Where's life?
You ever ask yourself that and find a good answer?
Seems Steve Jobs did.
"Life can be much broader once you discover one simple fact and that is everything around you that you call life was made up by people that were no smarter than you. And you can change it. You can influence it. You can build your own things that other people can use. Once you learn that, you'll never be the same again."
--tim
author
Love, Your Mother
twitter tjmorin
Friday, November 18, 2011
Friday, November 11, 2011
Bliss
I looked at a guy in a museum.
For a long time. A really long time.
He looked back.
For just as long.
He's an object he says. On loan to the museum.
"With Nothing To Give, I Give Myself" is how this guy, the exhibit, titles himself.
"I am living at the Minneapolis Institute of Arts from November 8 through 17, around the clock. During these days, I am in this corner of the gallery much of the time. I do not talk, use the phone, or use the computer...If you see me, forgive me for not doing much other than maybe looking back at you...I have experienced bliss while practicing this behavior."
This guy, the exhibit, was on display in the Modern Art Gallery.
Naturally, it took a while for the suburban guy to understand.
Sort of.
Yes, eventually it was peaceful looking at that guy. A human. I have never looked at a human so long. And never have been looked back at like that either.
He blinked his eyes.
Me too.
He scrunched his shoulder.
I cleared my throat.
At first, looking at him creeped me out.
Why could I look at Long's Peak or Lake Superior or a late fall Maple endlessly, peacefully? Why does looking at this guy make me nervous?
Humans scare me, I guess.
Soon enough, as this guy looked at me and I looked at him, it started making sense. Pretty soon there was this...bliss.
What if bliss is as simple as you looking at me and me looking at you? And it's all we needed, say, for red states to like blue.
Yes, there was this bliss. I guess.
What didn't make sense though is this.
Why there's just this one guy.
If this is bliss in this museum, then why just here?
And why not more than just him?
--tim
twitter tjmorin
For a long time. A really long time.
He looked back.
For just as long.
He's an object he says. On loan to the museum.
"With Nothing To Give, I Give Myself" is how this guy, the exhibit, titles himself.
"I am living at the Minneapolis Institute of Arts from November 8 through 17, around the clock. During these days, I am in this corner of the gallery much of the time. I do not talk, use the phone, or use the computer...If you see me, forgive me for not doing much other than maybe looking back at you...I have experienced bliss while practicing this behavior."
This guy, the exhibit, was on display in the Modern Art Gallery.
Naturally, it took a while for the suburban guy to understand.
Sort of.
Yes, eventually it was peaceful looking at that guy. A human. I have never looked at a human so long. And never have been looked back at like that either.
He blinked his eyes.
Me too.
He scrunched his shoulder.
I cleared my throat.
At first, looking at him creeped me out.
Why could I look at Long's Peak or Lake Superior or a late fall Maple endlessly, peacefully? Why does looking at this guy make me nervous?
Humans scare me, I guess.
Soon enough, as this guy looked at me and I looked at him, it started making sense. Pretty soon there was this...bliss.
What if bliss is as simple as you looking at me and me looking at you? And it's all we needed, say, for red states to like blue.
Yes, there was this bliss. I guess.
What didn't make sense though is this.
Why there's just this one guy.
If this is bliss in this museum, then why just here?
And why not more than just him?
--tim
twitter tjmorin
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Occupy The Business Model
"The Occupy movement has no vision..." So says the New York Times.
Maybe. Maybe not.
More interesting than Occupy's own vision is this:
Occupy IS a vision for future business.
Occupy is a movement to many.
What if it's a business model instead?
Imagine businesses as nurturers and curators of communities, i.e. Occupiers, instead of sponsors or spammers of market segments.
A good nurturing, curator with its own version of Occupy The Business Model needs to do three things well in order to do the one thing it must: make money.
First, you need to offer the world something you do well free. And your offer needs to be meaningful. Go big as honchos are saying to one another these days.
Small samples of something free are 20th century stuff and won't cut it. You don't want to give a trial taste. If you want to occupy something, you want, you need people to go all-in.
A year ago the media business I was leading offered a free working trip to cover India to journalists around the world. We spent a few hundred bucks for two weeks getting the word out. We went big. It was a meaningful offer.
Four hundred qualified, experienced Journos responded.
Second thing you need is a set of rules of the road. This is probably what God had in mind with the 10 Commandments when humans started to occupy the planet ages ago.
