connecting*the*dots

the time is here
yes, now is the time
to make water out of wine
like the real extracted from rhyme
the haves and the have mores
ceilings are their floors
while working on their secret knock
they straight up kick down doors
you see, terror is pushed nightly
to establish our core fear
an appetite for the here
and now just doesn’t matter
we’re all well fed consumers and their pockets keep getting fatter
what, you think shit is gonna change
with a dollar?
or a dream?
wipe out your eyes
unplug your ears
wake up to the screams
from indochina death teams
from nicaraguan insurgent regimes
from vietnamese bloodstreams
from terrorist state schemes
power is power
green is green
you see?
deeper than a lost soul
you find the blue collar toll
trained to corrale the buck
to scream "what the fuck!?"
when capitalism capitalizes on fear
giving proud men deaf ears
you hear?
this society makes american sheiks
who pro-actively partake in high-risk stakes
to retire by 45
no matter who wakes up or not…
a shot to the head
a timely blood clot

my feet stand firm on the floor
as they pass by in multiple takes
the tension in my body relaxes
refusing to bite on the head fakes
shots whiz by my ears and eyes
my palms face upwards to the roof
slow motion moves and prefabricated lies
so just where exactly is the proof?
in the pudding
in the whispers
in the minds
in the wind
the vinyl is simply scratched
cross-faded
knowing
jaded
hatched…
a 45 revolution
a soon to be released patch

what is that
that is not craft?
the time it takes to shake and bake?
the time spent coughing up a good laugh?
the time it takes to find a large enough room?
room for one?
room for all?
the time it takes to see June in December?
the time it takes to March to a Fall?

leaves drift down every year
dried up and dead in just a few
all eyes land in the gutter
while buds refresh anew
no, you don’t need an MD to bring back
your man from the edge
your jen from her pitt
here’s my option to hedge:

drama is just drama
except when it hits off in the street

you feel me?
’cause you do steel me
from passing the solid yellow line
from counting down the time
for when my tv guide is on hold
for when the story has been told
the knowledge of self-determination
the common source of a nation
the feet in the shoes when a toll has been hiked
"the ones i like to wear when i rock the mic"

some days are just like the last
one moment you’re slow, the next moment you fast
forward two years
beyond the transition gears
late night fears
early morning tears
you up to get down
with your whip bumping through town

dropping off the clown’d

still going round and round
about time
the project is straight
we organized the wait
off the world
we stopped, dropped and rolled on a dime
the three man weave was something to save-
or
the bassline screen freed up the man-
or
the dribble, drool and school rocked the D to sleep

broken ankles cause reactionary heaps

piles form left and right
100 breakdowns form without the sight
stumbling out to fight the win’d
stunned
shunned
run’d…

shoot for five
my man has my spot
i’m out to be alive

Stereotype vs. Archetype

So how does one remove the externally perceived reality of an imposed stereotype, in order to move towards the desired end-state of an archetypal experience?

In the fluff and soft world of Design.

If you’re trying to design an archetypal experience, you must be able to cast a broad enough net to observe participatory stereotypes in motion. From the synthesis of these observations come patterns of behavior based on goals, and understanding goal based behavior creates context and probability of action. If these findings match the archetypal DNA of numerous constituencies and drivers to be supported in a value equation, then only the application remains.

• Apply this to interface, and you’ll have an archetypal UCD, HCI, etc.
• Apply this to a business organization and you’ll have an archetypal organization, methodology, management team, talent pool, etc.
• Apply this to government and…

Design is the new black, the new MBA… but we all knew that already, right?

When I have a week like this one (sorry, no details for you), I often turn to the covers of a James Baldwin novel or essay to keep my head on straight. Why? Read the following snippet of “The Fire Next Time:”

“I do not mean to be sentimental about suffering — enough is certainly as good as a feast — but people who cannot suffer can never grow up, can never discover who they are. That man who is forced each day to snatch his manhood, his identity, out of the fire of human cruelty that rages to destroy it knows, if he survives his effort, and even if he does not survive it, something about himself and human life that no school on earth — and, indeed, no church — can teach. He achieves his own authority, and that is unshakable.

This is because, in order to save his life, he is forced to look beneath appearances, to take nothing for granted, to hear the meaning behind the words. If one is continually surviving the worst that life can bring, one eventually ceases to be controlled by a fear of what life can bring; whatever it brings must be bourne.“

James Baldwin, 5 foot something, a buck something dripping wet, would have banged Shaq straight out of the paint.