jpaulgorman

A.  From knowing to doing to being. What separates, translates, and incorporates. B.  Our social identities must be identified and known.  Personal identities should be considered. C.  The mixture is our professional identity.  The ratios matter. D.  Like a constellation, like an attention screen or a motivational device.  The potential for derailment is significant, even typical. E.  Articulation of the mechanisms is next.  Awaken. F.  Linger for awhile, float in between relapse and progress.  Change agents make a difference with their interpersonal capacity. G.  Social spheres orbiting.  And spinning.  H.  In transit to somewhere, never to return. Midair is sufficient for now, it is clean and healthy. I.  It will facilitate identity alterations.  Be at the ready, eyes open and willing. J.  The time is now, the space is here.  We have  joie de vivre , curiosity, and a...

Heavy effort, smashing and agile. Working the court, squinting into the sun. All warmed up. A star spangled multi-national anthem. From continents afar. One, two, three, four. Media and the 11 second update. Road trip destination, clear and cool. Logo box in the back. Old back roads still move. Sweet Norah singing about Lone Stars. Doubling up first, mix it good. Too much pace, too much finish. Then the singles. 2nd got excellent depth, a set up artist. Commentators, writers, racquet experts. Fashionable opinions. Singers, rappers, shouters. Coaches, seemingly everywhere. Glares and dirty looks, 3rd having fun. Wrist tendons, shoulder aches, backs. Hard courts are hard. Soft clay of Europe, calling them back. Like playing on clouds. No use for Cali, got to get the heck back. Trust the young eyes. Mean what they see, believe what they say. They dream in green. About angles and form and mental calm. And swinging under the windmills.

Dashing. In the air around you. Stereotype. Call up special operations. Orbiting. Nearing the satellites. Neptunian. Earth has its own space. Clairvoyant. Try the blue space special. Idealism. Only stardust in the end. Numerical.

Look into the glowfaces. The young don't care about our correctness. They are smarter than that. Tolerance has limits. Apathy, and most of its forms. Jokes. Journalism of the cowards. And crying babies. Righteousness drips through the pixels. Comedy, of the boring kind. Without laugh tracks. Witless. The future will begin soon.

The scholars and practitioners got together one day.  They wanted conclusions on the basis of evidence.  This war is for talent, not on talent!  Accidents will not do, our prescription is a pill that will work.  Transformational leaders can be made, especially the born leaders.  There's got to be theories of self-awareness, charisma is a relative term, and models must be developed, not adopted. This is merely a transaction if morality has no center.  Transparent, ethical, fair.  Unlike a shadow, full of substance.  Full of the Give-A-Care Factor (GAC).  The serendipty does its part, the unknown universe of fate.  Like being born, then being made.  An entity of incremental elasticity.  The dominos have already fallen.  The lazy are cast aside, avoided.  The idols are dead, they were not enough.  It's easy to see what's wrong. Think about how to think.  Seek to learn.  Clarify your self-concept....

This was not a dream. But it seemed like one. Cold Monday. A ride to remember. Cruising with Martin on our minds. The 60s. Tragic age of American assassinations. Not peace and love. No flower power. More Altamont, less Woodstock. Fast fender contraption. Too late for that. Pant leg caught up in the chain. Yellow box house near Chestnut Square. Broke beyond repair. A bicycle birthday miracle. Ditch the reflectors for sure. Raise a glass at The Celt. With the chips & fish. Old Kam's, old Buffalo Joe's. T'was in another lifetime. One of toil and blood. When blackness was a virtue. And the road was full of mud. Rio knows who's to blame. On this dog friendly patio. Lawyers will even rob the blind. And then Angel White walked up. With bad religion and a burning cigarette. Paisley trousers and pointy cowboy boots. Jewel studded, orange shaded shades. Guitar around his neck. Ready to sing his own songs. About going and love and being sa...

The mannequin woman was glowing. Lights, and the silver smooth voice. Prepare for lift off with the audio level. Heavy noises waking internal spirits. Vibrations and a tight, banging beat. Keys, mixed with shooting phasers. Opener raps about friends and enemies. Chills, outside air crisp and breezing. Sweet spices with the fly red stripes. The iced tea of Long Island, New York. Just enough for the loosen up, easy. Let the music in, let it move the body. Balancing on the ledge of funk and poetry. Went in for the hug, it wasn't necessary. No worries, no worries, my love. Here she is, a giver, a forgiver, a pretender. Leaving this planet, with chemical brain. In perfect rhythm, thinking the same things.

