an alarming rep

the frequency of the expectancy patience thrown back to sea

searching with no heed that their hearts lack their eyes to see

Sick notes in my headphones intrude my life like they own

the zephyrs that trembles the petals in this sea the meadow

my body the dead owns nerves fire but the mood is mellow

i leave the world that i know to float away a la maison

지금까지 알고있니? 조봐 너의 아품까지

도망가기 나의취미 이잰 악마와 대화하기..

근대 나는 생각 많이 하며 행동은 없지안니

날 위해서 내려온 비 끝이없이 한숨하지..

The blueprint lies within me yes the rising castle in the sky

And the ghost that roams freely only just now passed me by

It’s no matter if it sees me Imma make this thoughtful castle rise

As long as that I’m still breathing Imma work this failing heart of mine

peaceeee

Balanced (After)Math

Is it not true that this known universe can be mathematically explicated?

Even the elusive emotions are just responses to the level of chemicals in our bodies.  These chemicals are so present because of atoms and molecules that, by chance, bonded together due to a quantum balance of electrons on the subatomic level.

Anyone familiar with mathematics can tell you that it is seemingly chaotic; what, with all the sums, products, factors, fractions, variables, functions, imaginary numbers, etc., it is presumably a crazy world, especially knowing that it can be so explicated by it all.

But then-- anyone who is well-acquainted to mathematics can tell you that in the (for a lack of better words) aftermath, there is balance.  Equations, through the numbers, functions, symbols-- there is a solid and definite balance, unchangeable due to its definition.  If it does not compute, if it does not equate, then it simply does not exist but in theory.

And if this world is able to be mathematically articulated...

The implications are relentless.  The seeming chaos, the apparent craziness of it all, is just the equation, the formula, and somewhere-- somewhere out there, there is a cosmic equal sign.  And on the other side of it?

The answer.

Do Battle

And so it comes to this.  I feel that I am fighting this battle every moment of everyday.  And there is never a clear indication of whether or not there is any progression in any direction.  The battle is ongoing that it is merely a ritual of everyday life, and if it were ever to end, that in itself would be more cause for alarm than the result of the battle.

But at some point I have to stop to consider the expense with which it comes to wage such a war.  What kind of toll is it having on my body and mind?  The effects are at best mild with rare episodes of extremity, but when charted on a timeline, and considering the efforts wasted sustaining the battle, then it begins to seem that... that... there could've been so much more.  So much more.

But it seems such a loss to let go of it, as if the battle itself is what I seek rather than the allure of victory with which a warrior plunges into battle.  But it seems that there is no true battlefield, but, rather, a place of reflection; a shameful place between reproach and addiction; a stagnant area of my being where it seems a waste to lose, but equally a waste to win; it is a place for consideration and speculation on my morals and soul without decision; a place of meaning but without consequence; a place characterized by hesitance.

Kit-- don't let this poison what good you might happen to possess.  If there be any courage and honor in you, harness it.  Whatever energy that goes into holding up the rock that is your opposition, let it drop, and then focus all your being into fixing all that can be fixed in the aftermath.  Otherwise, you are stuck in this cycle that can't even be called perpetual because no kinetic energy touches it, for you are simply not moving.

Let yourself be free-- and, as you drift slowly towards the heavens, grasp onto reality with your gaze still fixed above, so that it is the real you touch, but the surreal you feel.

Consider five parallel lines, and how mundane they are as they stretch onto infinity.  Consider how boring repetition is when its done over and over.  But then- consider those five lines, and then consider the notes with which they are filled, and consider then the music that those mundane lines inspire.  Consider the same occurrence that repeats without a change, just as night and day, and then consider the possibility of possibilities with which each day can be lived.

Do that, Kit-- take the mundane and repetitive, and create.

Wish

The world glistens as if the morning dew signified the dawn of a new era.  Our globe is enveloped by a comforting haze, a most inviting mist, and we all hug ourselves a little tighter, not out of any fear, but for the comfort that exists without as it manifests within.

Things slow down to a glorifying crawl, and the clock owns no importance at this time.  There is nowhere to be than where we are, and to go anywhere would be purely out of whim, a magnetized pull of the soul in a general direction.

Our hopes and dreams will be realized, and there would be no conflict of dreams because we would all hope for the same thing.  Somehow, life would breathe as we breathe, and we would match its rhythm as it inhales and exhales in perfect content.

That's what I wish.

