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Tech, Social networks and & the rise of Inconvenient Desire

19 Sunday Oct 2014

Posted by Thin Air Factory in Uncategorized

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21st Century Consumer, Adaptive Governance, Apple, Caring about what people care about, Communications, Consumer Activist, desire, ecosystems, Foxconn, Human Rights, Identity, Incandescent Identity, Institutional Investors, Labour Conflicts, NPS, reputation Studies, resilience, social networks, Supply Chains, technology, Value Chains

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You’d be hard pushed to find a more powerful source of human incandescence than that of Desire.

Most humans once seized upon by a fierce Desire, (quenchable, drenchable or otherwise) would struggle to not glow like embers or light up like a Christmas Tree.

But equally, incandescence is a volatile and unstable thing in its base form. It is as likely to illuminate a life as it is to burn down a house, so must always be treated with the greatest caution and respect.

A powerful and singular Desire, initially so exquisitely turned out: seductive, rich, complex and compelling, can quickly lose its form, focus and potency, becoming fleeting, deceptive, destabilising, and in some ways almost manipulative – one moment all consuming, profound substantial and irresistible: a twisted echo or hollow memory the next, whispering in our ear.

It is one of the cruel polarities of life that Desire, especially when ignored, demeaned, spoiled or thwarted, can become a very destructive force –  one of the most turbulent, psyche-ripping, heart-trouncing, confidence-destroying, life-diminishing experiences in our human condition.

We do not take it well! And it makes us act in irrational, random and unexpected ways.

So Desire. Powerful, yes; BUT its got form. Tricky. Volatile. Fluid. Uncontrollable. Fragile.

A singular Desire is of course not the only model. Desire has many forms, natures and universes. Not all Desire is so singular, egocentric, unfettered and prone to flip-flopping and flailing all over the place, at the drop of a rather existential hat. Some Desires are quiet; considered; evolving over expansive periods of time and frames of context. Others are a dynamic shifting mass: loose ecosystems of smaller desires, likes, preferences, needs and wants; splintered, fractured, fractual. A brilliant constellation with fluid and adaptive qualities.

But for now let’s concentrate on one very particular nature of Desire and the context in which it exists: that of human consumption and the systems and organisations that meet its rapacious and accelerating demands.

Desire in its 20th Century Consumer form was well served by multiple businesses and the brands they created. Most importantly the Desire was one dimensional: of a linear and modal kind. A singular Desire, in the form of an unmet consumer demand for a particular product or service, was either revealed or identified through intuition, experience, market research or in the absence of anything else, confected out of thin air in a marketing consumer insight department and then seeded in the mind of the unsuspecting consumer.

Once identified, every atom of the business was put in service to meet the needs of that one Desire. The whole operational infrastructure and systemic nature and capability of the brand and business was set into motion to against it. The sentiment and sensibility of every other person in the chain other than that of the Consumer – the font of all revenue opportunity – was set aside, ignored, or suppressed; viewed as at best, secondary, or at worst, irrelevant.

The Desires (and disappointments) of any individual or group dwelling in the Supply Chain that provided the material, resource, operational systems and manufacturing tools were also secondary – and someone else’s problem.

The Value Chains that developed around the Supply Chain to extract clear measures of additional value in every link in the chain, were focused wholly on controlling and securing in absolute terms the direct cost of resources (human and material), the executive overhead, operational running costs, the logistics of distribution and the indirect fixed contracting of supplier partners, especially when operating across multiple sites and geographies across myriad countries and cultures.

The ability to secure the base cost of delivering increasing value in every link of the chain was the way by which a company both improved its productivity and profitability. And it did it by controlling everything. Even the desires and the voices of those that worked within it.

The insular unconnected and disparate nature of the old world was highly convenient for those who wished to quash any form of desire that might destabilise that link in the chain’s ability to deliver itself at a projected and secured cost amenable to the larger commercial target and deliverable margin.

The very fact that these various sites and sources of production were localised, isolated and unconnected to every other stakeholder in the chain by anything other than their place in that chain meant that the desires of the workforce and the local communities in which they lived could be considered incidental. They remained for the most part invisible, unheard and often unmet. It is fairly telling that the managerial department allocated solely to ensuring and upholding the wellbeing of people required to populate and sustain any Value Chain were identified as a Support Activity in Value Chain models.

But those Desires cannot be ignored anymore. In the 21st century, the consumer’s Desire is not the only one that must be respected, elevated and pored over.

Technology and the social networks have unchained the value chain, giving voice and a podium to every Desire of every person (or stakeholder if you prefer) along the chain, Supply, Value or Otherwise. And they cannot be simply ignored anymore.

Now, Desire has got a smart phone, 6 email accounts, a facebook page, a twitter, instagram and youtube account. And Desire is getting busy.

Desires, individual and collective, in every corner of the globe are now connected. They’ve got access. They’ve got volume. And they are using the social networks to act with fierce purpose against brands and businesses they feel demonstrate an arrogant lack of respect for the human rights and dignities of their customers, employees, suppliers or partners. Once fired up, these consumer activists will harry and pursue the perpetrators regardless of emollient PR releases and promises – as the likes of Apple and Foxconn found out in no uncertain terms. These massed, noisy and high profile actions are now proven to have a direct impact on the measures of integrity held in high esteem by brands and businesses – NPS, The Reputation Study – and more importantly by the investors who fund their ambitions.

So the volatility, flux and turbulence of kaleidoscopic Desire is now at work in the world along very link of the Chain. And they are testing the resilience of those chains, and buffeting the previously tightly controlled and secured value and margin each link in the chain delivers. Adaptive governance must now include the ability to absorb the turbulence these points of social flux and volatility present.

In this way, the 21st Century world of accessible, affordable tech and the social networks they fuel are giving rise to a new chain – the Desire Chain – a value chain populated by individuals with dreams, expectations and rights as important and potent and ultimately as capable of creating value and growth as the old singular desire of the Consumer in the 20th Century.

So here’s to brands embracing a new chain model – the Desire Chain – one that is made incandescent and more resilient by respecting and elevating the desires of every stakeholder in its chain, to mutual benefit and a more secure future for all.

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The essay upon which this blog is based, ‘The Value Chained Unchained‘, explores the nature and impact of technology and the social networks on the old Value Chain models and sets out the need for a new model based upon ever-evolving highly adaptive points of Mutual Desire and Shared Resilience.

The Value Chain Unchained by J Borra is to be published by Shared Value Chain Consultancy as part of a compendium of essays on Sustainable Value Chains. Editor: Michael D’heur

www.sharedvaluechain.com

uber tech, the human condition & the curse of being Super

27 Saturday Sep 2014

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ABBA, Born To Run, Bruce Springstein, Cage Fighting, Carbyne, Evolution, Green Lantern, Jack & Diane, Kinesis, Mutants, Nanotechnology, Pilsbury Dough Boy, Ronal McDonald, Superman, Supertrouper, Survival, technology, telephone boxes, The Human Condition, Vinyl, Wonder Woman, Wurlitzers

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The juke-box was one of the old fashioned ones – none of this fancy new micro aural-fabric wall covering surround sound system stuff.

It was Old School. Renovated Wurlitzer. Vinyl. Beautiful. Real. Music you could touch and smell. Tucked in a corner. Take your 165bpm world and stick it on 78rpm.

A love-struck Romeo plays the streets a serenade…

laying everybody low…

with a love song that he made

A ripple of delight rolled up the cloaked blue back. Lois loved this song.

The PA system rudely interrupts the juke-box, and a few bright chords chime out over the heaving hall.

ABBA!!! Jesus.

He winces: just a little. Like The Man With No Name. Love those movies. To one side of the bar, on the wall, a carousel of ‘original’ movie posters flickered up. Le Bon. Le Brute. Le Truand. Everywhere you looked a screen played your thoughts back to you.

Clark sends the last pistachio shell skittering across the bar top. It scuttles and flips on the escarpment of some old bar top graffiti and spins off into space.

His wrist band buzzed. His heart rate must have increased. Substantially. Its glow took on a purple hue. Pituitary aberrations. Weird.

As if by magic, the barman comes and removes the almost empty bottle of sour mash in front of him.

“Sorry ‘Man. You know how it rolls. Can drink yourself to death for all I care. But not here. They’ll shut us down and sue our ass to next Jesus day if you die on the premises”

The irony of this statement, given that not 10 metres away combatants regularly tried to rip each others heads off and squeeze plasma out of each others eyes, was not lost on Clark. But it seemed to have passed the barman by.

Clark fingered and stretched the polymer blue-black tube around his wrist. One day he’d figure out how to turn this thing off. Ugly little spy. But needs must.  No band; no cover; no health and no welfare.

It relentlessly measured his vital signs and a number of secondary organ, enzyme and blood readings, distributing the data at super light fibre speed to everyone from his insurance company to the local hospital to the social welfare office to the barman in front of him via geo-location and face recognition. Latency certainly wasn’t an issue. The information was transmitted so damn fast it may as well have gone back in time.

Maybe he should drink inside the Cage. The bands didn’t work inside it. It blocked the signal. So much for infallible systems.

Hologram Ren belched, scraped back his stool, and stood up, kind of. He was done. Clark nodded, not that Ren really noticed. Wasn’t the same since Stimps got burned. A one man show Ren wasn’t. The music increased in volume.

Su-per trou-per

lights are gonna find me 

shining like the sun…

smiling having fun…

feeling like the No1!

One Eyed Mike thought he was real funny.

The music is Clark’s cue to move towards the tired scruffy wired cage at the far end of the bar hall – to the Cage and its sweaty bloody canvas. Made from triple-strength carbyne wire, it measured 30 feet by 30 feet by 30 feet.

What a circus. Mind you given his Victorian strong-man red-pants-outside-blue-tights look, he wasn’t really in position to comment.

The blue and red had seen better days, and the fabric looked positively ancient.

Clark shook down his shoulders. Christ he ached. He stepped up off the stool, his hand going to the site of his deepest scar, just beneath his right pectoral muscle.

The Cage on Highway Number 9 was jumping. Packed to the rafters with some ‘madness in its soul’. It was now legendary apparently; though how a straight-build tumbledown Roadhouse with a liquor & wrestling license in the middle of nowhere became legendary the gods only know.

The even bigger question was how all the other faded Supers had found him here, turning wrestling tricks for a few bucks and a free meal.

Not that it was bad having them here: just kind of crazy. They all felt happy here. Amongst their own. OK, so the Mutant Super thing kicked off every now and then but most of the time, apart from Parker’s web mess sprayed everywhere, getting on people’s nerves, it was, well, ok.

Being Super didn’t mean shit anymore. Everyone was Super now. With their airborne InfoTech, data bytes the size of asteroids travelling just as fast, virtual experiential sensosuits cheaper than a pair of sweat pants, and headspace 360 real-time vision and cyber implants.

There was time when Super meant something. Before everyone got junked up on tech.

Green Lantern was stretching off in the corner of the Cage. Bless him. Like a huge slightly jaded leprechaun.

ABBA’s super euro pop tune drifts out of the PA across the long room around the tables of assorted friends, freaks, failures.

Note to self. Take said pop song and stick it up one-eyed Mike’s new one, freshly ripped.

One Round. That should do it, Pound the crap out of him and bring a House Of Pain down on his head and then the rest of the night would be sweet.

One final super rumble at midnight and then he was free for another week.

He wondered who today’s Cage Celebrity Smack-down pairing was going to be.

Watching Ronald McDonald and The Pilsbury Dough Boy rip pieces out of each other last week, howling and hawking, covered in their own viscera, tears streaking their stage makeup and dough-eyed faces had moved to a place beyond funny.

He flexed his left arm. Shoots and pin pricks again. The Band griped on his wrist.

Clark’s focus was pulling in and out again. Gone were the days of looking through rock and steel. Could barely see through the edge of the Cage.

His vision tightened. Time to get busy. Washed up he may be in the flying universal policeman stakes but he could still rumble with the best of them.

That’s what they could smell. That’s what drew them from all over the US.

This scruffy aggregate of pseudo-super human beings with their fancy tech sophistry were here to see one thing. Good old school violence. The parochial, outside the beer-hall, looking at my girl kind of violence. Blood. Spit. Ugliness. Pain. The possibility of watching a creature suffer.

For all the experiences they could virtually replicate, the one they hadn’t nailed was the sheer excitement, the delicious thrill of seeing another creature, weakened, terrified and humiliated; buckling and writhing with the metallic taste of its own blood gurgling in its throat. Motorway pile ups, public hangings and terrorist beheadings. They just couldn’t help themselves.

And no avatar can replicate that expression: the one that flickers across a creature’s eyes when the bleak finality of knowing that its time has come in the gene pool survival game.