I'm gonna go. Find my wave. I'm gonna roll. Find my wave. I'm gonna ride. Find my wave. Riding in style. Find my wave. Feel really shook. Find your wave. Feel like a crook. Find your wave. Feel nothing new. Find your wave. Give me some clues. Find your wave. Ain't it peachy, ain't it peachy, ain't it peachy, I swear. Ain't it sweetie, ain't it sweetie, ain't it sweetie, let's share. Ain't it beachy, ain't it beachy, ain't it beachy, I swear. Maybe we sing. Find our wave. Maybe we fling. Find our wave. Maybe we run. Find our wave. All in good fun. Find our wave.

Down under, under the Equater, the heat rises off the court.  The players are suffering through.  This season shall begin. The older and decorated.  Gushed over, respected, feared.  For good reason.  They have accomplished.  Some will break. The younger and intimidated.  Ignored, overlooked, punked.  Anonymous.  But not for long.  Soon, the racquet will turn. Commentators with their thoughts.  Former players who know.  The physical toil.  The psychological toll.  Memories of glory. Down under, under the Equater, the lines don't lie.  Roars of exertions, screams of effort, groans.  Intentional intensity. 

The insides will fail. Connecting wires, burning. Finite. Sail the open sea. Around the globe, cruising. Limelight. Take the clear way. Above the clouds, sleeping. Midnight. Top of the clock. Hands together, clapping.

Step off the subway line. Into the madness. Your station has arrived. Excuse the little crimes. Forgive the sadness. Comes with being alive. Don't go away too far. Or for too long, please. The emptiness is feared. Way up there, near the stars. Beyond these dark trees. Outside the atmosphere. Another cheer for love. When we feel assured. For all eternity. Take it easy, my love. Shake the blues with words. It's our reality. FC GAm FCG G G Harp

Beyond the 4th wave of computing, beyond the clouds. These are the early days, when personal sovereignty is misunderstood, untrusted. An impressive audience, learning about computing technology evolution. The majors are upset, the pioneers have been held up at gunpoint. My Casa is your Casa. So they say. Political philosophy will take you nowhere. Be anonymous and safe. Hide behind your node, you cypherpunk, you keymaster. The frame is the main thing, the data suckers. Sitting duckers. The Port Authority Building. Encryption and automatic miners. Lightening networks and the open market, run on a fortress of validation. Impenetrable. Before the 5th wave.

Think a minute. Forget the tasks. Blink a minute. A final blast. Hold a second. A single thought. Well, I reckon. Maybe it's lost. In early hours. The sky will light. Show the flowers. Their sweet delights. The truth is lit. Lit like a fire. We can't dismiss. Love's graceful power. Ex2 A E

If I thought about all the people I know. The ones that show up to the solo shows. Friends that don't worry bout trivial things. Like the flyest ride or the biggest ring. When I think about all the people I knew. Left on good terms, not mad, not rude. Just over and done, no harms or fouls. Moved on, usually following clouds. Get the poison out of the ivy. That seems the story of you and me. The air is thick with dangerous things. Modification is the name of the game. Hear me good before we have to go. Nobody knows what remains unknown. Tell me everything you have to say. Visions of the future and more happy days. All the colors our eyes could ever gaze. Changed the fortunes of broken DNA. Cured the sickness before it came to be. Revealed the secrets so we all believed. GC GD7 GC GD7CG

It was near freezing.  We were geared up and anxious to move around, Bluetooth musical arrangements were made.  The tennis court was popping, Bob Schneider was singing about the stars over your house.  I was stretching.  Keck and Joe were listening intently to an old bar fight story from Coach Bill.  He really was one of the best back in his fighting 20s, an underdog with hidden fury, willing to be provoked.  A finisher.  This story featured a demonstrative re-creation of his final battle cry before his fists ended another brawl.  "You got blood in my brother's shirt!"  Fashion and blood, the Vita bond.  But it was too cold for stories and we quickly got started on the first round robin of the new year.   Fresh resolution possibilities of tennis basics consumed my thoughts.  'Watch the tennis ball all the way to the strings in 2019' emerged as the one.  The pros always do, but the rest of us tend to get wild ey...