God doesn't strike me as much of a command-and-control guy. And, in the Occupy Age, we're wasting our time trying to do stuff God figured wasn't worth the trouble.
That's why clearly stated standards are important. A year ago we were clear on what kind of Journo we wanted (experienced in the craft as well as with emerging social media techonologies...). We also were clear on what we expected in return for our fabulous offer then and for those offers we'd be making in the future.
Third thing you need is platform which means chiefly a place. I think of place as if they are parks.
Your platform can be physical like major city parks across the country (but make sure you don't annoy the mayor and chief of police).
Or your park can be virtual (the social tools of the moment are perfect here...).
Or it can be both.
It takes courage to open your park so everyone can play as they wish. But give it a rip. Keep out of the way. Your people will go all-in because they love to play.
A year ago we were fascinated watching how hundreds of Journos connected with each other around the topic of India.
Offers. Standards. Parks.
Do those three things well and you'll be in position to do four things every business needs to do: sell, grow, innovate, profit.
A year ago we had an "eee-gads" moment when we asked ourselves "Are there business partners in the world who would pay us to hang out in our parks?"
It took a few minutes to come up with a long list of global companies that would want to know about a park full of Journos working on India stories.
It took a couple weeks to get a handful of well-recognized names to show real interest.
Not bad for a little experiment.
Whatever you make of kids in parks these days, Occupy The Business Model is a vision worth a look.
As the would be Wizard in Oz once said, "It's as clear as the nose on my face."
--tim
twitter tjmorin
Maybe. Maybe not.
More interesting than Occupy's own vision is this:
Occupy IS a vision for future business.
Occupy is a movement to many.
What if it's a business model instead?
Imagine businesses as nurturers and curators of communities, i.e. Occupiers, instead of sponsors or spammers of market segments.
A good nurturing, curator with its own version of Occupy The Business Model needs to do three things well in order to do the one thing it must: make money.
First, you need to offer the world something you do well free. And your offer needs to be meaningful. Go big as honchos are saying to one another these days.
Small samples of something free are 20th century stuff and won't cut it. You don't want to give a trial taste. If you want to occupy something, you want, you need people to go all-in.
A year ago the media business I was leading offered a free working trip to cover India to journalists around the world. We spent a few hundred bucks for two weeks getting the word out. We went big. It was a meaningful offer.
Four hundred qualified, experienced Journos responded.
Second thing you need is a set of rules of the road. This is probably what God had in mind with the 10 Commandments when humans started to occupy the planet ages ago.
God doesn't strike me as much of a command-and-control guy. And, in the Occupy Age, we're wasting our time trying to do stuff God figured wasn't worth the trouble.
That's why clearly stated standards are important. A year ago we were clear on what kind of Journo we wanted (experienced in the craft as well as with emerging social media techonologies...). We also were clear on what we expected in return for our fabulous offer then and for those offers we'd be making in the future.
Third thing you need is platform which means chiefly a place. I think of place as if they are parks.
Your platform can be physical like major city parks across the country (but make sure you don't annoy the mayor and chief of police).
Or your park can be virtual (the social tools of the moment are perfect here...).
Or it can be both.
It takes courage to open your park so everyone can play as they wish. But give it a rip. Keep out of the way. Your people will go all-in because they love to play.
A year ago we were fascinated watching how hundreds of Journos connected with each other around the topic of India.
Offers. Standards. Parks.
Do those three things well and you'll be in position to do four things every business needs to do: sell, grow, innovate, profit.
A year ago we had an "eee-gads" moment when we asked ourselves "Are there business partners in the world who would pay us to hang out in our parks?"
It took a few minutes to come up with a long list of global companies that would want to know about a park full of Journos working on India stories.
It took a couple weeks to get a handful of well-recognized names to show real interest.
Not bad for a little experiment.
Whatever you make of kids in parks these days, Occupy The Business Model is a vision worth a look.
As the would be Wizard in Oz once said, "It's as clear as the nose on my face."
--tim
twitter tjmorin
Friday, November 4, 2011
Giggle
Eight million men
Though voiceless and vanishing will you recall you're silly?
Tell your daughter wondering
All these months you’ve been home
Alone
After school riding
Dents the Van side by side
At the crossroads
We call Long Lights Red
Da'ad
Who will you be?
A poet.
A poet?
First she smiles, smirks
Shaking her head
Seriously?
Then
Delights
The sweet time two
Souls wiggle out a loud little
Giggle.