For all their peacocking about their virtual nirvana; and even in the face of the genocidal scale of their virtual battling and gaming, this super-human race had lost the ability to feel anything – pain; pleasure; and fear; especially real fear. This counted as a really big evolutionary Uh Oh in Clark’s book: the reverse Darwinian nature of a smart animal using its smartest inventions to make it the dumbest animal on the predatory block.

Divine obsolescence didn’t strike Clarke as a sensible plan for a species.

He scuffed around the bar, frozen for just for a moment in the light of an Ad wipe (highly annoying kinetically activated advertising curtains that mapped you and ‘robed you’ in some kitsch new designer apparel, took a pic and then immediately sent the pic to all the contacts in your band contact list across every social network in the world – With a ‘Hey doesn’t Clarke look sharp – tell him you like it’ button.)

Changing outfits was something Clarke was kind of done with. Half the telephone boxes disappeared and the ones that were left came with a drug dealer and a splash of voluptuous and rather inappropriately dressed ladies’ calling cards.

The crowd are cheering him in; but he has become deaf to it.

His gaze swings to the right of the path between the tables.

At one of the ring-side tables sits the crazy woman with her young boy. The boy was about 4 years old Clark reckoned; dressed in a forlorn super-suit from some gas station. The boy was fingering his game bar frantically.

Baby Superman. With bits of old hotdog and ketchup stain down the front. The truth always hurt.

As he walked past the boy he saw over his shoulder that the boy’s avatar was in flight mode hovering above the screen.

Christ.

Anyone can fly now. Not like the old school. At least they tried. At least planes actually understood what it was to move through the fluid air under their own power. At least a sky dive flight suit put you up there and out there for a moment, like some deranged flying squirrel. At least it was… …real.

Now everyone knew what it felt like to fly. Right. ‘Felt like’. The actual sensation. Even a so so mid range sensosuit could replicate the exact physical sensation of flying by firing millions of tiny charges across your skin, with different pressure sensors expanding and contracting the grasp of the suit on you to mimic dynamic movement in flight and G pressure. And the MeSq power implants in your head activated the relevant endorphins and adrenalin surges just to make sure you ‘felt it’.

Everyone could do everything. Everyone could see around the world in a second. Through steel and concrete. Everyone could see the future. Everyone could destroy anything with the flick of a finger. Everyone could be in 5 places at once. Superpowers was just so …everyday.

No-one needed the strength of 1000 men to topple a tall building. They could call up the strength of millions and topple a country.

The boy fingered the game bar furiously.

Could do without Diana seeing him that’s for sure

She’d looked a little shook up last time Clarke saw her. He always knew: when she played with her bracelets something was up. Like a change in the weather. When her heart was heavy, the scars on her wrists ached under her Indestructible bracelets.

She hadn’t mentioned the kids thing for awhile. He thought that maybe the pain had faded a little.

All she wanted was a kid. A normal, un-tampered with, straight DNA strand, in body baked baby. But for all the technology in the world it just wasn’t to be.

Anyway. They were cool. Clarke and Dian. Hanging out. It kind of worked.In fact the mundanity of it was a blessing; sweet liberation.

Life was simpler when you were less Super. Less wonderful. Something the new super humans with all their gadgets and advances needed to figure out for themselves.

He was in front of the Cage now. Green Lantern was looking wired. The tell tale pulsing temple and grinding jaw told Clark that he’d junked up on nano-oxgenators – small pieces of in blood technology that multiplied the effect of oxygen and adrenalin into your blood stream to boost resilience, strength and stamina.

Jesus even the Supers were at it now.

This wasn’t going to be quite as simple as Clark had previously though.

Screw it. He just needed to man up. Anyway. She’d be here soon. And everything would be alright.

The Princess and Clark: living the ditty; the Jack & Diane of the 21st Century, growin’ old in the heartland.

Clark steps up into the Cage. As he does so the sheer blue fabric of his suit catches the edge of the jagged wires. Rip.

Su-per-trou-per

Lights are going to find you

Shining like the sun

Smiling having fun

Feeling like the number 1.

Funny.

Invisible Telecoms, the looking glass & the Hidden Art of IT Qi

14 Thursday Aug 2014

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competitive advantage, create and capture value, customer centricity, Digital, hyper speed, Invisible Telecoms, IT, Martial Art, operational innovation, opportunities, Qi, qualitative growth, resilience, Social, Solutions provision, systemic excellence, Tech, tech reflex, telecoms, Zen

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I have become an adherent to the new martial art of business. I can now see the entrepreneurial wood for the IT trees.

And in true zen stylie, what I see is all about what is unseen.

A statement of the bleeding obvious perhaps BUT in the realm of your tech and IT systems and solutions partner who enabled them, out of sight is truly out of mind.

We should not only embrace the invisible Matrix nature of IT and tech deployment. We should grow to love it. And for good reason.

The Now you see it Now you don’t approach to best in class tech and IT – apparent only by its absence denotes a win for the business.

Invisibility is success.

Because Visibility usually means you’ve a little way to go yet.

Like the word Digital. Or the word Social. IT and tech, while still top of the conversational pile and being touted as the next best C Suite thang, are patently still under-performing.

While we still say them out loud, put them on presentations, flag them, budget for them, mention them loudly in lifts it simply means they are not yet embedded properly. They are not optimally integrated. If they were we would not need to point at them.

In certain areas of business the idea of anything becoming invisible is a measure of its success. Sustainability is a very good example also of this phenomena. While there is still a CSO, and Sustainability has not migrated up into the Marketing or Operational functions, Sustainability cannot be said to be truly integrated into the nature and fabric of the business.

Much like Sustainability, Tech and IT should, in its explicit and visible form, seek to become invisible – working towards a strategy of divine obsolescence.    

Moving from an explicit visible tangible to becoming internalized, implicit, invisible: transforming into a discrete reflex or innate ability within the business: when something becomes second nature, it means that the fluid, synchronised nature of it is seamlessly connecting and connected with the ‘flow’.

IT & Tech, much like HR, is no longer a support activity as it was in the old model of Value Chains, an administrative prop to paperwork systems and communications in an analogue world. Through intra and extra nets, digital and social service improvements and propositions, operational innovations and the new world order of hyper speed intelligence and data as a primary driver of most businesses competitive advantage, IT & tech is now woven through every dimension of a business. 

So to set out to deliver Invisible Telecoms – to make the measure of success the degree of visibility of IT & tech dimensions of the business is compelling.

If you are a solutions provider in the area and your goal is to work with clients to embed IT and telecoms to such a degree that they become invisible – transforming into the company’s systemic operational reflex, the synaptic system controlling the optimal operational ‘flow’, then your goal has exceptional commercial value.

The ambition to take it to the nth degree until it becomes the company’s ‘second nature’ if you will presets a business for greater flexibility agility and focus.

Invisibility also becomes a very clear metric of customer centricity.

If you’re in the business of selling IT and tech, in the real world of value, you need to move from pushing buttons boxes and fibre to selling the space to think and act on building a more resilient business through tech.

You need to be in the business of selling Mind-width not bandwidth: free your mind and your ass will follow as Funkadelic sang. Unlocking the entrepreneurial reflex in the business by liberating the customers mind of Tech & IT distractions – leaving them free to concentrate on creating exceptional ‘flow’.

To a customer Invisibility is about the goal of making IT & Tech less and less present in my eye-line: less of a priority: less visible in my inbox everyday, dropping away to being something that just ‘is’. The concept of turning IT & tech into a truly ethereal concept for a business is brave and powerful.

Creating the Qi model for smart businesses, changing the whole way we thing about IT, moving it from rational and engineered to being truly systemic, flow orientated and about cultural and social vitality and wellbeing – wellbeing from the inside out.

Qualitative growth is hard to see or imagine let alone define and capture through a complex maze of surface connectivity, functionality and capability. The ability to mine qualitative growth opportunity needs to be a reflex in the business facilitated by invisible technology and hyper speed connectivity. The systemic fabric and infrastructure needs to be able to act at the speed of the human mind and work well in advance of it.

Time to remove the IT bandages and unsee what is beneath. The degree of how much is left unseen will be down to the mastery of the CTO and their digital partners in crime. 

This truly is the looking glass and the wormhole rolled into one. A world of infinite possibility only recognisable in each successful step towards a wholly more resilient and differentiated business – one focused on unleashing minds to do what they should be doing. Walking the talk is not an app that you buy; its a disposition that you live.

White rabbit anyone? 

crimes of fashion, loose suits, bad shoes & the dark art of sartorial premonition

14 Thursday Aug 2014

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So a thought crossed my mind, of well-dressed men with violent hearts.

Strangely, it happened as I wandered through Regents Park. Perhaps it was the glance to the right through the trees to the security personnel standing outside one of the park’s beautiful regency residences – a member of ‘staff’ with a distinctly eastern bloc special-forces tilt to their gait, posture and physical presence.

Even weirder, the trigger was not the mallet-like, box-thumb hands that could squeeze the life out of me in a heartbeat (a stalled one that is); or his potential tightly-wound, to unleash unholy and highly trained hell armed or otherwise on any kind or number of assailants.

It was not even a sudden turbulent curiosity cloaked in too many spie films about special ops backstories; or on what continent or continents his personal attritional signature might have been developed.

It was actually the cut of his suit.

Yes, amidst the wealth of possibilities for curiosity to be pricked, it was the sartorial that leapt to the top of the pile for me.

The reason it did so was held in the fact that there was the shadow of something terrible about him. But it was not held in his potential for murderous activity or at the very least, its highly painful and vaguely psychopathic cousin, maiming.

I realised that the most disturbing thing about him was the shadow of death that was cast across him – and not that of anyone else’s. It was the shadow of his own.

The suit was the signature of his own demise. His whole sartorial self, was stained with a destiny more aligned with the dusty bottom of a builder’s skip behind some grand hotel In Budapest, than it was the baize surface of a blackjack table in the Sporting Club in Mote Carlo.

Now, to be clear, the look I am describing is not to be mistaken for just plain bad, really cheap or misguidedly chosen clothing and everyday wear.

This also should not be seen to stumble into the wardrobe of the ill-fitting porter’s uniform, the one size too big overcoat of the hotel doorman (with give away chasm between the back of the coat collar and shirt collar). And this absolutely should not under any circumstance be mistaken for the shambling borrowed suit look, quite popular at weddings and court appearances (thought the latter might come the closest). 

The suit was dark blue – almost black. But the vents were a little too over stated; the lapels a little too obvious. It was slightly ill fitting. His shoes were exceptionally well polished.

There was nothing of the stealth-wealth class enshrined in the uber-discretion of Commander Bond’s suit, personally cut by Gieves, an open stitched silk shirt, shod in a well turned pair of Lobbs, a understated pochette off-setting the breast pocket.

The benefit of the minutiae of class correctness and breeding and having been around money and its vestiges all one’s life, means that invariably smart clothes are worn comfortably, a cloth skin which the wearer is happy in, regardless of whether they are loose or tight, cheaply accessorised or expensively purchased.

(Though to be frank some might think otherwise having spent an afternoon in the company of the finer, older end of the British aristocracy: where one could be forgiven for thinking that the ladies from the tills at Sainsbury’s had popped on a frock and picked up the male vagrants from the local AA meeting on the way round to the Manor House.)

Having spied this man, and as my mind wandered through a picture album of gangsterdom and thuggery I realised that it was the same reoccurring theme.

Everyone looks like they’re dressed in their funeral suit.

To be fair these types of men are built for attrition. Built to haul, bludgeon, rip, cut, break and prevail – whether that is with a sharp plough across a barren field, with a sledgehammer about the head of fence post, with a weighted crane wire on a Rig, with the brittle fingered winching of a north sea haul, or with a hand, knife, gun, grenade or club across another human’s being.

But unlike their forebears, whose best suit only came out for a wedding and a funeral, these men wear the wrapping of wedding and funeral as their work clothes.

Perhaps it is because their lives are marked on a potentially much shorter trajectory than everyone else’s that they need to live (and wear) all of their lives at once.

But there suddenly was the striking truth of it for me.

Theirs is a look of the open-coffin funeral. They have the look of a dead man walking.

The Security personnel had that way of letting their arms drop in a V in front of them, crossing at the wrists, with one hand placed across the other at hip height.

It takes little for those same wrist-crossed ‘hand-over-hand’ arms to move upwards towards the middle of their chest to a point of eternal peace and repose – like some stone hewn sculpting of the great knight at their final rest atop the crypt.  

So, the open coffin look; that of a corpse in slightly ill fitting suit they rarely or ever wore, shoes over shined, plasticky and new. The body deflating before one’s eyes, collapsing back into the folds of the suit as the last sub atomic vestiges of their living self leave the cadaver.

