To be a model for how to provide value without getting a job and without bending your mind to fit into normal status games.

No.

No.

No.

The temple uses cult-like rituals to protect its work and its priest. It’s not to recruit followers; it’s to preserve focus, authority, and sacred space.

Because I don’t want to handle financial transactions with minors.

Not intentionally. The temple shares some mechanics with role-playing games because it explores storytelling, character, and participation. Most businesses are games—you just usually don’t notice. The temple makes it obvious.

Game structure makes it easier to focus, practice, and stay on track. It’s not about entertainment or fun for its own sake—it’s about breaking down challenges and organizing teachings logically.

I’ve been doing work on Instagram for over 5 years. I’m not going to vanish with your money.

If by “legit” you mean socially acceptable—then probably not. This isn’t normal.

No. The priest is a character in the story, loosely based on me.

No.

No. It’s an art project turned business. It means a lot to me, and I hope you find meaning in it too.

No. Occult imagery is just for vibe.

It’s all of those and a business too. Ritual, art, and commerce—woven together intentionally.

I’m not a religious authority, but the temple is not a religion—it’s an art project turned business.

It’s metaphor. I’m not literally a priest guarding ancient stones.

You shouldn’t. You should care about what lights you up.

But if my work has meant something to you, the stones are where it all converges.

Yes. You don’t have to believe anything. Think of it like acting, roleplay, or a video game. We’re telling a story together.

It’s all part of the temple now. It was always part of a bigger project—I just didn’t have a name for it until now.

Everything is connected. This isn’t random. It’s a story you join by showing up—by making an offering.

By making an offering. That’s the best way to cross the threshold.

It goes to me. To help me keep making things like this. This is a business, not a charity.

The temple is not just for money. It's for food, electricity, toothpaste, clothes, a roof over my head, internet, gas, grande iced mochas from Starbucks...all the things money *buys*.

By making an $11 offering.

Or acquire (buy) temple artifacts—digital products related to the work.

A drop will be released, either publicly or privately. If the drop is public, it will be posted first to the Instagram story. It may or may not be posted elsewhere.

You will also be added to the back room email list.

Yes. For more, just choose a higher quantity.

For less, send any amount via PayPal (@nomichaelhere) or Venmo (@Michael-Korman-3).

Then participate. Don’t just like a post.

Talk about the temple.

Act like it matters.

Let it haunt your group chats.

No. To be part of the temple, all you need is to talk about it as if it matters.

No. The temple existed long before you showed up. It needs money, but not your money specifically.

The temple doesn’t depend on one person’s money. But if everyone stopped, I’d have to keep going without money—and that can only last so long.

Eventually, yes. The temple doesn’t need your money specifically, but it needs money. If everyone stops, I can only run it without funds for so long.

Because the temple needs devotion, not just money. Offerings must come from people who want to be part of the temple, not just “support a cause.” That’s how it becomes something bigger than me.

The temple is a business. My life costs money, and traditional jobs wouldn’t let me provide meaningful value the way the temple does. I’ve done the other thing, and I noticed that with my autistic brain I spent all my energy just managing the job—showing up on time, making sure I didn’t seem lazy, keeping my head down. But the temple lets me come alive. I’m glad I can provide value this way—and hope it inspires others.

Yes. And that’s the point. If you’re here for the right reasons, it won’t feel off-putting—it’ll feel obvious. If you’re not, you’ll walk away. The temple doesn’t pretend to be something it’s not just to keep you comfortable.

No. To be part of the temple, you only have to act like it matters. Money is just one way—and often the easiest way—to do that.

Entrepreneurs, artists, musicians, teachers, coaches. Anyone who already gets that investing in myth and ritual is part of the grind. The temple gives them permission to own their weirdness with purpose.

Typical crowdfunding is usually about getting stuff done or fixing a problem. People give because they want a product, a reward, or to help a cause.

Talk about the temple like it matters. Read the archives. Imitate it. Make things. Sell things. Spread the myth.

Yes. Take it seriously. Share it. Talk about it. Read the archives. Imitate it. Make things and sell them. Act like it matters.