Break Through

It may seem that Fate has a sense of humor in this way, playing with our hearts in this manner, presenting situations that coincidentally reflect the gravest mistakes of our past, but then one must realize that it is not Fate's humor, but God's compassion that brings these situations about.

God sees our weaknesses reflected in our past mistakes, and he finds sympathy in our weaknesses-- but just as the wisest parents adore to see their children become better people through their experiences, God wants to see us triumph as well.  And so he presents us with these repeating circumstances so that we may learn from them and break out of the cycle, to rise out of the ashes as the same person with stronger character; he sets the stage with obstacles just so that we may overcome them.  Because, in the end, isn't it our own opinion that judges that we are not strong enough?  Isn't it ourselves who cross that fateful line into incompetence, ourselves who make the decision to allow the environment to go ahead of us, and we fumble closely behind?

Yes, somewhere inside, we allow ourselves to be convinced that we are separate from the world around us, and that it moves faster than us.  But it's only in hindsight that we see that we were as much a part of the scene as was every other component, and we realize how we should have carried ourselves; but these realizations were very capable of being grasped at the very instant that they refer to, it's just that we are too preoccupied with how badly we are conducting ourselves in said situation, and it becomes an instantaneous self-fulfilling prophecy.

I fit; therefore, I don't

And so it seems that I've become that age where I find myself relative to society.  Even with no effort, I find that I am already a part of it, but if I don't show an initiative, I'll gain an undesirable place in it all.  So I've found that I have proclivities and talents which may serve me well.  However, I have become somewhat distraught by the prospect of things.

I know I have to take part in society, but I'm hating that I'm beginning to identify myself with it.  I'm beginning to see that my values are unconsciously being compromised to fit society's much better, but then that would mean that much of what is original about me is being relinquished.

The ironic thing about society is that it compels you to take and take and take to build an identity around it, and then this, somehow, is supposed to make you feel unique or original.

And the dangerous thing is that I find myself absent-mindedly buying into it.  It's at those moments when I catch myself doing this that I have the most internal conflict and anxiety-- cuz then I start thinking that I don't measure up, and I have to recall the basis of my confidence to keep from falling into a deeply vain trap.

Mathematically articulate?

It still confounds me that math exists.


Truly, if we evolved into the intelligence that we have, and we stumbled onto numbers, and then we "realized" that the universe could be explained by them, and then that there were things about the universe that we couldn't explain except through math... Well, did we find math or did math find us?  Isn't it true then that we are merely parts of the equation of this all-consuming math?


But then we'd be that part of the equation that is aware of itself... Or is that simply the function, neither transcending nor affecting the equation beyond our mechanically infused capability, an f(x) in this world of axes?  Even if we were to burst out of the system, wouldn't we have been mathematically inclined to drive ourselves through that wall?


What the hell is mathematical inclination, anyway?  A proclivity to do what we were programmed to do?  That we were to "change" when we were really just programmed to since the beginning, only seemingly spontaneous, but really, it was just supposed to happen like that anyway?  Like how puberty in a child seems sudden and eventful, when, really, it's a manifestation of the coding of our genes?


And, what the hell am I doing wearing this ugly green shirt?  WAS I SUPPOSED TO?  This morning, in a mathematical sense, being that this green shirt was the least worn of my shirts, and because my hand, distance-wise, was that much closer to this shirt than the other shirts I haven't worn much, I seized it and went on to look like a DOUCHE for the rest of the day?


Was I mathematically inclined to look ugly today!?

As the sky and the ground

Sometimes we can find out great truths about ourselves by considering those things that we do unconsciously.  Those things that we do without even thought must mean they are automatic and, therefore, innate within our nature.  This can reveal things about ourselves, but then, it can go further to show us how we relate to our environment as well.

When things are stable or certain, our hands tend to face their palms down and seemingly pat the ground in front of us.  We may not bend down to literally touch the earth, but we motion it in the air.  Or we signify it when we're talking to someone to calm down from anger or excitement.  We refer to the earth when we want to signify stability- that is, "grounded".

The universal sign for questions or uncertainty is hands open and palms up to the sky.  We may further signify it by raising arms or shoulders to the sky before dropping them back down, i.e. a shrug.  The sky, and all that it contains, is vastly unknown, and, therefore, it signifies instability for us.