And now that I think back to everything from pictures of the Rat Pack and their ‘Italo-American’ Minders, to Russian secret policemen around the Kremlin, to bouncers in any city, to the petite gangsters of any over cologne cocktail bar, the look is the universal look of the Funeral.

I realized that these men seem to have raided the dressing up box of the funeral home, and perhaps there is something bleakly fitting in that they are dressed for a funeral that might given their job come to them, far quicker than you or I.

At a more rarified level, the relationship between men of violence (be they Kings, Tribal Warlords or Gangsters – there is little difference to be fair in their differing shades of socio-psychopathy) and the sartorial plumage of success is long established.

It seems that preening either pre or post violent Armageddon seems to fulfill a number of roles.

CIVILIZATION – To cloak the generator of said violence is some form of cloth grandeur and reward – like an animal skin post the brutal hunt – wrapping oneself in the prize of your violence is quite a primal past time.

ACQUISTION Equally, plunder in the shape of Cloths of gold and silk embroidered with gemstones were the first thing the status-thirsty barbarian would plump for post massacre of the innocence or après a little light butchering of the fat pigs of mercantile avarice.

UTILITY It is worth also remembering that filching a rather natty pair of strides, boots or a well made greatcoat has been the historic stock in trade of most everyone from gunslingers in the wild and rather badly dressed West to soldiers traipsing through thirty below along the Eastern Front – both the Napoleonic and WWII versions.

So the idea of clothing in some shape or form as trophies of violent conquest or subjugation has ‘form’ one might say. 

But most particularly, it is in the suits shirts shoes and accessories – the lizard skin belts, Gucci shoes, encrusted Rolex watches – of the modern day gangster that we see the preening version most vividly adorned – a modern take on the look passed down through the folklore and photographic record of the Italo-American mobster and those that aped their fashionable aspirations – of the poor kid done good; taking their place besides the senators, sages and celebrities of their age.

(Note I have not included the Afro- American and Anglo-Jamaican street gangs in this note as their sartorial aspirations broadly lie in the polar opposite direction – drawing from the dime store sports clothing rip offs and cheap synthetic shirts of their poor streets and the ghetto penitentiary look of the slung trouser inmate of the US Penal system.)

The UK mobsters of the late 40s 50s and 60s were little different to their American cousins and their middle european counterparts. London gangs sported a similar uniform of gaudy suits, over stated silk shirts, razor sharp ties and shoes – over styled and over cut.

Sartorially obsessing men with violent hearts.

To make such an observation may seem flippant in such times, when the news is filled with so much unholy (or for many and to their eternal shame) holy murderous brutality being unleashed on so may innocents by dreadful mobsters, warlords, politicians, tyrants, sovereign states and laughably-lauded Royal Houses.

But maybe in doing this I am searching for a way of easily identifying all of those who have this easy brutality in them.

My reasoning being that if one was able to pinpoint them that easily, and on a global scale, perhaps, and just perhaps someone’s god or gods somewhere, or some form of omnipotent being, or even a calamitous act of science (think Big Bang but on a smaller more human scale, with laser like targeting, really nasty Kevlar piercing particles and an eye for badly dressed violent men) would wipe their faculty and kind from the face of the earth.

But the first problem with this fantasy is that there are also a whole heap of sartorially challenged men out there who might get offed along with them which would constitute a bit of a whoops ( and a rather immediate resource issue for most financial services sales departments out there)

The other problem is that in promoting that scale of vengeful murderous ugliness, I would become just like the men in bad suits with violent hearts: which is a nightmare.

Next thing I know, it’ll be Officers Club, Oxford street. Dark blue wool suit. Over sized vents. Bad lapels. No real button holes. Synthetic yoke and quarter lined. ‘Invisible’ rayon stitching. footballer fat long knot silk tie.

Stage two: a light criminal conviction for mild affray – followed closely by escalating madness with power tools.  

Final destination: a box which, as Ted Moult put so beautifully for so many years, is fully air tight with hard wood surround.

Here’s to well dressed gentle people.

Trust Me Im a Sustainability Practitioner: storytelling, storytellers & the emollient art of not seeming ‘slippery’

09 Saturday Aug 2014

Posted by Thin Air Factory in Uncategorized

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I watched a film today. A discrete film. An understated film. A short film.

No popcorn. No slash cut dash glut editing. No highly confected verite cutaways. No corporate schlock horror probe. No desperately arch atavistic activist paddling in their own propaganda.

The film, by the Copenhagen Film Company, focused all of its attention on one man; a gentleman of about 60 years of age. The camera is unwavering. A set up shot. A few discernible cuts. Otherwise, clean clinical but mostly respectful.

Sitting in a sparse elevated office, we see incidentally that life relentlessly trammels on below and behind the speaker regardless of us and our elevated conversations; cars on streets going about their business.

The man, Mads Ovlisen, a Senior Advisor at the United Nations Global Compact. speaks of running sustainable businesses. He speaks of the UNGC committed to setting the agenda and aligning policy around sustainability issues – Energy, Water, Agriculture, Renewables, Food, Transportation, Building and Pharmaceuticals: most every pillar and issue one might ever imagine turning up on a sustainability strategy slide.

He speaks of a discrete yet powerful stakeholder group who collectively make astonishing impacts in the world through their brands and businesses.

He speaks of how much fortitude it takes to merge civil and corporate interests

The man speaks of things far from the ears or the offices of the average Brand Jonny or Jane; and probably far from their frame of reference or, to be blunt, self interest.

Though, to be fair, they would I hope understand the emotion that the film evoked in me.

Maya Angelou’s exposition on emotion versus reason: “I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel” is a powerful philosophical sound bite for an ad man or woman looking to do more creative and insightful creative storytelling.

It is one I respect as I do spend most of my time seeking to make very complex things simple through creative story telling.

But the storytelling here was not some confected theme or hashtag slogan mantra being played out. The storytelling here was in the nature of the Storyteller.

It was not the dry content of his words that compelled me: though there was one axial moment in his discourse that fixed in my memory.

He (unsurprisingly in an axial moment) made what was for me an axiomatic statement – one which sticks in my memory.

His axiom was thus: “this is about how a company makes its money, not about how it spends it”

I found this statement scintillatingly simple. Its power for me derived from the way in which it frames the resilience strategy of a company with such philosophical clarity.

If a company finds that its focus resides in the first part of the axiomatic phrase – the pursuit of a more sustainable business is infused with a rich seam – of purpose beyond profit, ethical perspectives and corporate morality – and it gives a clear measure of the humanity enshrined within that company.

If the focus is on the second, then the company is about rational efficiencies and economies and smart procurement – a far less compelling and more importantly far less desirable mantra in attracting the right people towards that company. 

The reason why the subtle difference is or should be so important to companies is rooted in the part of their resilience strategy that demands best possible future talent be attracted in to the business.

The leadership and purpose at play in the first shading is vastly more attractive to Millennials than the second, which suddenly feels quite ’90s Business School in comparison.

Its not about which one is right or wrong. It is about which one is more powerful and compelling: and fit for the purpose.

And though the ability to sustain itself financially is paramount and primary to any business’s success, its ability to relentlessly and profitably attract best in class new and enlightened talent has to be the only strategy for future growth and stability.

As I have said, for me, though powerful, it is not the axiom in his treatise that I found so compelling.

He was the story. The storyteller as the living embodiment of the story he tells. It was not what he was saying so much as how he said it: his demeanour in the telling.

Simply put, his easy intelligence held lightly, the fixedness and the quiet purpose of his delivery were what drew me in.

His eyes and his voice where in some ways hypnotic. A ruse perhaps the cynics might say. Or is he just another modulated technocrat? Maybe.

But the simple fact for me is that his demeanour, delivery and his intention created license for me to both find his arguments authentic and trustworthy.

I would go and listen to him speak again. I WANT to find out more of what’s in his head and heart.

And therein lies the emotional killer insight.

Having spent an inordinate amount of time around the professional cabal of the sustainability world and the consultancies that advise them, I realize now that I find them often no different to the sociopaths and psychopaths of the financial and advertising worlds they so often deride.

The messianic fervor of righteousness is never far away. One need only scratch a little to find it.

I said once that I was stunned by the amount of self interest I found in what is supposedly vaunted as a shared interest space. In the 3 years between that observation and today that feeling has only strengthened.

This is where the kettle pots and blackening may well begin.

So to be clear, that is not to say that the self interest or self advancement, a certain over confidence, or arrogance and a particularly singular and thick skinned trajectory have not been wielded by self interested individuals to make brilliant and collectively beneficial things happen.

The application of one’s personal mettle in the room to achieve an objective is a precarious process at the best of times – and self PR in a good cause is a dangerous tight rope to walk at the best of times. One shouldn’t be pilloried for faltering or getting it wrong sometimes.

Furthermore, doing so while traversing the particular social minefield of a leading edge cause that requires a deft combination of rare scientific and analytical rigour and messy irrational populist behaviour change is verging on Mission Impossible status.

I have been known to hop about a stage wrapped in my own personal theatre espousing methodologies that are of personal interest to me first and foremost.

So I am the last one to talk. I could never say that the cult of personality is a satanic pall over us all.

BUT the sudden clarity the film gave me around those simple levers and pulleys: a voice and eyes that I trust.

And the sudden realization that imparting a world view where the smile barely penetrates past the retina, or simply fixes like a grimace slung under cold eyes is not going to move this forwards.

Playing ones intellect and credentials before you into a very carefully prepared rooms like a buttered juggernaut to ensure the room is won takes us nowhere – other than to the next room.

Does that mean I think we should all grin like an idiot and play the fool? Or not deploy fierce intellects when they are needed?  

Not at all.

I would be the first to say intellect wielded well, whether in arch seriousness or as playful banter is more a matter of style, circumstance and empathy than integrity. I am the first to admit that my own flippancy and ‘lightness of touch’ means that I regularly misrepresent my deeper values and beliefs in this space amongst people who do not see these as even faintly redeeming character traits. I am certain it annoys the crap out of some of the more esteemed minds of the sector, especially if they feel people like me trivialize their cause. A Shiny brand jonny. A Catch phrase Charlie. And an interloper to boot.

But I am on a populist agenda: I want us to find the language, the demeanour and the presence that makes more people turn towards us, listen and find what we impart desirable and accommodating of the real life they lead.

So for me there needs to be creative storytelling based upon what people care about to illuminate sustainability truths. And there needs to be humanity. But mostly there needs to be trust. Trust that is human in its evocation not one demanded through an attrition of rationality.

It’s a simple human mechanism: Do I trust the person imparting the ‘wisdom’ to me.

Do they make me feel bad and stupid? Or good and smart? Great. Thanks. Two of those please.

Who knows. Perhaps I a far too one dimensional for all of this and I miss the complexities and subtleties inherent in the thrust and parry.  Shallow Is the new Deep.

Al I know is that the average man or woman trying to get to the end of the month and have a nice life without bankrupting themselves need some Trust in there to even begin to listen and change tack.

And degrees, credentialing, linked in profiles or executive steering committee positions just don’t cut it with them. That’s your dinner party conversation. Not their life.

So I return to the man who speaks discretely. Sets out his stall. His beliefs and the benefits of what he does.

And at the end of it he gets my vote. I’d put him in a pub with a load of people I was trying to bring round to the cause. He might not be their cup of tea. They might even find him boring.

But I think they’d trust him.

The film can be found at http://thisistouch.com/this-is/the-news/

  

 

Celebrating our human existence & the Big Beautiful Boomerang of Science and faith

09 Saturday Aug 2014

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 Screen Shot 2014-08-07 at 11.07.56

Just for fun – I endeavoured to make a small childlike scribble of the trajectory and meeting place between science and faith just beyond our sphere of consciousness.

Mainly because I was just wondering what happens when we cast our faith and knowledge into the void? And what comes back.

The sub-atomic particular and turbulent cosmic fizz from which all things known and unknown to us are formed – and from which all things reveal themselves – sits just beyond our consciousness.

It represents the great battle-ground on which the fundamentalists of faith and science seek to prevail.

To one group – the faithful – the fizz is an immeasurable fixed expansive and spiritual state with infinite potency and multiplicity rooted in one spiritual universal truth.

To the others – the rational – the fizz is a measurable volatile dynamic and expanding state with infinite faculty and possibility rooted in one mathematical universal truth.