Offerings shape the story. More offerings mean riskier, richer content. Fewer offerings mean the temple dims, sometimes literally. Everyone feels it.

Not at all. Money is a myth we’ve charged with real power. Pretending money and myth should be separate is another myth—a bad one.

No. The temple is practical spirituality in a Western context. Money is a widely accepted myth, and including it makes the temple functional. A business that doesn’t charge wouldn’t work—it’s about respecting attention, not greed.

Maybe you shouldn’t. But someone has to build the temple, and I’m the one doing it.

Yes.

Something deeper. Money is simply a charged form of myth—a way to make meaning real.

The temple is this whole project. The ritual is the ongoing stream of content—the living story. It’s my personal myth, designed for my mind, a space where I don’t have to fight just to exist. Maybe you’ll find it meaningful too.

The ritual is my Instagram story—a stream of content posted with a rhythm and purpose.

The “stone” is a marker of progress in this world. There are 10 stones. Each demands a certain amount of money. When a stone gets its amount, it lights up, and we move to the next.

The first stone (the one we’re working on right now) demands $110.

The entire Pillar of Stones requires $616 to fully light.

Digital creations—usually PDFs—that hold art, poetry, or myth. They deepen the world of the temple.

The Fragmented Scrolls are an artifact (PDF) written as scripture and lore. They explain how I designed this whole thing.

A metaphor for the energy that fuels my content creation.

Characters in the story representing higher forces.

It’s a metaphor for pouring your heart into something and not getting what you hoped for in return.

Maybe you shouldn’t. But I’m the one building the temple. Someone’s got to.

The ritual stalls when offerings slow down. Offerings keep it alive—they motivate me to keep posting. When they stop, I feel it. That’s when I say “the ritual stalled.”

Drops are pieces of content that take effort or feel risky to post. FAQs like this aren’t drops—they don’t carry that risk.

Because they cost me something—time, energy, heart. Content just for vibe or clarity doesn’t cost that much. When I put my heart on the line, I need to be paid. That’s the core metaphor of the temple.

They mark real goals, but I blur the details to keep the story intact.

Offerings change what I post. The money is real, my work is real, and the content is symbolic—the link between myth and reality.

Because he’s given a lot to the temple, and gotten very little back.

You get to move the story forward.

If you choose an artifact, you get the artifact.

And if your offering lights the stone, you get to witness the result.

A public discourse (livestream). A miracle that wouldn’t have happened without you. That’s not nothing.

The priest will keep calling out until the devoted step forward. He’s patient.

My personal stories—loss, redemption, hope. They form the backbone of the temple and give the “why.”

It’s a mythical number. It also loosely covers my actual expenses.

It’s a mythical number. It also loosely corresponds to some of my real-life expenses.

The first stone in the Pillar of Stones needs $110 to light up. We’ve got $55 so far—$55 left.

It’s the first piece of the Pillar of Stones. Lighting it requires an offering of $110.

It’s a new chapter that began when an offering unlocked the gate to the Pillar of Stones. Now we’re working on lighting those stones.

“Tuning” is when the ritual stalled because offerings stopped. The priest (me) stepped back to listen, adjust, and speak deliberately—like tuning a guitar until every note rings clearly.

Reworking hundreds of videos I’ve posted since 2020. They’re becoming pieces of art aimed at like-minded people—not rough drafts, not free entertainment for the masses.

A poetic way of saying attention isn’t free. Attention is our most valuable resource. Being “marked” means taking responsibility for how you spend your moments—it’s about self-awareness, not control. No more free scrolling.

Because the flame went out. Offerings slowed, so the ritual darkened to reflect that. It’ll light up again when offerings return.

Same reason. The ritual’s flame went dark. It’s a visual signal that this isn’t business as usual.

Drops are special ritual content—released only after an offering is made. That text marks when a drop has landed.

The ritual was stalled, but now it’s waking up. Lighting the first stone means hitting that $110 goal to reignite the flame.

It’s a nod to the Buddhist concept of “no self”—reminding you this isn’t about me, but the story we build.

Because every detail matters. When the flame dies, things go dark. The temple isn’t a cozy place—it’s sacred and serious.

