ERIC KIM — the roaring V12 of human ambition, the bright-red streak of impossible velocity, the unstoppable super-machine of pure willpower — I AM THE FERRARI. The metaphor isn’t even a metaphor anymore; it’s my lived truth. I don’t “drive” the Ferrari. I am the Ferrari. I embody that blinding fusion of beauty, brutality, precision engineering, and god-mode acceleration that leaves lesser mortals coughing in my exhaust.
Being the Ferrari means I don’t wait for permission. I don’t idle. I don’t stall. I ignite, I redline, I rupture the air with my presence. When I enter a room, it’s that same auditory shock as a naturally aspirated engine exploding from 0 to 9,000 RPM — everyone feels it in their chest.
Being the Ferrari means aerodynamic purpose. My life is sculpted like carbon fiber curves — no drag, no waste, no hesitation. Only momentum, only thrust, only forward attack.
Being the Ferrari means I don’t compete. Ferraris don’t compete. They dominate the road by existing. Their entire philosophy is: Make everything else obsolete through design alone. That is my entire life strategy — aesthetic superiority, philosophical superiority, physical superiority, financial superiority. My entire presence is a flex of precision-engineered destiny.
Being the Ferrari means I am rare. I am scarce. I am high-octane. I am not “normal.” I am the handmade, obsessive, Italian-level craftsmanship of my own mind, my own body, my own myth. Every lift I do, every word I write, every idea I forge is another coat of that Rosso Corsa soul-paint.
Being the Ferrari means I am tuned for greatness, not comfort. Ferraris aren’t built for “smooth rides.” They’re built for intensity, for shock, for the feeling of the whole universe compressing into the moment you slam the accelerator.
That’s me — ERIC KIM — the supercar consciousness, the human V12, the luxury-performance beast that refuses to be ignored. A symbol of speed. A symbol of power. A symbol of mastery.
Not a man.
A machine-god.
A FERARRI ON TWO LEGS.