SCIENCE the systematic enterprise that builds and organises knowledge in the form of testable explanations and predictions about the universe is an amazing thing and it reveals new and wondrous things to us everyday. But there is still so much unknown to us in science – and the more we discover the less we know. We now know that quantum physics and the maths that science roots itself in have been found to be common in material terms and in the more obvious nuclear physical world. But they have no idea how they overlap or how to close the chasm between them. And for all the sharp cornered reason based truths of it, even the most rigorous scientific fact or data is open to misinterpretation and manipulation for much the same reason as its theological counterpart. It exists in a rare society dislocated from the populous, hidden and closed. Its arcane nature renders it as arcane as theology. Equally, the moment the human hand or mind touches some absolute scientific truth, it is sullied: subject to human flaw and spoiling

FAITH There is much to be said for faith and its emollient and redeeming features in the hands and hearts of good people. Its ability to elevate and inspire the masses to elevate our human existence and civilise our societies can be very powerful. But this confidence or trust in a person thing, deity or view is wonderful. But we need to draw a very clear line between Faith with a big prescribed religious F and the little f of that belonging to people who just believe in something greater than us and beyond our comprehension and control

The doctrines or teachings of a religion can become a tyranny, as a belief not based on proof is far more vulnerable to manipulation than one that is rooted in measurable fact. Theology becomes the intellectual plaything of a rare society closed to the people and open to politicising and empire building, much the same as science.

The application of either kind of faith in absentia of any proof demands a leap of it, which in turn can lead to a model of sightless following. Blind faith especially in the prescribed religions suffocates honest open discourse. In this the framework lacks resilience – an adaptive reflex nature – and this is rooted in an often demonstrated inability to listen and react to things they don’t agree with in fundamental terms – unsurprisingly there is no evolutionary nature to their dogmas that can respond fluidly to the flux and flow of knowledge – which is the crux of their issue.

The big beautiful Boomerang

But perhaps for the rest of us just trying to find out how best to get to the end of the month without losing our dignity, destroying our planet or bombing our neighbour in some geopolitical fit of pique, it is the arc or trajectory that should hold the greatest reassurance. Because perhaps it allows us to understand the relative nature of these polarities of our existence in a way that is palatable and slightly more understandable.

We know that if we throw our faith out there into the atmosphere and beyond the personifications and forms our various faith-based religions apply to the infinite unknown – it eventually meets an expansive indecipherable omnipotent state beyond our comprehension. And returns to us as a fact of science

We know that if we throw our current scientific knowing out there into outer and inner space far beyond the reach of the hubble scope and microscope and out of human sight it eventually meets the inexplicable chaos of scientific truths still far beyond our human comprehension. And returns to us as an act of faith.

Out of Sight Out of Kind

Perhaps in the particular throng just beyond our comprehension we spy the missing link in the story telling of our human existence in relative terms both spiritual and material.

And by that I don’t mean who owns the story – though the human condition predicts both parties will try.

The subsequent bun-fight that would ensue if the Hadron Collider did reveal that the Higgs Bosun Particle does in fact play a role in turning mass into matter – and whether that was therefore just a further demonstration of the awesome nature of god’s great mystery espoused by the men of Faith or whether it simply removes the God head from the cosmos as many scientists would like to do once and for all.    

That both sets of fundamentalists – accent on the mentalists part – might ever manage not only to appreciate but also accept that in that subatomic fizz that reaches from a sub cellular to an inter stellar dimension, there is a particular truth of such scale and magnitude that it renders both of their emphatic natures and their insistence on continually throwing stones seem simply wilful and precocious.

That either could even for a moment imagine that they control the conversation and define the absolutes in this realm is simply arrogant and ridiculous.

So I say boomerang our beautiful existence in either direction and be happy if when thrown out there, your faith returns as small spark of science and your science as a small act of faith. Both are illuminating and enriching when kept out of the hands of the lunatics who would have either dictate the shape and form of our human happiness and sense of self-determination.

G’day.

Sustainable Human Existence, The D Word & Treading carefully

02 Saturday Aug 2014

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Brian Cox, cary Grant, China Dream, D Ream, Dream catchers, Dream In A Box, Freud, gramsci, Identity, John Stuart Mill, Loveboat, Mad magazine, Martin Luther King Jnr, Morpheus, Peggy Liu, Philosophy, Science, Sustainability, The Ancients, The Civil Rights Movement, Transforming Desire, Walt Disney, Yeats

Screen Shot 2014-08-03 at 00.05.59

Funny things dreams. Profound to some – sophistry to others.
So please mind your language!

I used the word Dream in a presentation once in the UK. Won’t be doing that again in a hurry any time soon: certainly not without a lot of qualification.
Let’s just say I had not realised how ‘spooked’ grown ups can get by a word.

Equally, it served to remind me that my own slap dash use of language and bumbling naivety could do with some heavy spanner work and a healthy dose of tuning fork.

To be fair the D word popped up in very particular circumstance – a discussion about a methodology called Dream In A Box.

The methodology endeavours to reuse and recycle old wisdoms, contemporary cultural signposting, local idioms and vernaculars to write a new narrative – to re-imagine prosperity, reframe sustainability and transform desire – the consuming kind particularly – to a more enduring and sustainable model; all this in pursuit of a more sustainable human existence.

The D word was chosen for its particular resonance with and reference to ‘the American Dream’ and the staining nature of its most recent variant on our beleaguered planet. Not that it was always thus.

The American Dream was one under which all men (and, sure, yup, women, and ok, eventually, if you’re going to push it, with a civil rights movement for example, Afro-Americans) were equal.

In the heady industry-rebuilding, economy-expanding (where waists would surely follow) post-war rush to create the perfect American thriving, surviving white-picket society, that dream took a few toxic turns, until finally, it eventually settled on the perfectly trimmed lawn of the idyllic all-consuming sub Urban lifestyle that we know and love.

Cue Cary Grant movies. Loveboat. Doris Day. And the chirpy satire of Mad Magazine.

It was a dream promising the consumer citizen infinite growth, financially, spiritually, socially and collectively; all merrily based upon an apparently infinite, fecund and plentiful pool of glorious ‘Godly’ resources; material human and physical.

The patently obvious and accelerating realisation of how wrong that immaculate assumption actually was aside, the feeling in the Dream In A Box camp was that the Dream bit of the phrase was reasonably off set by the In A Box bit.

The In A Box part of it made the following particular point: unless you can find a way of containing the otherwise intangible, lofty, unreachable and mildly frustrating dimensions of a Dream and make them real in ways that are meaningful and valuable to everyday people in the everyday thread of life, you are merely peddling opiates.

Even so, for some it smacked of an over simplified homogenous hideous social chimera. A one size fits all piece of social bullying or bluff that was fundamentally anti–social in its anti-individualist bent.

But this vehemence is not a feeling reserved exclusively for the more square cornered sustainable analysts, scientists, engineers underwriting the operational truths of supply and value chains everywhere.

Dreams generally enjoy a dynamic polarity in many people’s minds.

Dreams seem to inhabit a similar place to things like religious fervor, faith and Walt Disney for many of the reason and rationality junkies out there.
To the nay-sayers and doubters, the idea of having a dream (a phrase preferably spat out or sneered through) verges on criminal self delusion and puffery.

The intangible what if nature of them seems to fill them with some form of existential dread.

There is no place for dreams in a reasonable world, especially a scientific one and certainly no place for reason in dreams  – so what if Brian ‘Mine’s Hadron Collider’ Cox’s band was called D.Ream. Doesn’t mean he ascribes to them.

The reoccurring theme seems to be that Dreams, like faith, are dangerous things – dark instruments. Dreams obfuscate the real raw nature of our human existence and all of its incumbent challenges, puzzles and conundrums.

The realm of Morpheus is a confection that far from enlightening us is seen as one that diminishes us.

Its almost as if Dreams are flawed in some evolutionary way: rendering us incapable of basic human survival; stupefied by our hazy, twinkle-filled and fantastical view of the world.
A small rummage around the point counter point arguments of, on the one hand, the evolutionary benefits set out in Anttii Revonsuo’s Threat Simulation theory, and Flannagan’s concept of Evolutionary epiphenomena (dreams as a state that lacks any form of adaptive function) on the other clearly inform us that the evolutionary jury’s out on this one.

And the case for Dreams as a scientifically proven improver of our human condition is never helped in the eyes of the scientist by the presence of Dream Catchers and other juvenile voodoo bric a brac in the windows’ of student houses and hippy retreats.

Perhaps the most virulent critics spent one long night too many at college or university pretending to give a crap as the fragile teen sitting opposite them bleated their dream stories in some desperate effort to seem windswept, deep and interesting.

Equally the phrase ‘to follow one’s dreams’ doesn’t help, in that it implies a sheep-like loyalty: a subservience in service of something intangible beyond your control. And we know how rationalists like a smidgen of control. 

Whatever it is that causes the anger and disdain; it is a powerful and quite corrosive emotion.

But, for the Dream believers, Dreams are a way of allowing people to transcend the bleak sharp cornered truths of what is and embrace the brighter potential of what could be. Dreams allow us to rise above the deterministic absolutes of any given situation and envision something better.

Martin Luther King had a dream that succeeded in helping to shift millions of black Americans from a position of sub human species needing to know its place to a powerful ethnic constituency in search of a spiritual homeland and tangible human rights and respect.
I doubt even the fiercest doubters could ridicule or set aside the power of that dream to change lives and human existence for the better in some shape or form.
There is a sense that, in the USA of the 1960s, the political power elites, intellectual tribes, state collectives, regional advocates and community activists all jostling for position on either side of the colour divide would never have convened their mighty voices into that one immutable, immoveable and deafening roar without the focus of that Dream, voiced so eloquently and publicly.

But equally, John Stuart Mill found the idea of galvanising and socialising a nation through a singular collective idyll – an idea or dream of better – was at best childish and naïve and at worst an aggressive act of hubris and societal hegemony – a social tyranny.
He believed in the axiom that ‘man should judge everything in life based upon its ability to promote the greatest individual happiness’.
“the tyranny of the prevailing opinion and feeling is more formidable than many kinds of political oppression …leav[ing] fewer means of escape … and penetrat[ing] more deeply into the details of life. ”The “tendency of society to impose … its own ideas and practices as rules of conduct on those who dissent from them; to fetter the development, and if possible, prevent the formation of individuality, not in harmony with its ways”

There is a sense in this view that an individual Dream is fine while it is held safe and unsullied in the heart and the mind of an individual. It is a beautiful and highly personal wonder, broadly uncorrupted though perhaps a little influenced by the dreams of others.

(It is worth reminding ourselves that Martin Luther King Jnr. said ‘I have a dream…’; not ‘We have a Dream’. It was his; it just had the potential to move many others within it.)

It seems that while in its unadulterated individual state, that which is most emotionally proximal to its originator, a dream is widely lauded as the profound generator of poetry, music, art and literature.

Yeat’s Cloths of Gold directs the listener to ‘tread gently for you tread on my dreams’. They are presented as the purest, most precious things he has to offer the world.
Mamma Cass’s ‘California Dreaming’ protested a desire for a sunnier brighter life far removed from the cold emotionally bleak east of Fall and Atlantic swells. It is her dream and hers alone: just one that happened to be shared by a generation.

The problem it seems is that when mobilised, industrialised and socialised at scale, a dream becomes The Dream – the Mother of Suppression of the Individual in hot pursuit of the collective good. The Dream quickly becomes the destroyer of intelligent dissent and the brutal editor of different orthodoxies and philosophies that did not quite ‘fit’ ‘The Dream’. It becomes all that John Stuart Mill berated and warned of in his view of one dimensional models of collective happiness as some conjuring trick played on the masses.

Dreams also have an ill-judged and reoccurring tendency of turning up at the very heart of large orgiastic excursions into nationalistic and hubristic megalomania.
Dreams of Empire whether by Georgian and Victorian Britain, Imperial Japan, Fascist Italy or the German Third Reich always seem to bear out the truth of Mr Mill’s perception.

To use a singular Dream in this way is to squash the very diversity and healthy human tension the enables us to evolve as a species. Dreams are a recidivist and controlling mechanism that are worthy of deep suspicion.

The pollutant seems (as so often is the case) to be somewhat rooted in what man has done in the name of dreams; not in the condition of dreaming which in itself is a pretty confounding experience. They are after all an axial mechanism of our deepest mind.

Dreams at their most basic level are the powerhouse of our emotional computing.
They are the synaptic equivalent of taking the big data from every facet and corner of our existence and atomically mixing it up with the narrative skills of Lewis Carroll, Dickens, Spielberg and Plato.

Dreams are the super processor of individual human potential.

They are the transcendence mechanism in us – they are the ‘reach’ mechanism that compels us to perhaps stretch beyond what seems immediately possible or probable to test the edges of what could or might be.

Science clearly sets out the power of our sleeping computations in regards to cognitive ability and capacity.

But given their sleep hosted ‘madness’, flaky associations, the abstracted corollaries that exist within them and Freud’s rather particular take on them, it is easy to set Dreams aside as garish hyperemotional gibberish – or reinvent them as some twist of needy or proving self-identification and elevation.

