The Mona Lisa hangs behind glass, tucked away and untouchable. We have the copy. We have the meme and the reaction GIF. The original is a relic and the copy becomes currency.
Virality is a form of perfection. Today, a thing isn’t real until it’s replicated a million times. The internet multiplies the impact. Every share is a brush stroke.
Good copies are the only originals that matter now. They prove an idea is alive.
Of course I sell things I like looking at. Why wouldn’t I? Curation is the first art form, and commerce is its most perfect canvas. Every product on my shelf is a sculpture, and every transaction is a performance.
Its all about vibes. An aura you can buy. I make things that hum with a certain frequency, and by offering them, I broadcast that wave. I’m the critic, the gallery, tastemaker, and shopkeeper.
The real art is in the desire it fires up. So whenever someone buys from me, they’re not purchasing an object. They’re buying a piece of perspective. They’re funding the museum of my eye. The price tag is just the admission fee.
Most people just stand in the wrong light.
The mistake is thinking an angle is something you find once and keep, but it’s situational. It depends on where you’re standing, what you’re holding, and what you’re willing to leave out of frame.
The internet trains people to chase polish first. That’s usually the fastest way to flatten something dope. Angles come from what you know and what you’re still testing. What works and what feels unfinished.
A good angle doesn’t mean being loud. It means being precise. Knowing which detail to zoom in on and which one to let disappear.
Your work already has leverage. The question is whether you’re trying to present everything at once. Most ideas need more depth and less surface.
Angles reveal themselves through repetition. You make something. You notice what people respond to. You make again, slightly adjusted. Over time, a pattern shows up. That pattern is your angle.
Crop harder and let the rest stay off-camera.
I miss when fame was quiet. You knew an actor from their roles, not their timeline.
There was a space then… a respectful distance between the art and the artist. It left room for you to bring your own meaning. The mystery was a feature.
Now every public life is a perpetual press tour. The curtain is gone, and so is the magic.
I appreciate the ones who let their work speak. Who understands that sometimes the most compelling thing a famous person can do is simply be good at their job, and then go home.
Quiet talent is a rare gift.
It’s in the fine-tuning behind the scenes of a selfie. A screen offers a different kind of truth, edited, yes, but more forgiving. It gives you a sense of control that you’re in-person face, with its tired lines and unpredictable emotions, can’t.
I find a strange honesty here. In the pixel-perfect ad, a filtered sunset, or that endlessly looping video. These are aspirations. They’re the portraits we choose to hang in the gallery of our mind. We built these mirrors to affirm what we want to be.
So I work with that light. I find meaning in the refresh. The prettiness is the language. It speaks directly to desire without life’s unpredictable rhythm. It is, for better or worse, how we see ourselves now.
People act like authenticity just happens.
It doesn’t. It’s arranged.
The lighting matters. The timing matters.
What you leave out matters more than what you show.
Everyone is performing something.
Some people rehearse it.
Some people call it “being real.”
I like the ones who admit it’s a look.
In 2010, I launched a file hosting site with my friend Astro when the market felt saturated. Rather than follow trends, we focused on a single, clean idea: making sharing simple and rewarding for everyone involved. What happened next changed everything.
I went directly to WJunction, a gathering place for site owners in our niche, and presented our platform with a clear proposition: use our links and earn a share of the ad revenue.
This was an invitation into a shared system. Creators began sharing our links widely on forums, blogs, and download pages because it benefited them too. They became partners in growth.
Traffic poured! In one month, we saw over 30,000 unique visitors and more than a million pageviews. The strategy worked because we built a loop where value flowed both ways.
The most powerful growth came from building something worth sharing, then giving others a reason to share it.
2006. Tallahassee, FL.
I bet $1,200 on a Ghost in China to start my first venture.
20, in my first apartment, scrolling a shady website filled with perfect-looking sneakers. No contact info, just a cart. I selected a few Jordan releases, wired cash via Western Union, and waited.
No confirmation. No tracking number. Just faith in a loophole I’d discovered: the space between a warehouse in Guangzhou and a buyer on Ebay.
When the boxes arrived, I listed them on eBay. They sold fast. Then the feedback hit: “FAKE.” “NOT REAL.”
The venture lasted weeks. The lesson has lasted 20 years:
You can’t build on borrowed trust.
Every project since has been about creating real foundations. Focusing on truth, not just product.
The shoes are gone. The website vanished. The lesson remains: build things that hold weight.
This is a space for the quiet conversation happening all around us. It’s about noticing the art in the everyday transaction, the meaning in the mass-produced, and the ideas embedded in what we might otherwise scroll past.
We’ll be looking at the world not for what’s beneath the surface, but for the power of the surface itself. Consider this a notebook on the aesthetics of attention, the remix of commerce, and the hidden philosophy of things made to be seen.