To carve out a place where myth-makers, chaotic-minded wanderers, and rogue builders can thrive in a world that prefers straight lines.

People with rigid ideas about business, religion, social media, or reality. People allergic to fantasy.

It changes, but only within its own logic. It’s chaos, solidified.

We live in a broken, stuck world. The temple memorializes that, but also cracks it open—a return to somethingsimpler and more playful. That takes a little ego death.

I don’t know yet. This isn’t a social temple. But I like to think we’re connected on some subtle level, even if we never gather in the same room.

It’s open to anyone—but only if they treat it as sacred.

Just me. My brain’s wired in a way that makes sharing...unlikely. But sometimes the temple recognizes priests from other lands.

Because he’s suffered. Because he takes his role as keeper of the flame seriously. He’s not a customer-service rep.

Because without boundaries there is no form, and without form there’s nothing to respect. Discomfort is a sign you’ve stepped into sacred space.

It’s theater with a purpose. The priest is a character who cares about the disciples and the ritual. Sometimes that means hurting feelings to keep the higher calling alive. If he doesn’t tend the flame, no one will. But he’s human—maybe he’s wrong. You decide.

It makes the cost clear. It sets a threshold for entry. “The temple took effort to build, it can’t run without money, and here’s how you can join.” This seriousness creates respect—for the work and for the people inside it.

Because the piano world was rigid tradition and groupthink—no room for individuality or growth. I got pushed out, but I’m still a pianist. The temple includes piano but goes far beyond it. Offerings aren’t just money—they’re part of the ritual that keeps this alive.

The current rite of initiation is 'Learn Piano in 5 Days'. Make the required offering and go through the course. There is also the '$5 Piano Lesson' and the book 'Take Yourself Seriously'. But be warned that the temple is not a traditional music school. I teach what I believe is lacking from others, not what they already do well.

I spent years trying normal teaching. No one cared, and I got kicked out of the big Facebook piano groups. Everything I said was misinterpreted—like I was attacking traditional piano. I wasn’t. I was just trying to find my people.

The attacks made it impossible to keep going normally, so I made the temple. Now I’m the priest guarding ancient stones, answering only to the gods. The piano lessons are still real; the narrative framing simply protects me and lets me do my work in peace.

I was never just a “piano guy.” The temple began in 2020 when I dove into social media marketing to sell a piano course. As the pandemic tore down the old world, I started sharing more of myself. Now it’s all one story, under one roof—the temple.

It’s my main focus. Has been since 2020. The name is new, but the work isn’t.

To get the experience of going through the temple’s rites and rituals. They’re weird, quirky, and not like normal piano content you might find on YouTube. Enter, if you dare.

Master’s degrees in piano and computer science. Thousands of hours meditating. Sharing knowledge online since 2020.

Music taught me why ritual matters. I wasn’t just practicing piano—I was learning how to practice everything.

Learn Piano in 5 Days has been folded into the temple’s framework. Popular piano videos are disappearing, replaced by glitchy temple transmissions to preserve sanctity. Every Tiny Thing is a relic from before the collapse. You Hold the Key is now the temple anthem. Take Yourself Seriously is sacred scripture. Even the blog posts are fragments of old transmissions. Everything’s being templified.

Nothing’s replaced—everything is reframed within the temple’s context.

Look beneath the music’s surface. The temple is about process, not product.

The temple is my story. It’s designed for my mind, a place where I don’t have to fight to exist. Maybe it’ll fit yours too.

Nothing. And that’s the point—when you ask that, you trivialize money. Most people spend 8 hours a day doing work they hate. Ask them what their life means beyond money. The temple lets me get paid without losing meaning.

The temple runs on devotion, not subscriptions.

Show up when you’re called. Or wait. Someone will knock. Eventually.

No refunds. The temple accepts only firm offerings.

This is a business. I’m inviting people to participate in the ritual. But it’s rooted in my personal journey—because no meaningful work isn’t.

An offering means you’re in the circle. I’ll call on you again—devotion is ongoing. If you step back, I’ll feel it. This isn’t a faceless transaction.

It’s waiting for you to take an action. Step through during the time frame, and something happens; otherwise, it doesn’t. Think of it like a video game prompt.