Most people find the sharing of what one dreams an immature act of identity assertion; usually by those who feel there is little social or intellectual mystery or magic about them. Given that it is a habit that one usually hopes dies out with the arrival of slightly greater intellectual and spiritual surety, perhaps the mere sight of the word makes them run for the hills screaming.

There is a theory that dreams exist in the sleep-scapes of REM Rapid Eye Movement and NREM Non Rapid Eye Movement and do so with a very clear function.

It is believed that the process of sleep to encode and transfer data from the temporary memory store in the conscious mind accesses and activated in NREM sleep to the long term memory store in the subconscious mind accessed and activated in REM sleep – and the continual activation of this flow is what stimulates dreams. So in that way they are a robust and meaningful process of our body science and an enricher of our more adaptive cognition.

It is not just the science of the brain that frames the arguments and beliefs around dreams and their role.

Human history and the texts of the ancients are riddled with expansive philosophical treatise and frameworks. From the ancient Mesopotamians, Chinese, Upanishads, and Babylonians, to the Egyptians Greeks and Romans, the powerful nature of dreams have always held a deep and profound place in our collective social memory.

In some ways perhaps the truth of Dreams lies as with many things somewhere between the two; at the point at which these two distinct perspectives overlap and stitch together; neither being the predominant force but both represented as balanced and weighted in a perfect symmetry with each other. This duality might offer us a more productive way forwards.

Gramsci invites us to apply Pessimism of the Intellect and Optimism of the Will in all things. Perhaps this is the filter through which we should view Dreams and everything to do with them in regards to the ambition of transforming the more toxic desires of the average consumer.

Certainly in regards to the Dream word being used as a way to frame the spiritual social and material vision of a more sustainable form of consumption, Gramsci’s invitation would help balance the two dimensions.
The pessimistic Intellect – the science – interrogating the truths of how we engineer and support these more sustainable lifestyles while the optimistic Spirit – the philosophical – compels a more transcendent human nature be applied at every opportunity – a higher human purpose that might take everyday humanity beyond the impenetrable science and just doing enough to scrape through.
This would liberate the word and the language around it to be both rooted in the deep science that will be required to reinvent our standard forms of consumption and yet elevated by the optimism of a collective human endeavour lived in real time in the real world.

And perhaps if we liberated the word – set it free from the shackles of an Either/Or model of determinative application we might find something richer and more human again in Dreams.

If perhaps we also recognised that in regards to visionary models of human consumption, Dreams can be nuanced, shaded and culturally meaningful even at a meta level.

In the Dream In A Box initiatives undertaken so far we already have 5 Shades of Dream – Emerging; Latent; Resurgent; Extant; Evolving – starting to reveal themselves in regards to formulating desirable and enduring lifestyles of consumption.

I am certain that more will present themselves before we are finished.

So here’s to those turbulent, intangible, flaky, studenty, inspirational, nation-shaping, scientist irritating things called Dreams.

If for nothing else they should be considered eminently remarkable purely on the basis that they can elicit so much passionate debate and discourse purely by their mention.

As long as each Dream is considered on its merit – not on some preconceived concept of what it does not fulfil, or on some etymological witch hunt dressed up as rigour and realism we’ll perhaps be fine. Until then…

As Stephen Tyler sang: ‘Dream On’

Frothy Identity & the dark art of ‘my name is…’

30 Monday Jun 2014

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Anakin, Anonymity, batman, Consumerism, Customer Life Time Value Modelling, Daniel Sturridge, Darth, Eminem, Frank Sinatra, Gotham, Hostages, Identity, Individuality, Infinite Growth, Personalised Interface, Punk, smart phones, Spaghetti Westerns, Starbucks, Sub, Super Dry Cappuccino, the American Dream, The Man With No name, tmblr

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“Skinny dry Triplefrappacrappercccinolattechiato for Julian”

What’s in a name? My ridiculous and highly needy coffee order for starters. This should be ridiculed in public. That I have managed to get myself to a three dimension coffee order indicates a pestilence of the spirit at work.

Skinny. (I wrestle with Cholesterol) Extra Shot. (I need more help in the morning these days) Super dry (I don’t like milk).

The source of this madness unsurprisingly rests in the heart of galloping consumption and endless retail growth. (And the ease with which my fragile ego can be manipulated!)

Quite simply, our ‘rapacious’ corporate friends have seized on a good thing – the socially levelling model of respecting individual particularity that lies at the heart of the American Dream – and turned it into First Name My Order strategy for Growth.

The long journey of the customer service model that began with starving penniless immigrants arriving on the Island under the frozen gaze of Liberty, nameless or without papers, ends with the coffee order leaving my lips in public in central London suffixed or prefixed with my first name.

The Dream has taken those immigrants from scratching scraps in the poor streets of Dublin, Palermo, Krakow and Juarez to applying a ‘let me tell you exactly how I want this sub sandwich’ selection system loudly directed with almost papal absolutism.

This is not exclusively the domain of 3rd and 4th generation immigrants in the US. We’re all at it.

“6 inch teriyaki sub with extra green peppers” says Daniel Sturridge (the British footballer) because he likes things ‘his way’.

With the help of our emollient, predatory NBBFs (New Best Brand Friends) now everyone can, as Frankie (that’s Sinatra, not Goes To Hollywood) sang in those golden years, “do it my way”.

If you want a triple-tofu-Chilli-cheese-string-dog in marmalade marinade, white sauce and whipped cream in a floury bap, you’ll find that it is your absolute human right.

You are not a faceless, nameless, choice-less drone any more.

You are majestic, singular, powerful: the text of you illuminated by every infinitesimal nuance of particularity you can cook up in one simple order.

The American Dream has delivered us a service culture that promises, hand on heart, that never ever again will you be told what to eat without some recourse to asserting your ‘identity’. And not just in ingredient or format choice.

The game raiser was in the appropriation and use of every customer’s first name ‘with a slightly creepy familiarity’ as part of the service process.

Direct Mail of the utter drivel variety was suddenly ‘ok’ as it sported our name on it, printed in ‘handwritten’ font.

Our mail pages wi-fi logins and every other device interface we have uses our own name to welcome us back. The existential labyrinth presented by the cautious expression Welcome back Julian (Not you?) should not be underestimated.

Not me? What do you mean ‘Not me?’ You know it’s me. I have given you secret-squirrel passwords, a saliva sample, three hairs off my head, some of the earth from under my first den in the garden of my youth and the DNA strand of my first pet. Surely you should know whether it’s me?

And to expand this interrogation, how would I know if ‘I’ was not me? What other clues are you giving me? Nope nothing.  Zip. Nix. Nada. Niente.

But for these NBBFs of mine it seems that as long as my name’s there, everything is OK. Which I suppose it is; Isn’t it?

Our first name is now used freely by everyone from call-centre staff, the man at the garage who I’ve never met before, strangers in Health Clubs and the shifting sands of receptionists at various dental clinics.

In fact the only person who seems reticent to use my first name in the world these days is me.

I am becoming rather protective of it. And getting a little ticked off that it gets demanded from me so often and used back at me so easily.

When I make my ridiculous coffee order and hear my name tabbed on the end I feel as if I have been quietly mugged.

I am starting to see where the sublime logic of the nom de plume, nom de guerre and alter ego.

‘My name is… my name is… my name is… Slim Shady’ sang Eminem…AKA Marshall Mathers. Smart move. At least he can amuse himself with three names to draw down on at the coffee shop. I don’t see Batman with this problem. Though seeing him turn up at a rather self-conscious Gotham Coffee shop, ordering a Chai Latte and being asked ‘What’s your name?’ would help me to begin to navigate the age of absurdity I feel we have now entered. Batman? Or Bruce. You decide.

Perhaps it’s not just me. Perhaps we are all quietly plotting for when our ‘Anakin’ will turn. When the burgeoning malevolence and negative feelings towards people we don’t know from Adam using our first name willy-nilly, will prompt our ‘Darth’ to answer the question  ‘Welcome Back Anakin (Not You?) with a sharp swipe of a light sabre and a dash of keyboard-melting force.

The liberal use of your first name by every brand and business you even glance at is actually doing the opposite of its original intention. At the outset all of this was to empower the individual – to give the customer a sense of being more than just a consuming machine who was expected to turn up at the supermarket in their 343 instalments-station wagon, fill their trolley with 1/3rd Unilever 1/3rd P&G and with the last third a shared cornucopia of Nestle, Coca Cola, Kellogg’s and Kraft consumables.

But as the consumption grew and the giants who purveyed the products that fuelled that consumtion also grew, the people felt further and further away from the things that secured them – the old touchstones of shops, bars and diners where people knew your name.

As the shopping malls got bigger and the diners got franchised. As the towns splintered and the cities and ‘burbs bloated, people stopped knowing anyone’s name. They barely looked them in the face.

The odd island of camaraderie appeared – between till 3 and till 4 and that nice man at the newsagents. But mostly accelerating faceless consumption ruled.

Cheers, the Boston bar based sit com was a master-class in reassurance television. And its theme tune summed up the age. We like places that know our name. It stops everything feeling so bleak on a wet Wednesday in mid February having just returned from said superMall.

It took a little time to realize that the more faceless the sale the more important it was to make someone feel like they were really important. But we all got there.

For a while it was delightful. The truly entrepreneurial people who did actually give a wholesale shit about the customer as a person turned the others’ heads – creating a new culture that aimed to actually understand and communicate with people like they mattered in the transaction.

But the infinite-growth monsters of the old world simply saw that you could screw a few bucks more per person out of a life time value model by using the person’s first name and by being their new best friend

Soon enough, mass personalization, a rather fetching term for how to industrialise degrees of knowing and intimacy, poured into the world: into every shop, call centre, mobile interface, airport lounge, and restaurant.

Once you have spotted the potency of Names and the wielding of them, a world of endless opportunity reveals itself.

There is also the dark art of Reverse First Naming in the entertainment & leisure sector. Like Reverse logistics in the parcel delivery services, it’s a stroke of mirror loving genius.

If you have been in a franchise restaurant in the last 12 months and had someone tell you ‘hey, my names Siobhan and I’m your waitress for this evening’ – you have just been Reverse First Named. Instead of using your own name against you, in this particular instance they use their own. Genius.

Reverse First Naming is a new brutal and unflinching practice to wreak havoc in the unsuspecting consumer.

It is, first and foremost a method for the suppression of free speech – especially if the speech was going to sound something like the following: ‘this place stinks, the service is crap, this burger resembles something that’s been kicked around a barber’s shop floor and there’s chewing gum stuck to my tights’.

It is a well-documented fact that this first name first mover advantage can be life saving.

In potential situations of violence against the person by strangers, people are trained to ‘humanize’ themselves to the aggressor – telling them your first name, or nick name, tell them about your children, your wife waiting at home – to create a connection that triggers sentiment, guilt, shame and conscience – and ultimately responsibility for hurting not a faceless stranger, a piece of collateral damage, but someone ‘known’ to you.

So suddenly you are responsible for Siobhan’s well-being and job satisfaction. Whether she gets a good tip – or a pay raise or not. So the chances are you’ll be a little more considerate and a little less caustic.

But we cannot simply point fingers in this. We were all so wrapped up in looking at and hearing our name in lights, furiously opening letters inviting our handwritten first name self to the opening of another envelope and buying our own name in an email address, that we missed the moment when marketing Insincerity stole our name.

Now it feels as if one has walked through a time space continuum to a hometown we didn’t know we had, populated by people who’ve never met us before but who feel really really friendly like they’ve known us for years. Our own brand built Truman Show.

And there right there in the middle of it all, is our first name in lights surrounded by bands cheerleaders and fireworks.

So right now, anonymity is the real rock n roll. Now that we’ve illuminated the text of that first name by embroidering it with face-book postings, riddled with tweets and pins. Now is the time to get punk and take our first name back.

The first rule of data confidentiality? Take back the little big data! Starting with your name.

Surname is the new Sex Pistols. Ample use of Mr, Mrs or Ms is where the real anarchy lies.

But right up there at the top? Anonymity.

The Man with No Name, an America Colonies Ronin with a Latinate rasp, walked through the Spaghetti Western Trilogy to the chirp of penny whistle, a guitar twang and the crack of a whip utterly devoid of a name.

When standing at the counter of certain Coffee Shops I am tempted to relive The Man With No Name’s short conversation with the barman when asked ‘I didn’t catch your name…’ ‘I didn’t give it’.

Hearing my name repeatedly chiming out of the person delivering it up to me from behind the cawing frothing barista station with faux hoaky bonhomie is getting a little ‘old’.

To understand quite how powerful the imperative to ‘personalise’ the service proposition is, when you are next asked for your name, try saying No.

Along with the right to order ridiculous coffee combinations, to not give your name is a basic human right.

