There is a man who transformed from a welder working with steel plates at a technical high school into a "Knowledge Welder" and knowledge ecologist who welds knowledge, following a life of many ups, downs, and turbulent twists.
He began writing books by chance 30 years ago and, with the resolve that he would collapse if he did not write, he continues the tedious yet earnest practice of writing consistently. By posing initial questions that open unfamiliar gateways, he hurls stones at dulling senses and linguistic inertia. As a result of purposefully accumulating these traces, he published his 100th book, *Conatus*, which explores the stream of essential desires that grip the self. Recently, he released *Everyone Got the AI Vaccine, But No One Got Smarter*, continuing a phenomenal streak of creation by sharing his research on creative ways to be reborn as uncomfortable human intelligence in the era of convenient artificial intelligence.
Instead of putting the heart into the head to think logically, he puts his cold head into his burning heart, translating the traces and stains encountered while experiencing life with his whole being into the language of the body. He makes the radical argument that the more one pursues "self-development," the more the "self" fails to develop, and the ego is instead squandered.
Translating the traces and stains of exhaustion into the language of the body, it puts forward the radical argument that the more one pursues "self-development," the more the "self" fails to develop, leading instead to the exhaustion of the ego.
For habitual self-improvement addicts who drift away swept up by others' secrets to success—consuming Instagram insights like instant food while dreaming of stardom or chasing illusions through YouTube videos—he reinterprets Spinoza’s beloved "Conatus" for today's context, demonstrating through his entire being a journey to reconstruct a life theory for reclaiming one's autonomy.
Asserting that "truth is the child of weariness," he is a sentence-building laborer who seeks the grounds for "condensing meaning" in life rather than secrets for "shortening the distance" to success. Even today, he translates these findings into his own language, agonizing over which verb to bring to the end of his subjects and objects.
Before the longing that silently served meals lingers for half a day, only to exhale a yawn and vanish into the listless afternoon, he once again throws his entire body into the radiance of hope where he forgets himself.
He is also someone who admires a poet who trembles with every fiber of their being at the radiance of hope that makes them forget themselves, before the silent longing that had been serving meals lingers for half a day, only to exhale a yawn and vanish into the listless afternoon.
At the moment when the stains of many sorrowful years, filled with mournful stories, are about to burst through the throat, he is a knowledge ecologist who records the day's labor exhaled by a body entwined in a glass of liquor that warms a heavy heart; just as a swaying reed translates the language of the wind with its entire being, he carves out a path from "extremity" to "mastery" today.
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