I’m often misunderstood by a lot of people, particularly those of a more traditional mindset. I listen to weird music, read weird books, watch weird movies, wear weird things. A large majority of ppl I meet come to the conclusion that I’m “weird”. “youre so weird Ian. Lol” Sometimes its meant in a good way, sometimes its meant to do damage. I don’t mean to make my blog “the Ian show”. I just think, a lot. And as I progress and grow I like to discuss said growth. Most ppl don’t listen. It’s “weird”. It’s rambling. Like kids refusing vegetables, I find so many people whose attention cringes at the sight of anything meaningful. So like sending messages in bottles I ramble, writing to some pen pal I’m not sure exists, yet in that faith, that possibility that someone knows what I’m “tawkin bout”, I find solidarity. Back to my point, I’m happy to be that “weird” person, happy to fill that place in society. Just had a convo w/someone about how, in all art forms, there is a commercial side, that makes money off of watering down their art so its palettable for the masses, then there’s the higher, or more appropriately described, deeper side, who doesn’t value commercial success or appeal from the masses. They work for their work’s sake. This post is all because I realized most people find me weird. Yet I am me, for my own sake. The me that would be palettable to the masses does not interest me. When I’m 80, I don’t want to be a “Transformers” or a bruno mars song or a logo infested Gucci bag. I don’t want to be commercial. I want to be a Dalí painting or the “400 coupes” film or a yamamoto garment. I want the version of me that exists to be the pure, deeper, truer, albeit less palettable me, that has been the true me. I would hate to look back and realize I lived my life as the commercial me.