However, instability doesn't always have to own a negative connotation- it offers the chance for change, hopefully for the better.  To submerge into the unknown and to break the surface with something better exemplifies what it means to live.  Doesn't achievement prompt us to throw our arms into the air?  It's because achievement steps out of the unknown as something favorable.

So, stability may be good, but it is not all.  We feel most alive when we plant our roots in novel soil, and we flourish.

Meet me there

The greatest thing ever done is probably the most well-kept secret.  The very fact that such a groundbreaking event is kept a secret is what probably makes it the greatest thing ever done.  The moment it's discovered, its myth becomes reality, and it'll fall in line with all things mainstream, and that pretty much destroys any chance of it retaining the title as the greatest thing ever done.

I'm just rambling because I realized that social media brings to light so many things, and certain videos and articles blow up overnight.  Thus, it drives me a bit crazy to think that there may be things out there that haven't ever surfaced, that there are things that I do not own the potential to know.  If something is on the internet, at least there's the chance that I'll see it, and I get to sleep well at night- not so for those things that are not yet filmed.

So we live in a world that thrives on knowledge, and the thirst for exposure is overwhelming- but doesn't that mean that we've created a new boundary, that we've drawn a new line?  There's the world that is tied to media and the internet, whereas there's an entire world that cannot be touched by the eye of the camera, a world that thrives simply because it is not exposed, one that must be experienced rather than seen.  And that drives me crazy.  I have to go find it.

Meet me there.

Thanks for reading.

JUST A DREAM

YUH YUH..

I DON'T KNOW THESE EMOTIONS, I WAS BOASTIN THE IMPORTANCE

OF MOST OF THESE MOTIONS MOVING TOWARDS THE COORDINATES

THE DESTINATION OF MY DREAMS, BUT I'M SO OVER THESE FORTUNES

ANY MORE OF THESE LOSSES AND I'LL STAY ON MORE OF THESE VERSES

MAN THESE HORRORS ARE THOUGHTLESS, NO HEART ON THE ROSTER

DON'T WANNA OVERWHELM THE PRINCESS I'D BE DAMNED IF I COST HER

FLASHING LIGHTS IN MY CHEST CAVITY CAN IT BE THEY WEAKEN WITH AGE

MY HEART IN THE SPOTLIGHT SINGS ITSELF OUT, I'M RUSHIN THE STAGE

QUIET BEHIND CLOSED CURTAINS BUT THE SHOW STARTS AND I SHINE

THE BASS IN MY HEART BETRAYS MY FEARS BUT EY, THEY AIN'T MINE

WITH IMPATIENCE I BAIT TIME I'M TIMELESS BRUH WHEN I CREATE LINES

THESE FLOATIN CHANCES WITH BOTH THESE HANDS WHEN I FIGURED THAT FATE LIES

PULL ME OUT WHEN I'M LOST IN THINGS, I NEED ONLY JUST A STREAM

I'LL MAGNIFY JUST A GLEAM INTO A THOUSAND BEAMS SO WATCH ME BLING

FALL TO MY KNEES TO CRY OUT FOR HONESTY, IF THERE'S SUCH A THING

A SMILE ON A FACELESS CROWD, I SMILED TILL I WOKE UP TO JUST A DREAM

DEUCES.

A Note to Self

Dear Kit,

What is the matter with you?  Confidence is rooted in the inside.  Patience, my heart, for all things come in good time; anticipation makes for a truly fortified beginning.  Be a man and accept the things you cannot change; only then will you readily see the things that can be affected.  The stronger the grip, the quicker the loss, so do not coerce, but, rather, guide.  Be warned that it will truly test patience, but the rewards will be abundant.  True strength comes from within, remember?

Kit, I know that you believe you are strong enough, but you are not.  I don't say this in the hopes of discouraging you, but, rather, to fully encourage you into lighting the passion again, to once more reach for the stars and wrap your fingers around something brighter.  Remember the peace in your heart?  The strength that you felt, reinforced by the passion that burned?  However, the candle does not light itself; rather, you must let the hands of a higher power envelop you.

Kit, I acknowledge your potential, but remember that potential amounts to absolutely nothing unless it is cultivated.  The seed feeds no one, but its fruits allude to the hope of alleviating hunger.  Hope is good, but let it spill into the world as something definite and concrete.

One cannot fight fire with fire; one must flood the flames.  Produce water, Kit.