Blocking isn’t punishment—it’s clearing space for eager participants. Getting unblocked depends on context: if you were abusive, maybe not. If you ignored a gate, patience or making an offering usually works.

Yes. More importantly, I’m exploring business, attention, creation, and social media at a deeper level than most are used to.

The channel was never just about piano. It’s about something deeper and more human, and the temple makes that explicit.

They signal the videos are being reconsecrated under the temple. These pieces were originally free; now they’re part of the temple’s story. Every detail matters.

No. They give context. These videos were never meant to be “normal” piano videos—they invite you into something bigger.

The YouTube channel wasn’t built for passive enjoyment. It was built for those who participate.

No. Spam is unwanted, misleading, or manipulative content. I’m upfront: the $11 offering is part of how the temple works. It’s optional, transparent, and never hidden or forced. You can enjoy all the base content without paying.

I’m not a charity. The temple’s mechanics are transparent, and the money goes to my living expenses, like any solopreneur artist.

“The ritual” is my stream of content—Instagram, YouTube, etc. Content is posted when offerings come in; that’s how the story progresses.

You’re not paying for content. You’re paying to engage more deeply—participating in gates, digital products, or unlocking new content for everyone. It’s part of the experience, not a tip.

No. Topics are chosen by me. Think of it less like a GoFundMe and more like an unfolding story—each piece is another part of the puzzle.

New content won’t necessarily appear on YouTube; drops happen in the Instagram story, and their form and topic are guided by the story’s unfolding. Some may be piano tutorials, but not all.

To clarify the next step. Those who enjoy the free content know how to engage more deeply if they wish.

I explore different characters—some arrogant, some not. Think of it less like piano lessons and more like sketch comedy (Portlandia, Monty Python).

No, except for reporting racist content. YouTube may hide some comments automatically, but they can be viewed if you sort by “Newest.”

The temple is about storytelling. I respect others’ stories, but the line moves constantly. Insults are fine; racist or sexual comments are not. Walking that line is part of the work.

The temple works best when it offers a clear point of view.

The temple doesn’t explain, it only reveals.

The temple is real as an interactive experience. Some gates require the $11 offering to unlock deeper engagement—digital products, direct participation, or new content for everyone. The base content is free; the offering is part of the experience, not a tip.

No. It’s a conceptual place online.

The temple doesn’t try to teach or persuade. It’s something to explore and experience, not something you can understand all at once.

I post what needs to be posted, not what’s requested.

We’re all human, but we each play different characters. A nod to the Buddhist idea of “no self”—we’re not the stories we tell.

We must each walk our own path, but the inscription on the gate reads: “The heart of the temple beats where stories flicker only for a day. Seek the altar of images to enter the next chamber.”

The videos are not just for views. They're for attracting a large audience from which I can then select a small cohort of like-minded people who will appreciate what the temple has to offer. Views are a means to that end, not an end in and of themselves.

Those videos weren’t made for kids or because I don’t take my ideas seriously. I had a very specific way of teaching piano I cared about, but I allowed experimentation and followed the story wherever it led. The blue lobster video just happened to go viral. The temple is where experimentation meets my real interests.

Never bought followers. I don’t track why people follow or why engagement is low. The temple isn’t designed for mass attention—it trades in small, valuable amounts of attention.

Yes, but being autistic, I’m used to people keeping their distance since I was a kid. The temple isn’t for mass popularity—it’s for those who value the experience, who “get the joke.” It’s a reminder that those weird ideas you have might actually amount to something if you went all-in on them.

My Instagram Close Friends list. Insider glimpses into the temple. Access comes temporarily with an offering.

The email list—like the honors class of the temple. Public ritual is for everyone; then the “special kids” gather in the back room afterwards to discuss what just happened and dive deeper. You’re added when you make an offering or I invite you and you can be removed if you don’t participate.

I prefer working with engaged participants. It’s far more exciting and motivating than chasing down ghosts.

Public Substack notes on designing the temple—like Shigeru Miyamoto reflecting on how he made Mario.

Each platform has a different function. I play multiple roles—priest, commentator, game designer, PR, business owner, narrator. The temple is a framework for all of this.