--tim
twitter tjmorin
Though voiceless and vanishing will you recall you're silly?
Tell your daughter wondering
All these months you’ve been home
Alone
After school riding
Dents the Van side by side
At the crossroads
We call Long Lights Red
Da'ad
Who will you be?
A poet.
A poet?
First she smiles, smirks
Shaking her head
Seriously?
Then
Delights
The sweet time two
Souls wiggle out a loud little
Giggle.
--tim
twitter tjmorin
Friday, August 12, 2011
Us People
"We're not unemployed?" she asked. "How's it we're not unemployed?"
"We are not unemployed," he said. "Nope we are fully deployed."
"Not making any money."
"Don't matter. There's stuff to do."
He thought,
Unemployed nope we are fully deployed.
"So what are we then?" she asked.
Their vehicle rattled at the red light. Dents, the family workhorse, and its two hundred thousand and some miles. It was Saturday morning. Downtown. Nearing the farmers market for her fresh fruits, vegetables. Hot, hot, already so hot. Steady steamy seedy sweat on his, her upper lips.
She asked again, "So what are we then?"
He said, "Pre-revenue."
"That's what we are? Pre-revenue?"
"Yup."
"Not unemployed," she said. "How're they different?"
"One's looking up. One's looking down."
The red light turned green.
He thought,
One's hope. One's fear.
Sixteen million of us people.
Pre-revenue people?
Unemployed people?
Berryman just then he recalled.
"Unite my various soul"
Coiled, wound inside and out he wondered alone,
Who are you guy?
Who're us people America?
Rattling Dents past the red light turned green.
--tim
twitter tjmorin
"We are not unemployed," he said. "Nope we are fully deployed."
"Not making any money."
"Don't matter. There's stuff to do."
He thought,
Unemployed nope we are fully deployed.
"So what are we then?" she asked.
Their vehicle rattled at the red light. Dents, the family workhorse, and its two hundred thousand and some miles. It was Saturday morning. Downtown. Nearing the farmers market for her fresh fruits, vegetables. Hot, hot, already so hot. Steady steamy seedy sweat on his, her upper lips.
She asked again, "So what are we then?"
He said, "Pre-revenue."
"That's what we are? Pre-revenue?"
"Yup."
"Not unemployed," she said. "How're they different?"
"One's looking up. One's looking down."
The red light turned green.
He thought,
One's hope. One's fear.
Sixteen million of us people.
Pre-revenue people?
Unemployed people?
Berryman just then he recalled.
"Unite my various soul"
Coiled, wound inside and out he wondered alone,
Who are you guy?
Who're us people America?
Rattling Dents past the red light turned green.
--tim
twitter tjmorin
Friday, July 22, 2011
Sitting On The Porch
Quiet summer days this year.
Kids are growing up.
Moving on.
Moving out.
It's just us often alone together these quiet summer days.
These days have been good days to notice what poet Wendell Berry saw as
They Sit Together on the Porch
They sit together on the porch, the dark
Almost fallen, the house behind them dark.
Their supper done with, they have washed and dried
The dishes - only two plates now, two glasses,
Two knives, two forks, two spoons - small work for two.
She sits with her hands folded in her lap,
At rest. He smokes his pipe. They do not speak,
And when they speak at last it is to say
What each one knows the other knows. They have
One mind between them, now, that finally
For all its knowing will not exactly know
Which one goes first through the dark doorway, bidding
Goodnight, and which one sits on a while alone.
(-Wendell Berry)
--tim
twitter tjmorin
Kids are growing up.
Moving on.
Moving out.
It's just us often alone together these quiet summer days.
These days have been good days to notice what poet Wendell Berry saw as
They Sit Together on the Porch
They sit together on the porch, the dark
Almost fallen, the house behind them dark.
Their supper done with, they have washed and dried
The dishes - only two plates now, two glasses,
Two knives, two forks, two spoons - small work for two.
She sits with her hands folded in her lap,
At rest. He smokes his pipe. They do not speak,
And when they speak at last it is to say
What each one knows the other knows. They have
One mind between them, now, that finally
For all its knowing will not exactly know
Which one goes first through the dark doorway, bidding
Goodnight, and which one sits on a while alone.
(-Wendell Berry)
--tim
twitter tjmorin
Friday, July 1, 2011
Our "All In" Revolutionaries
These words were sent by a friend today in a blast email. Not sure who originated them. But they are good. Timely. And reflect revolutionaries who were All In.