I digress

My thoughts enter in a flurry, picking up and haphazardly throwing around the things of my world in its wake.  The crevices of my mind have made themselves known today- they're incessant.  They aren't unwelcome- perfection is unsettling, and mankind marvels at blemishes, swoons over imperfections that make a thing seem the work of a genius.  My thoughts, however, give me no satisfaction of such notions- rather, they are intrusive today.  They aren't unwelcome, but they are unfriendly nonetheless.  Most of the time, I acknowledge them, but nothing more.  My stride does not change, there are no manifestations of them in my world save the purposeful avoidance of such things that would innocently bring up those thoughts.  Ironically, they are already brought up if I am to avoid them.  But it doesn't matter, I work to avoid the consequences.

But what does avoidance accomplish?  It does well to fight back the early pricks of anxiety, but it concretely adds up to nothing.  Energy is lost to gain nothing.  Shouldn't all things work to produce positivity rather than to stifle the opposition?  Wouldn't the exercise of the former yield the latter?  No matter.  I guess I try to fight back certain thoughts because I find them inconsequential and a waste of time.

But they come in a flurry.  There's no way to distinguish one as distinct, there are so many that they can only be counted as one, collective and related.

My thoughts are who I am, I'm sure.  I don't deny them; honestly, I believe I embrace them, only long enough to do them justice as a part of me, a sub-clause in my definition, but how I deal with them also defines me.  I can't help who I am; at the same time, I can.  These paradoxical notions of my identity color my canvas, finding balance in the most complex of ways.

To struggle is beautiful.  It is life-giving, it is a blessing.  The sublime exposes the underbelly, but then we realize that it is all the same organism.  Like the booming city, with all its color, its vivacity, its important people, there are those unseen who work in the shadows of the glamorous that make the glamorous possible. To struggle is to escape despair.  Despair comes in the wide gape of idleness, and it paints a scary world for those who peek.  The world reflects the nature of a person's thoughts.  If one is idle, what hope can come from a stagnant world, so conveyed by a stagnant mind?

So you may wonder where the beauty lies.  Beauty is meant to be appreciated, and we can all see that the fabric beauty of the commercial world is meant for nothing other than appeal.  Beauty, when it enters the mind, is supposed to awe.  And so, where is beauty in the struggle, in the dark underbelly of the appealing beast?

It is in hope and faith.  A struggle is only a struggle when one works in a progressive direction.  One doesn't even need to move in that direction, just at least intend it.  To see the light of hope in a place where despair seems imminent is, I think, awe-inspiring and beautiful without question- because struggling is literally the act of hoping.

Thanks for reading.

Beginning

"Rain and Hail" inspires imageries of intense natural power.

They are both nouns that allude to rare occurrences of weather that are simply awe-inspiring.

I named this blog "Reign and Hail" because, as transitive verbs, they refer to a relationship between heaven and earth that should be as equally, if not more, natural than weather and infinitely more powerful.

God and man.  He reigns, and we hail.

This past Sunday, I gave a brief testimony at my church, the Hanbit English Ministry, because we have no youth pastor and the head pastor was apparently too busy to speak this week.  I wasn't given too much time to prepare because they asked me Saturday night to speak the following morning, and so I found myself at my desk for hours that evening trying to come up with something to say, mostly spent in silence just rummaging through my memories.

I have to admit that as praise went on and the time for me to speak approached, I began to feel very nervous.  I couldn't believe how nervous I felt, and yet, somewhere deeper than the anxiety, I was calm and ready.  I felt this because of a divine feeling of purpose regarding the whole thing- it felt like there was a cosmic Hand that planned for me to speak, considering that I had always wanted to say something to the group before I left for Korea in two weeks.  I'd be leaving for an entire year, so I didn't want to leave without saying something first.  Next Sunday would be my last Sunday attending church, but, apparently, our church is having a picnic next week, and so I would not have had the chance to say something at the park in the manner in which I spoke to them this past week.

Talking to them felt like tying a loose end, and it left me feeling whole.  This group of people has come to mean so much to me, and I feel almost like I'm betraying them by leaving them at such a crucial time- our youth pastor left, and our head pastor is leaving soon as well.  However, the original plan had been to leave almost two months earlier.  God imposed, and my plans happily shattered.  I got to spend more time with them, and my faith in their ability to thrive without leadership was solidified.  Without leadership, leaders emerged.  Also, I got the chance to get closer to our college group through the Wednesday night meetings.  These past months have become simply priceless.

Thanks for reading.