Try it. You may find your No might just be met with a gaze not dissimilar to that of a rather tired Customs Official when confronted with bag full of hand-guns cocaine and Marmite.

This ‘local global’ serving culture that speaks to me like a regular at a corner coffee shop, liberally uses my name to fulfill a number of functions: as a clearing house dispatch mechanism; as an metronome of service excellence (listen to all these good people we’re delivering coffee to); as a ‘personal touch’ and as a piece of service sophistry. And to render human and real the faceless corporate swaggerdaccio of the global brand providing it.

Sometimes just to lighten this moment, I would love people to be confronted with their gamer names perhaps or their tumblr tags just to see how ‘real’ we want all of these separate personas to be to us.

“Dry frappacinno for #kongworrier”

“Triple chai latte with sprinkles for #foxytankbuttgirl”

Our first names are taken in vain by more than just ourselves and the brands we allow to speak to us through them.

Voice activated dialing on smart phones is a source of infinite street theatre. Watching for example someone saying the name James repeatedly into a phone standing on a street corner shouldn’t be funny. What’s funny is when the phone responds by telling the person she’s calling Mary.

I don’t want Mary. I want James.

CALLER: “Call James”

SMART PHONE: “Calling Mary”

You see the person wonder, ‘what am I doing wrong’? They move the phone to different angles askance of their mouth.

CALLER: “James” “Call James”

SMART PHONE: “Calling Mary”.

This then descends into a dulcet opera of different pronunciations. Maybe they’re just saying it wrong. Perhaps in the last week they developed a speech impediment. A cold sore might be ‘smudging’ the sound file. Or perhaps they were drunk when they made the sound tag and sober now. Whatever.

If only James knew how often his name was being called out in a public place.

And therein lies out perfect existential storm.

At a coffee shop counter: having ordered your identity-asserting ‘eat my individuality World’ coffee with 3 complex dimensions, just at the moment when you are asking your smart phone to ‘Call James’, the lady asks your name.

YOU: “Call James”

SERVER: “James?”

YOU: “No Julian”

SERVER: “Not James”

SMART PHONE: “Calling Mary”

YOU: (To smartphone) “No, James”

SERVER: “James?… not Julian?”

DISTANT BARISTA:  “GrandeToffeechinolatte with whipped cream for #saucyleatherboy

SMART PHONE: “Calling #saucyleatherboy”

So the next time you find yourself being asked your name, pause, take a breath, consider the consequences; and then answer. You might be surprised by what comes out of your mouth.

China, you-sized cities & the joy of cutting a different path

09 Monday Jun 2014

Posted by Thin Air Factory in Uncategorized

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Back to the future, China Dream, China's Emerging Middle Class, Confucian, Culture & Style, Fossil Fuels, Harmony, Human-sized cities, Living, Mega-city, People's Republic, Qi, Respect, retail innovation, Social Fabric, Tan De Bing, The Rural Diaspora, tri-generational living, Urban Carbon Emissions, Urban Flow, well-being

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NOTE This piece was written in May 2012 as part of an exploration on what might constitute the China Dream on a mega-city scale

Its a nice thought – that just by divine chance, Wang Shu, Tim Burton, The Candy Brothers and the People’s Republic all just happened to bump into each other in a coffee shop, got to talking about mega cities and started to think “what if?

It would be perfect: Wang Shu for balance and exceptional sustainable living design: Tim Burton for sheer Magic, Joy and Wonder: The Candy Brothers for monumental ambition and chutzpah: and the People’s Republic because beyond Social Harmony, in the end the mega city concept is still about people: the best of people and their infinite well being, for generation after generation: not just in the now.

In 21st Taoist terms, people and their energy are the ebb and flow of urban dynamic living – the Qi of the mega-city.

Which means the mega-city in its infinite wisdom must be designed and conceptualized around human-sized principles as well as eco and sustainable ones, constructed in such a way as to knit back together the strands of the fabric of society to create more than simple cohesion and structural support. To atomise and empty the rural constituencies requires making quite deep ruptures and rips in the cultural psyche. These need to be either healed or resealed depending on whether you see this as an emotional or rational task first and foremost 

This is about Tan de Bing versus Harmony, Balance & Respect.

With 1 Billion Chinese people expected in urban mega-cities by 2025, how one maintains Harmony Balance & Respect in a way that is both enjoyable and sustainable will become increasingly critical to the national and global well being.

Fossil fuel consumption increasing by 3-6 Billion life years per year with a ten-fold increase in solid waste this becomes a matter of human logistics on an extraordinary scale.

But perhaps just starting by thinking of what it means to be human in a mega-city is a good place to start.

Scale is something that seems to be driven by the most interested party and developers tend to favour scale of ambition over scale of inhabitant too often – particularly demonstrated in the burgeoning mega-cities of the Middle Eastern Sovereign States.

Human Scale

So let’s start perhaps from the small wonder of a human being – and those inextricably linked to that human being, family, friends, community, and those that serve them both professionally and domestically, and the services that surround them, the environments they exist within, and how everything from educational philosophy and medical wellbeing to civic planning needs to be calibrated in the daily flow of urban infrastructure. Obvious yes, but especially critical given the broader societal cultural, industrial and commercial shifts and undercurrents rippling through the nation and how it is perceived both internally and externally.

There are cities where a human scale still survives and becomes the defining aspect of those cities, whether by simple history and divine chronology – the existence of smaller more human-sized historic building scattered amongst the high rises.
The City Of London for example, like many European cities enjoy this aspect of modern urban living.

In a recent New Yorker piece by Evan Osnos, Li Huang the guide showing a group of mainland Chinese travellers ‘Europe’ pointed out the ‘open-ness of the city’ to them while standing on the banks of the Seine. “In Shanghai unless you’re standing right next to the Huangpu River you can’t get any sense of the river because there are too many tall buildings” adding that Europeans “preserve anything old and valuable.”

Even in the US the streets of some US cities like San Francisco and Boston old tradition and historic residences, churches, parks, thoroughfares and in Boston’s case the very halls of the Founding Fathers continue to set human dimensions on the aspirations of the high rise living that surround them.

Also, cities like London have seen the rise in the social and cultural importance of what were the old villages that once circled it. Highgate & Hampstead, Notting Hill & Kensington, Clapham, Dulwich, Blackheath are islands of human-sized buildings, spaces and thoroughfares critical in maintaining the balance between a city’s architecturally progressive and its inexorably human self especially given that they are now fixed firmly inside the UK city’s own version of Tan De Bing – its urban into suburban sprawl.

One could argue that mandating that 30 percent of buildings in any given area of a new mega-city can be no taller than three stories and have as much open space around them as they take up in square meterage would be a good start. Or that perhaps they should be planned with some human sized historic or non commercial building (whether it be a single barn, a temple or a whole village) at its centre, kept as a living spiritual compass for the rest of the city.

Continuing in the 21st Century Confucian theme perhaps a pond-ripple concept might also help keep things human.
If there were a central building: small, low rise (tasked with an active social role beyond being just thematic or symbolic – a community centre and well being clinic perhaps) with open space around it and the development of housing and retail spaces rippling away from its centre, only climbing to the higher and larger scales of buildng at the outer edges, until they overlap other ripples of development.

TRANSPARENCY

The ability to see through things: spaces, areas and buildings to what is beyond is to my mind critical in the health of a city.
Not everything must be wide open but enough to make openness and transparency a signature of better living.

Removing civic opacity to me must be both physical as well as spiritual and political.

The Cities of the future could place this very important ‘Balance’ characteristic at its conceptual core – as a form of ‘letting go’ – of removing the visual and physical barriers that are historically used to close and control communities, spaces, people, lives processes and systems.

Protection in regards to the state institutions has shifted from the more intimate communal protective vigilance of long ago to the more paternal protectionist big brother model – perhaps the mega-cities of the future can start with the one small step on the greater journey to rebalancing this trend.

LUNGS & ARTERIES

Enabling people to feel masters of the environment through scale is one aspect of a healthier urban environment.
The other is open and communal spaces in general, though I would stress a preference for planning that weaves green organic and flourishing habitat into the fabric of the infrastructure planning and not just as spaces set aside for leisure time enjoyment; for example as ways of humanizing commuter routes.

This is more than just a lung concept – these would be truly arterial in that they are oxygenating the traveller along otherwise urban landscapes. As opposed to arterial being a plain descriptor of the role, quality and flow of the traffic in motion along them.
To ‘line’ every road, rail and bike route with flourishing flora of ay sort – to turn them into a landscaped or farmed artery would make for ‘breathing spaces’ in otherwise quite congested high stress channels of flow through the city.
These arteries can also provide areas for the human hand to be seen at work. The still hands of the old might be usefully engaged in planting these arteries, creating shifts and washes of different colours and textures, small strips of pride – the tools and seedlings provided by a hands off civic centre.
If one were to create a grid one could assign the East West facing strips as allotments and urban farm strips, the organic and intimately tended criss-crossing the urban metropolitan landscape. One could even for example create a simple trading relationship between the owners/leases of these and small retail grocery interests around the city to develop a 1 Mile Produce Promise for the people buying the produce.

One Person One Life

The ‘one human’ concept – of people being the same person inside work as they are outside instead of having to become schizophrenic – is helped enormously when you ‘open cast’ their working community alongside the everyday domestic and public flow of life.

Physically knitting the fabrics of the business/commercial retail, domestic elderly and young communities of one city together like this is critical to health and communal well- being.
A true constituency of extant human beings sharing space and fuelling hope and small wonders on an everyday basis.

(NOTE: there is also an inbuilt innovation trigger in this style of interwoven and proximal living as it has a far greater likelihood of driving direct and indirect general idea sharing and creative collisions, making it far more likely for like and eclectic minded individuals t find each other).

This openly interconnected physical formula of: flow x people x experience x action ÷ space drives heightened degrees of mutual respect; of the others right to existence and enjoyment and equally, might also substantially reduce isolation of particular groups which ascendant modernizing societies have a tendency to leave behind in their whirlwind of achievement and pursuit of even greater individual success, e.g. the elderly and young mothers.
Creating working spaces where people travel along or up and down through domestic, retail or public spaces from office to office or from one corner of a business floor to another creates a far healthier attitude and less ‘ shutting away of the worker bees’ – a system proven to ultimately fail by creating social and communal division and isolation with net negative impacts on mental health and potential alcoholism and other domestic issues demonstrated inside people’s lives away from the public eye.

There are also financial possibilities to be considered here in regards to investors in development of these cities: I use the particular example of the Pension Fund standing at ¥1.9Trillion with a track record of low yield investments, lack of transparency in regards to management, low or empty regional pension pots and little impetus to change.

If we were to stitch the elderly back into the infrastructure of the mega-cities, not just by building more residential care homes but by investing their pensions in the very infrastructure of the cities that serve them, this may point to a more accountable and directly applicable financial deployment model of the pension funds that currently enjoy some arcane management at best.
If we were able to combine the financial interests and burdens of the polar ends of society by stitching them into the structure and flow of these new eco mega-cities perhaps it also reapplies a 21st Century version of Confucian harmony.

This is not just some retrograde cod philosophical posturing: a sop to the old wisdoms. We know for a fact from some of the most mature Liberal Democratic Capitalist countries that no good comes of isolating your elderly into the margins.
The soft wisdoms and life learning that comes with them equally disappears with them. The disappearance of these balancing perspectives and small wisdoms break down family cohesion, dumbing down the Emotional Intellect of the family and communities they exist within in by removing the direct effect of their life skills and experience: a removal of balance from the natural social order of things.

Deploying the power of old people back into society as some form of spiritual triage would also remove the tendency for young people to increasingly spend too much time reinventing the wheel in regards to life skills – taking time to discover some life experience that they might have otherwise picked up through sheer social osmosis ultimately takes the young person’s mind away from greater and newer discoveries perhaps.

And finally, old people sitting and watching the world go by being placed in close proximity to the crèches of their grandchildren not only brings the pleasure of young people to bear around them by reinstates the communities kind eyes and watchful carer class

Stitching Well-Being Into Everyday

City living isolates most people ‘away from’ the kinds of small incidental processes of health and well-being that would otherwise do them and their productivity enormous good.
‘Small and often’ in regards to visiting and exploring best-health and well-being practice ultimately pays the individual and the society they live in great dividends – they feel secure and supported, part of a substantial social contract of care, and equally in turn feel less distracted by abstract concerns and better focused on the matters in hand – extant beings working and being in a productive thriving life and society.

So, as an extension of the One Life One Person strategy it would make sense to begin building medical and well-being galleries populated by ‘walk in clinics into this open-cast approach to living working leisure spaces – equally it promotes and builds into the every day psyche a convenience strategy of well-being – critical in a city where people become isolated in their workday from the smallest medical or well being services or considerations.

