Turn Ikey Up!

A couple of days ago I received some of the worst news in a while. Isaiah “Ikey” Owens died in his sleep in Mexico. What? I couldn’t believe it. My favorite keyboardist and one of my biggest influences of all-time, gone. Someone who I grew up with and who molded my music views and tastes. I still can’t believe it.

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Why I write

I write to learn the truth. The truth of life; of death. The truth of you; of me. I write because I want to know why I write. I write because I can’t do anything else; my hands know only the language of literature and not the language of carpenter.

Why do I want to learn the truth? I want to learn it because it’s something I don’t understand. Why do you do what you do? How come you wake up in the morning? Why are you always punctual? Why don’t you take risks? What is your purpose?
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Nothing can be be done successfully without failing

I used to think I could do anything I wanted to. I wasn’t gifted, but if I put my mind to something, nothing could hold me back from doing it. I remember when I learned the lesson that nothing can be done truly successfully without first failing several times.

I was an honor roll student all through my elementary years. I would always bring back high averages for all my classes. I always sat in the middle of the room in the front row, as I still do. I always paid attention and took the best notes. Then came math.
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Looking for truth on the goban

A simple wooden board and round stones made out of clam shells. These two ingredients are all it takes to create the elegant and often bloody battlefield of Go.

Designed several millennia ago, the game of Go is the oldest board game in existence.

Starting in China, the game has gone through several changes in strategic principles, but has remained faithful to it’s simple rules.

It has been my favorite game for some time.
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Revolution starts with a step, not a leap

I remember very easily the night I realized nothing would ever be the same. Relatively, it feels like yesterday, because it was; only the bad memories seem nearer to us than the good ones, often washed away like a message in the sand, never to be seen again.

I was staring into the mirror, standing straight and strong. It was the night of my 18th birthday. At the time I was home, taking a gap year between high school and higher education. Initially it was excused as a mean of financial disability, but I take time with my decisions. Nothing else deserved this much time.
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