Writing... sometimes the words flow naturally, and other times, solitude is the only answer.

Now, if it doesn't come out naturally, I stop and wait until it does. Before I know it, I choose comfort.

There are quite a few writings that have been discontinued. They are all waiting for the laws of nature.

I know there is a sentence inside me that can continue, but some days I feel like I am stuck in a deep swamp.

I'll get over it someday. The word "hope" comes to mind.

Right, it must be wishful thinking.

You must be hoping someone will save you. Or perhaps, in that connecting moment, they will suddenly find their way on their own!

It is a truly difficult art. Text.

 

I seek to be moved. I hope that someone will look at my photos and sob with emotion. However, historically, I have never cried upon seeing any image. Yet, hoping that others will do so is just another form of wishful thinking. The heart is deceitful.

I just want to go wherever I feel comfortable. They say that the passage of time is a natural course.

 

When I read my own writings later, English still seems to capture my emotions the best. The new generation of AI still doesn't understand human emotions. The Korean translations are ridiculous; even when I use informal language, it comes out as formal. It seems even AI is conscious of others. In a world moving toward images, text seems to be losing its importance. How can anyone read text when their attention span is less than three seconds? A decision is made just by reading a thumbnail in the blink of an eye!

 

We find ourselves living in a world where books are becoming a burden, without even realizing it, failing to recognize the knowledge and wisdom contained within them.

When I was young, in elementary school, I wrote about my parents using English that is naturally learned in the U.S. The teacher read it, was impressed, and used the term "Stream of Consciousness."

It was a word far too overwhelming for a 10-year-old. Yet, I still haven't been able to break that habit. Just letting it flow!

Too lazy to dissect the unique sentences of past poets, literary figures, and writers one by one, I write solely out of self-confidence. Unanalyzed art. It is art, but my own art. Well, I suppose it will be analyzed once my writing accumulates...

Someday, someone who delves into the writing will analyze it. The meaning of words, the spaces between words, the emotions evoked by words coming together. A comparison with the metaphors evoked by those emotions.

This is also a visual art. Because the eyes see it.

Once you start digging deeper, even fonts become art. Typography. The shape of the core that forms words already establishes its foundation. You can see the era by looking at a font. I like the fonts Bodoni and Garamond because of what I learned when I was young.

I seem to like bold contrasts and understated elegance. It seems that what I like is the best thing in the world. Isn't that true for everyone?

Just because the old folks like something doesn't mean the new generation likes it. No matter how much one likes retro, the times are different. The era I was born into merely served as a stepping stone for them to create another era. An era where communist science becomes reality, an era where that is nothing out of the ordinary.

Wristwatches existed for individuals to tell the time. However, the performance of modern wristwatches is not intended for telling time. The very concept of time is changing.

The fate of humans and the machines created by humans. This will give birth to a distinct race. Niendro-theorist, Homo safian, what comes next? Homo mechanica? It is endless evolution.

 

If you keep imagining, it's all pointless.

It's all funny. In my generation.

However, there are countless beings in this world who can turn thoughts into reality.