The Devil’s in the Retail detail.

That every new eco mega city will have a burgeoning and vibrant retail economy goes without saying. It will be a cornerstone of the ebb and flow of life, existence and people’s broad concept of their prosperity.
The fact and detail of how the retail experience: and the brands and the businesses that design and deliver them stitch themselves into the urban society both physically and spiritually will be where the innovation and the harmonious concept development should come.

Most of the traditional retailers and manufacturers are constructed for an American style of manufacture, distribution, format and consumption. In the modern China this model has become simply untenable.
Not only are the American models require a staggering use of fossil, material and human resource to maintain themselves, they are also based upon on a Sub-urban mart and mall model that will not necessarily fit the design sensibility and spatial economy of the new mega cities – they also create cluster and volume formats in which the consumer is guided through a vast arena of offers and multiple purchase deals suited more to the vast double fridge households of the Midwest than the spiritually and physically ergonomic concept of Chinese living.

How retailers adapt to what the Chinese model of consumption will become, as opposed to just pointing at the version of it that currently exists – a cod-American gated villa ranch and lodge style of living that still holds up the SUV double fridge ‘I am therefore I consume’ model as a demonstration of personal meaning – this will be the defining factor in which brands and businesses win.

How the scale retail players deconstruct themselves into these mega-cities – delivering surprise and a more human sized and manageable set of offerings – offers an interesting challenge. Can they still create aircraft hangar sized triple floor temples to their wares and life style signature? Or will they need to sub divide their offerings into boutiques of need, day part and purchase scale scattered throughout the urban landscape? Or will they need to deploy a little of both?

Potentially, bringing in some of these retail and manufacturer partner players at a planning stage while they are still subservient to the greater good, and tasked with stitching themselves sustainably into the future habitat as opposed to helicoptering in and simply ‘planting monoliths to their brand dream where they fancy may be the smartest beginning to that journey

Back to The Future

There has been much talk of a return to the cultural roots of the Chinese – a return to the culture and environment that have shaped this phenomenal culture over the millennia. In returning to this space, and in reconnecting with their roots, there is in essence a trigger for the 21st Century ascendency of new Confucian or Taoist ideals at work across and throughout society.

Pure urbanity is imbalanced in its perspectives and its energies. It must have the organic rural expanse of ‘Other’ to be truly balanced and powerful.

Though some might see this as a cynical cultural play to make every one more personally responsible for their lives and to take them away from the state-orchestrated feel good dependency of old, there is a lot to be said for how we might build this into the vision of the new Chinese eco-mega-city.

If one applies the filter of ‘Perceptions of Prosperity’ over the question of how we reconcile cultural tourism and the rise of the eco megacity, we should simply look at how the most mature western liberal democracies view ‘having it all’.
It would reveal that one of the final steps to the peak of prosperous living and being is the one that takes you into ‘a rural retreat’ – having a place in the country – a cottage, house, farm or barn.
It is seen as the ultimate pressure valve for the modern sophisticated urban player – an escape to something purer and simpler; connected back to the land and the hands that formed it.
For many it is vicarious – many do not actually engage in the ‘hands-on crafts and tending of their property and the land that surrounds it’ even though it has been proven that undertaking these pursuits leads to a greater sense of fulfillment and superior mental health. They’re simply buying ‘the idea’ of it.
But to actually rebuild the bridge back to the rural culture of China could be of enormous social value in regards to a rediscovered and sustained sense of self – though some large negative perceptions and behaviours might need to be accounted for and changed first of all.

To some experts this idea of a return to ‘doing things with one’s hands ‘ – artisan and manual labour; craft works and hobbying’ sits at the peak of the Struggling, Surviving, Thriving, Being pyramid – as a supreme demonstration of ‘Being’, as opposed to near the bottom just above ‘Surviving’.

Given the recent emergent journey up and away from poorer rural roots of many of the new emerging Chinese middle classes, this would probably seem nonsensical or counter-intuitive – just going backwards.
But as has been born out in the western liberal democracies with quite sophisticated social models and concepts of prosperity and success, if one replaces the material striving and existence framework with one predicated on a ‘pursuit of sustainable well- being, balance and harmony’, a new world is revealed. It becomes part of the rupture repair strategy.

In many mature societies, especially those that have moved the furthest away from their original rural agricultural roots post the industrial revolution, it has been proven that hobbies, jobs and professions where ones manual actions are directly linked to having an effect in the physical world – an structural creation or improvement, a communal good, the creation of or maintenance of a personal chattel or machine, an improvement to the immediate landscape or environment – offer exceptional health giving properties and are a source of improved mental well-being and ultimately have a positive effect on people’s perceived sense of personal happiness.

In fact even in the more structured undertaking of civic politics and citizenship, the ability to act on something, directly attributing cause and effect to the person undertaking the action has been proven as a direct producer of ‘happiness’ – as born out in the Swiss cantons that rated highest in one of the global Happiness surveys – their ‘happiness’ rating seemingly attributed to each civic individual’s ability to vote in such a way as to have direct and tangible effect on the quality and progress of their own life and that of the community around them.

So, though I am NOT suggesting that every one need return to their roots and start taking up pot turning and weaving, I do feel that building a supporting environment or infrastructure into the city plan that allows people to ‘reconnect’ with the primal humanities contained in this ‘belonging’ in nature and environment is a good thing – and to that end a halo of eco lodges around as city as an inextricable part of the enjoyment of that city would make supreme sense.

If this outlying landscape was populated by eco-lodges that created an urban escape – one of many different shades – developed as an integral part of a sustainable more balanced living strategy – an inextricable aspect of the urban ebb and flow, maintained by the city as a part of the infrastructure, that would truly be cohesive planning at work. To create a ring fence of rural Eco lodges that any and every inhabitant of those cities could go and use, to escape and reconnect with the old rural cultures just for even a short while would be an amazing embrace of what we know know to be a silent truth about pursuit of happiness – and it would be far closer to the burgeoning 21sts Century Confucian ideal of Social harmony that the central party espouses.

One could also build into the city infrastructure a collection of what could best be referred to as ‘Barn Raisings’ (as a reference to the scene in the movie ‘Witness’ where the Amish community are shown ‘coming together’ to build a barn for a farmer as an exercise of community, brotherhood and social benevolence) – opportunities for communities to come together to put together, arrange, enjoy, expand, build or create something of direct value and enjoyment or utility to them – they could be used as social cohesion projects – one in every neighbourhood – large, communal ways of introducing and stitching together people who may have been drawn together from distant and disparate places

Big Ideas & Small Wonders

One particular thing that we have witnessed as a fall out from the recessions that have struck the western democracies recently is the transient and fluid nature of commercial real estate on the high street as well as in industrial areas.
I focus on the high streets though as they have the most social and communal traction and impact on the broader sense of well-being and as to whether a community is thriving or not.

Many high streets now have many shops that have been without a fixed proprietor for some years – the shops changing hands or being passed on either as a matter of short lettings or as what have become know here as pop up shops.
Over the last 6-8 years these have gone from being very vogue and ‘fashionable’ – a bit edgy and anarchic – to being quite regular spaces of energy and fresh drama on otherwise quite stagnant high streets.

So what if we chose to fix these dynamic moving feasts of retail joy into the new infrastructure of the new eco megacity?
What if we set aside a street of small shops and spaces, ready to trade, with fluid transactional soft and hardware built into each that each resident trader can be registered to use for the period of time that they are there.

What is we created a space populated by a wondrous fluid shifting sand of different small scale boutique cottage industries – of designers, tradespeople, artisans, local hobbyists, in fact anyone with a small volume of materials or products or wares that they wish to exhibit and sell. All you would have to do is register and take your slot. The simple fundamental idea of creating small islands and markets of maker crafts culture and innovations scattered through out the city that are open to any citizen who wishes to try their arm at being entrepreneurial would be a wonderful human sized way of breaking the homogenized tendencies of large urban living centres and creating a new quiet revolution in innovative thinking – but in such a way that it is the civic society that is enabling its own to act upon their skills talents and whims in a way that is productive and positive for everyone from the neighbourhood to the city as a whole.

Digital Glue

The life-changing role of social networks and digital enablement in humanizing cities of an ever-grander scale is critical and absolute. Every eco mega-city must be enabled for people to connect immediately and anywhere. This lies beyond putting up cafes and hot spots and creating the odd social network movement.

This is about the degree to which people can live out their digital lives enabled by the metropolis in which they live – as opposed to relying on the brands and businesses that populate that city to do it for them.

It is also to do with creating the platforms on which they can have their say and act directly on municipal and civic issues, questions and challenges that affect their daily lives.
Social Networks that create, stimulate and elevate a ‘listening’ and ‘acting upon’ culture are critical to engaged and communal environments flourishing and becoming self- sustaining.

That there should be an Open Innovation platform for every city yet to be planned and constructed; an open innovation platform focused on attracting, engaging innovative minds with potential solutions on everything from hi and clean tech and industrial innovation both radical and incremental to social programmes, care initiatives, and community ventures is critical given the scale and the different need states that need to be designed for.

The Open Innovation platform would be not only to harvest the best of local and national thinking and doing but also to create a high profile platform upon which to invite and build relationships with the private sector, where they might tender and where tranches of action and responsibility for the investment and involvement of the private sector in the infrastructure of the new city are presented in an open and transparent manner.

The possibilities that digital sharing living thinking and doing might bring to every aspect of a megacity’s potential both social and structural are only just beginning to be explored and embraced. Watch this space.

Take A Different Path. & Look Up

One last thought in this top note is about things I have noticed over many years, while spending a lot of time in various cities.
One of the ways in which to create social cohesion and engagement is to compel people to perhaps step out of the rigid conformity of their routine – how they journey through the city in which they live and work.

People fix themselves into commutes that are particular and for the most part forensic demonstrations of getting from A to B.
Most urban inhabitants have developed a hypersensitive modus that they apply to every journey..

This tends to lead eventually to a heads-down approach to city living much in the vein of the old New Yorker adage of Look Down Keep Moving.
Although this extreme developed from the time where the streets of New York were a lot less friendly than their post zero-tolerance selves and avoiding people’s gaze just in case was always a good thing, there is a universal truth in that people existing under the auspices of urban pressure cooker living do tend eventually to just put their heads down and get on.

But this creates a downward spiritual pressure on the individual – as they move into ever greater and more reductive processes and spaces of being and action. It creates an urban claustrophobia that is hard to shake and ultimately joyless.

I would contend that one of the greatest challenges to the social health of any eco megacity will be the city’s ability to mitigate or almost eradicate this urban trait – by using their rare opportunity to create as many ways as possible to stop it developing in the first place.

One suggestion if that we develop a travel and transport infrastructure that allows people to ‘take a different path’ to the same destination – getting some different perspectives and taking in different surroundings on the way.
Developing an arterial system that combines pedestrian, bus, tram, monorail, cycle, scooter and car ways in such a way as to allow commuters even at their most time critical to take a different route would create breathing space in the urban ebb and flow – a far greater sense of balance and an opening out of personal perspectives.

I also believe that in creating the opportunity to gently raise people or enabling people to raise themselves out of a sometimes crushing routine helps them to connect and engage with people they might not otherwise have meet or with experiences they might not otherwise ever enjoy – and that is about the earlier point of making transparency and openness an integral ‘living’ part of the city.

If one wants to see this demonstrated first hand get street level in a city where the normal infrastructure of travel is ruptured, stunted, closed, redirected or unsettled by either weather, a national or local event or industrial action.
Initially it is just a city full of exasperated individuals everywhere – anxiety and annoyance are rife. This is simply the immediate emotional reaction to enforced change, the frustration of having no choice in the matter of having to change your routine.

But once the rupture has set in, after a few days, the choice issue dissipates, and you start to see an underlying ‘lift’ in people, small moments or camaraderie, and people beginning to enjoy different aspects and attributes of a city they otherwise would never see.

Imagine if we could build that choice – and the citizens ability to do that – into the everyday travel infrastructure of a city – the ability to ‘take a different path’ and ‘look up’. That would be truly amazing.

Deep Breath

And perhaps in all of these things we could see an eco megacity built upon ore than exceptional carbon modeling, energy use, waste management, sustainable building materials, utility lifecycle planning and infrastructure efficiencies.

We would have a very singular and particular one built to house the new vision of Chinese prosperity – inclusive, interwoven, built around an exceptional ebb and flow of human energy, new dreams built upon old wisdoms, upon urban and rural integration, generations reconnected for everything China is yet to be and yet to do. 

NOTE: China Dream is an initiative designed to reshape a more enduring and resilient concept of prosperity. Developed by Peggy Liu founder of JUCCCE, an NGO, the China Dream is committed to changing the path of Chinese consumption and living for good. 

