The Delusional Belief Engine
Use blind, unwavering belief in yourself as fuel to override reality and achieve the impossible.
The Delusional Belief Engine is a mindset framework where you consciously adopt an unshakeable, almost irrational belief in your own potential and destiny, often in direct contradiction to external evidence. This isn't about ignoring reality, but using a core narrative of exceptionalism as an internal combustion engine to propel you through failure, shame, and practical impossibility. It functions as a psychological override, installing a 'software' of supreme confidence where none was provided by your environment. The framework suggests that this manufactured belief isn't a lie to yourself, but a creative act that shapes a new reality, much like an artist visualizing a finished painting before the first brushstroke. It turns the vulnerability of hope into an armored conviction.
- External reality is negotiable; internal conviction is non-negotiable.
- The narrative you install about yourself is more powerful than the narrative the world tries to install.
- Blind faith in a future version of yourself can be engineered and used as propulsion.
- Shame and embarrassment are survivable; not trying because of them is a permanent death.
- Your origin story of lack or trauma is not a limit—it's the raw material for your engine.
- Identify the Core DelusionArticulate the specific, grandiose belief about yourself that feels both true and impossible. This is not a modest goal ('get better'), but a destiny-level statement ('I am the greatest X,' 'My name will be known,' 'I will change this field'). It should feel slightly embarrassing to say out loud.Pro tipModel it after a figure who believed in the impossible against all odds, like a religious figure, a mythical hero, or a historical underdog.WarningDo not water this down to make it 'realistic.' The power is in its audacity.
- Act As If the Delusion is Already TrueBegin making decisions and carrying yourself from the identity of the person who has already achieved that destiny. This is not about lying to others, but about an internal posture. How would the 'King David' version of you handle this rejection? How would the 'greatest artist' version of you approach this blank canvas?Pro tipUse small, symbolic acts to cement the identity, like the way Choe's mother would put on fake jewelry before a big meeting to 'transform' into a powerful woman.WarningThis can feel like hypocrisy or fraud initially. That feeling is the old identity fighting the new one.
- Use External Negativity as FuelWhen faced with rejection, criticism, or concrete failure, do not let it invalidate the core delusion. Instead, treat it as proof that the world doesn't yet see what you see. Let the friction of their disbelief stoke your internal fire. Choe's father throwing him against a wall for graffiti became fuel, not a deterrent.Pro tipReframe 'disgrace' as a badge of honor. It means you're operating outside their limited framework.WarningDo not engage in arguments to convince skeptics. Your belief is not for debate; it's for action.
- Survive the Nakedness of ExposureYour journey will involve moments of extreme vulnerability—having your private journal read, failing publicly, being mocked for your ambitions. The framework requires you to treat these moments like physical wounds: they are intensely painful, but they pass, and you are still here. The pain of heartbreak and betrayal is the tuition for creative courage.Pro tipRemember: 'I've been beaten to an inch of my life... and I'm still here.' If you can survive that, you can survive embarrassment.WarningThe instinct will be to retreat and never be vulnerable again. That is the death of the engine.
- Transmute Pain into Creative OutputChannel the raw energy of shame, abandonment, and heartbreak—the pains that 'stay'—directly into your work. Don't try to make it pretty or acceptable first. Let the work be the container for the feeling you can't otherwise express. Choe's graffiti and self-harm rituals were early, raw forms of this.Pro tipThe work doesn't need to be *about* the trauma; it needs to be *fueled by* its energy.WarningAvoid literal, on-the-nose representation. The goal is alchemy, not reporting.
- Embrace the 'Rules Don't Apply' MentalityObserve figures (like Gavin McInnes at Vice) who operate as if standard protocols are irrelevant. If you wait for permission, credentials, or the 'right' path, you will die waiting. The engine runs on a belief that you can do the thing you're 'not supposed' to be able to do—write the article, start the company, make the art.Pro tipAsk: 'What would I do if I truly believed I was the exception to this rule?' Then do that.WarningThis is not a license for unethical behavior. It's about bypassing artificial, gatekeeping limitations.
Choe describes his mother, a woman on welfare, opening the trunk of her Toyota hatchback with a broken window before a business meeting. She would put on fake, cubic zirconia jewelry to transform herself into 'a rich, powerful woman' who could walk in and get what she wanted. When young David pointed out the hypocrisy (they just learned in church not to lie), she dismissed it: 'They don't need to know that.'
As a child, Choe kept a secret journal at his father's behest, where he became increasingly vulnerable, writing his true feelings about girls and family. His brothers found it and mocked him mercilessly, causing him what he describes as the ultimate shame and feeling of being naked. He compares this emotional pain to severe physical beatings he'd endured.
David Choe developed this framework through observing his mother, a 'hardcore born again Christian' who operated with absolute 'blind faith' in religious doctrine. He witnessed her apply this same unwavering belief system to him, telling him from age five that he was 'the greatest artist' and was destined for greatness like King David, despite all evidence to the contrary (poverty, family chaos, his own failures). He describes this as 'brainwashing,' but later reframed it as a 'gift.' He contrasts this with the opposite path some artists take, where they become great because they were told they were 'nothing.' For Choe, the delusional belief became the core fuel that allowed him to persist when everything—his circumstances, logic, and the opinions of others—said he should quit.