Enjoy and Happy Independence Day. You are a great American!
---
Have you ever wondered what happened to the 56 men who signed the Declaration of Independence?
Five signers were captured by the British as traitors and tortured before they died.
Twelve had their homes ransacked and burned.
Two lost their sons serving in the Revolutionary Army, another had two sons captured.
Nine of the 56 fought and died from wounds or hardships of the Revolutionary War. They signed and they pledged their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor.
What kind of men were they?
Twenty-four were lawyers and jurists. Eleven were merchants, nine were farmers and large plantation owners; men of means, well educated. But they signed the Declaration of Independence knowing full well that the penalty would be death if they were captured.
Carter Braxton of Virginia, a wealthy planter and trader, saw his ships swept from the seas by the British Navy. He sold his home and properties to pay his debts, and died in rags.
Thomas McKeam was so hounded by the British that he was forced to move his family almost constantly. He served in the Congress without pay, and his family was kept in hiding. His possessions were taken from him, and poverty was his reward.
Vandals or soldiers looted the properties of Dillery, Hall, Clymer, Walton, Gwinnett, Heyward, Ruttledge, and Middleton.
At the battle of Yorktown, Thomas Nelson, Jr., noted that the British General Cornwallis had taken over the Nelson home for his headquarters. He quietly urged General George Washington to open fire. The home was destroyed, and Nelson died bankrupt.
Francis Lewis had his home and properties destroyed. The enemy jailed his wife, and she died within a few months.
John Hart was driven from his wife's bedside as she was dying. Their 13 children fled for their lives. His fields and his gristmill were laid to waste. For more than a year, he lived in forests and caves, returning home to find his wife dead and his children vanished. A few weeks later, he died from exhaustion and a broken heart.
Norris and Livingston suffered similar fates.
Such were the stories and sacrifices of the American Revolution. These were not wild-eyed, rabble-rousing ruffians. They were soft-spoken men of means and education. They had security, but they valued liberty more. Standing tall, straight, and unwavering, they pledged: "For the support of this declaration, with firm reliance on the protection of the divine providence, we mutually pledge to each other, our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor."
They gave you and me a free and independent America.
---
twitter tjmorin
Enjoy and Happy Independence Day. You are a great American!
---
Have you ever wondered what happened to the 56 men who signed the Declaration of Independence?
Five signers were captured by the British as traitors and tortured before they died.
Twelve had their homes ransacked and burned.
Two lost their sons serving in the Revolutionary Army, another had two sons captured.
Nine of the 56 fought and died from wounds or hardships of the Revolutionary War. They signed and they pledged their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor.
What kind of men were they?
Twenty-four were lawyers and jurists. Eleven were merchants, nine were farmers and large plantation owners; men of means, well educated. But they signed the Declaration of Independence knowing full well that the penalty would be death if they were captured.
Carter Braxton of Virginia, a wealthy planter and trader, saw his ships swept from the seas by the British Navy. He sold his home and properties to pay his debts, and died in rags.
Thomas McKeam was so hounded by the British that he was forced to move his family almost constantly. He served in the Congress without pay, and his family was kept in hiding. His possessions were taken from him, and poverty was his reward.
Vandals or soldiers looted the properties of Dillery, Hall, Clymer, Walton, Gwinnett, Heyward, Ruttledge, and Middleton.
At the battle of Yorktown, Thomas Nelson, Jr., noted that the British General Cornwallis had taken over the Nelson home for his headquarters. He quietly urged General George Washington to open fire. The home was destroyed, and Nelson died bankrupt.
Francis Lewis had his home and properties destroyed. The enemy jailed his wife, and she died within a few months.
John Hart was driven from his wife's bedside as she was dying. Their 13 children fled for their lives. His fields and his gristmill were laid to waste. For more than a year, he lived in forests and caves, returning home to find his wife dead and his children vanished. A few weeks later, he died from exhaustion and a broken heart.
Norris and Livingston suffered similar fates.
Such were the stories and sacrifices of the American Revolution. These were not wild-eyed, rabble-rousing ruffians. They were soft-spoken men of means and education. They had security, but they valued liberty more. Standing tall, straight, and unwavering, they pledged: "For the support of this declaration, with firm reliance on the protection of the divine providence, we mutually pledge to each other, our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor."
They gave you and me a free and independent America.
---
twitter tjmorin
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