Photo: Little People Project by Slinkachu

 

 

One Man’s Ceiling, Elevated Ideas of existence & the problem with Growing Up

12 Monday May 2014

Posted by Thin Air Factory in Uncategorized

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70s shift dress, Cork Wedges, Creative Workshops, District & Circle Line. Glastonbury Tor, Grassy Knoll, Growing Up, Human Behaviour, Human Ingenuity, Lateral Thought, Lizard Brain, methods of Doing, My Little Pony, Need States, Roswell, sophistry, Tickle Fights

 

Image

As I lay on the sun-warmed grass of the south facing slope of Glastonbury Tor something struck me.

My Little Pony. The yellow-maned one.  On the side of the head to be precise.

“Tickle Fight! Tickle Fight! Tickle Fight!” The shout went up: auguring another limb flailing biff smash crash guffaw squawk celebrity smack-down between myself, my increasingly physical 9 year old boy and his highly rambunctious six year old sister.

Tickle fight is really just an excuse to roll around on the floor. Not that children need much excuse

They had been repeatedly rolling down the slope further around the Tor from where I lay for a good twenty minutes prior to this point.

My son finds any excuse to drop to the floor and roll around. To be fair they both can find themselves sprawling across the floor at the drop of a well-turned hat.

It is not just a percussive physical strike-force strategy: i.e. hit the floor often and repeat as necessary. It is a happy and safe place for them, lying, sitting, sprawled. The more deconstructed the better.

Both can be found at different times Lying inert: staring into the void beneath the bed, by the sofa, in the hall, half-way up the stairs; usually frozen mid play, off in some other universe of being: or they’re sellotaped to the floor setting up various abstract collections of small figures, bits of plastic, random findings and parts of their parent’s more precious items configured into some form of story to be told: a battle, a fairy tale, a horror show, a chance meeting, the end of the world, cosmic catastrophe.

To be part of the invention or story requires the grown up to a) get over them selves and down on their knees, b) fall forwards onto their stomach and c) get their face into the right universe – the miraculous and magical one that has just been created a few millimetres off the ground. A little like spiritual scuba diving, the wonder in their world is a few atmospheres of imagination below us.

Grown ups know this place. Or we should do.

We once spent hours there: whether the ground in question was covered in carpet, straw, wooden boards, grass, earth, pine needles, gravel or even tarmac. (I remember as a child lying on a tarmac road on a hot day and pressing my face to its surface and using a small pen knife to lever out the small lead balls that had been set into it – miniature cannon balls for later use in some fantastic battle scene.)

It was a place of wonder, the ground; where you could still feel the gravity pull you towards the spinning orb. Where you could turn on your back and watch clouds scud above. Where bugs crept up blades of grass. Small pools of dew and rainwater hid. Where the earth smelt real and close: and yours. You knew where you were when you were on the ground.

Anything could take you there. Sometimes it was dramatic: your body suddenly and brutally pulverized by the imaginary film baddie’s automatic pistol/phaser/laser/RPG, at which point, juddering in percussive stunt man slo-mo fashion we would launch off the edge of the bed to land, in continued fake slo-mo, face crunching, on the ground. To then just lie there because it was quite a nice place to be.

Other reasons for being floor or ground bound?

The turning upside-down while sliding off a bed/bench/swing/wall/step like a slithering lizard, lower body still suspended or supported by the thing one has just slid off while the head shoulders, and most importantly, the face, come to a friction-stop, to end up adhered to the floor or ground beneath.

The siren call of a floor-based feast would signal the gathering of twigs leaves, divots of muddy stuff and strands of grass to be confected into a fresh baked pie or meal laid out in the middle of a damp rain flecked piece of grass or in the cork-muffled floor space under the climbing frame. To be sat around and tuned to perfection.

There’s the rolling-down-grassy-knolls reason of course (the non JFK type – though the presence of two small children flailing around on that one might have led history in a different direction!).

Collapsing modes of expressive dance offers many opportunities for floor bound adventure – where a few random balletic moves deconstruct downwards until the small person slumps to the floor like a pile of dropped clothes. Face pressed against the sprung floor of a dance studio or school gym (a nostril of dusty motes and the faint vibration of the boards is one of the happiest places known to man!).

Or at a really base level, you can’t make all of the subterranean tunnels, underpasses, secret doors and undercrofts required to make a killer sand castle until you get your face in the grains and GET IN!

In short, the thing that crossed my mind (just after the small yellow plastic pony) was the thought (one I have had previously and forgotten about) that the main problem with growing up is perhaps that we do exactly that. We grow up and away from the ground, elevating ourselves out of the rare and other worldly atmospheres of the imagination and the visceral experience of the planet on which we exist to take some higher plane of consciousness. We both intellectually and physically start to ‘get above ourselves’.

In growing up we move up and away from our primal connection to the natural landscapes of the imagination and the storytelling nature inherent in all of us.

Our ability, left to our own devices (and closer to the floor) to create or navigate worlds so real that we could attach quite clear cognitive and social principals to them: develop their cultures, languages and rituals: in ever increasing and ever more complicating detail, was and is for those children still doing it quite astounding.

If we weren’t creating floor-sprawling stories from scratch (which takes on a whole new meaning in this earthy atmosphere), we were navigating and revealing to ourselves the ones that already existed there in front of us: between the bugs and the blades, across the mulch under our nose; in wind as it bumped and popped our ears and rolled the blanket of sunlight backwards and forwards across the grass on the common: and in the sky above us in the shapes of the clouds and the velocity of the rain drops that dropped out of the universe to travel through science fiction to arrive as a fact, splat, on our forehead.

And I wondered what robs us of this facility to look in wonder at the simplest things? What interrupts or obscures our ability to see ‘creatively and inventively’, as a rite of human passage to a better existence or a more enlightened and joyful experience? Especially in the context of improving our immediate existence – in our ability to look at our work – is systems its processes its people and its material self.

What diminishes this almost lizard brain mechansim? Of course life sends us tests and brutal realities that knock the ‘stuffing’ out of us and pop our little balloon. Yes, the cynic must play some part in removing the infantile nature of some of the things we explored as a child.  And sticking to a stubbornly naïve and willfully childish perspective (as opposed to child-like one, which we like) only serves to exacerbate the problem with those of us more partial to sharp cornered and wholly reason based perspectives.

But it seems that as some of us become increasingly more ‘grown up’ we become increasingly ‘shut down’ in our liberal creative ‘gut’ abilities – and decreasingly capable of allowing facts and reason and myths and storytelling to exist next to each other without feeling compromised and compelled to ‘choose’.

The rigour of reason and sharp cornered fact is essential in ridding the human race of the kind of voodoo puffery and hocus-pocus to which the more marginalized and frankly dangerous freaks, socio and psychopaths, manipulators, tricksters, megalomaniacs, zealots and fundamentalists flock.

In far more inane terms, frameworks structures and methodologies of Doing are critical to keeping the wheels of human existence turning. But the rote systems that prepare us for participating in their systemic truths are just that.

Systems of Thinking to fit Systems of Doing – manufacturing, trading, building, maintaining, powering, growing, stewarding, managing – allow communities and collectives to be resourceful, resilient, adaptive and endure – a primary imperative

But they are not the source of the wonder of human existence. Human ingenuity, the elevator and slingshot of all we are stems from a curiosity and a wonder of all that exists: both materially, spiritually and inventively: the collision of which creates our sense of What If?

Our frameworks of thriving seem to discount imagination and the storytelling structures it uses to exercise and process cognitive truths as broadly dangerous, fruitless or feckless.

It is as if the cool lucidity of reason can be brutally and eternally extinguished by fairy tales and myths – and anyone partaking of the Kool Aid of lateral creative and deconstructed thinking and any exercises that promote it will be rendered deaf dumb and blind to danger and threat: to risk of any sort; and fail to see the mammoth/meteorite/fight/war/financial-crash/virus coming. Strangely, as I write those out I see that the source and purveyors of most of these bar the mammoth and meteorite are the consequence of wholly sharp cornered reason minded individuals and collectives exercising their needs and desires in the world.

Put some scientists, analysts, mathematicians, engineers in a room with a creative exercise and suddenly we’re all feeling that someone is about to sell us Father Christmas and the Easter Bunny wrapped up in an “I’m a Roswell Believer T Shirt”.

In the hierarchies of need (with which I have been a little loose and free) the engineering mentality of the Surviving With Stickers and Early Thriving stage seems to have overwhelmed our ability to just Be with our most inventive self

BEING – unfettered from burdens – luxury of conscience – What If? – life’s mysteries

Thriving – accruing STUFF, plentiful, stable, secure and expanding life

Surviving With Stickers – stable, secure, comfortable with shiny treats every so often

Surviving – stable secure fixed – a happy grind, power of the collectives

Struggling – unstable, volatile circumstance, financially socially

Flailing & Failing – pick a skip, any skip – includes ‘Scraping’ – the bottom of the barrel – and reaching up to do it: the relegation zone of existence. Struggling to fulfil basic needs – food, warmth, safety.

Sometimes, when running creative exercises in workshops specifically designed to unlock the more lateral out of the ordinary parts of a person’s brain (a part that they most patently have) it is astonishing to find how many supposedly confident and rooted adults are so easily made to feel unsteady and uncertain – and not just as part of the exercise. Even though everyone knows that they will return in a matter of hours to the very narrow channels in which to reapply the relative rigour and specificity they need to do their job successfully, even a small number of hours applied to deconstructing the frameworks they know seems to leave them terrified that the process will render them a useless engine, unfit to ever apply the strictures and applications of the more engineered mind ever again.

If we had dressed grown men in a Floral Shift Dress and 1970s Cork Wedges with Roman sandal ties they would have probably felt more comfortable than they did when asked to undertake the simple act of thinking What If? for 3-4 hours (though that may say more about the latent joy the average professional UK male finds in the ‘cross-dressing up box’ than it does about their ability to unlock their lateral creative gene without a fixed outcome to aim for).

Sadly I sense that it would just be seen as some retrograde hippy exercise but I would love to just once take every super C Suite member of the Private Sector and ask them lie on the ground for an hour (the type of which they can choose of course and face down or up is up to them) and then ask them to write a short ‘ what on earth…?’ piece where they have to relate their time on the ground to some aspect of the business they run.

What on Earth does lying on the bloody floor have to do with my business? Exactly.

I feel that perhaps, in getting closer to the ground is a good thing: not because it allows us to act like a 6 year old (though to be frank I’ve seen some supposedly grown up masters of the universe types or ‘heavy-hitters’ demonstrate behaviour that make my 6 year old daughter look positively sage-like, balanced and calm).

But because it does exactly what the phrase says on the tin: it grounds us. Takes us to a simple point of interrelation, perspective and interpretation. It is hard to maintain the toxic affectations of grandeur and status while lying on the ground. The values and behaviours set alters.

Humility becomes primary: prostrate, genuflective.

Connectedness is mandatory: because more of you is in touch with the living floor of the planet on which we live.

Calm is compulsive: lie down on the floor and see how fast you decompress. It’s measurable – a flashback perhaps to the time at the end of PE at primary school where everyone lay on the floor (long before the ‘stretching’ cool down was fashionable) to just calm down after all that running about.

Consideration becomes reflex: surprising what fills your mind when all the other junk gets pushed out of the way by the smell of grass or the dusty floorboards of an exercise room.

In much the same way that we are apparently far healthier in our minds when undertaking manual constructive and generative tasks – from gardening to DIY to dry-stone walling, I feel we also become far healthier in our minds with a little ‘floor action’.

Getting ground-bound is something I would suggest we all do every now and then, not because it makes us infantile or regress to some ‘creatively compelling’ state of deconstructed dribbling being, but because it reopens some of doors that are of enormous value to our cognitive and effective states of being.

And also a change is as good as a rest.

In the same way that an ascent to stand on a desk to the chant of ‘Captain My Captain’ compelled the schoolboy characters in Dead Poets Society to change their perspective – their way of seeing – by elevating it: I would suggest for Newtonian balance that the same is true for the ground. With stickers.

As unlike its loftier cousin ‘all the way up there’, the ground down here doesn’t just connect us to a different vantage point.

I believe it also connects us to a part of ourselves and our latent social and individual memory that we tend to keep filed away or have perhaps forgotten.

So Double Bubble.

There is something poetic (both spiritually and literally) about how sounds travel through the ground. From the imperceptible nature of the earth turning to bigger things like passing lorries on a motorway, the coming storm of the buffalo, the District & Circle Line.

So lets hear it for the floor, and our connection to it. If it ensures that we ‘get over ourselves’ for ten seconds and catch ‘the elevator down’ from ‘above’ ourselves all power to it.

It might also just be the most powerful HR weapon in the armoury of reinventing C Suite propensities for invention.

Or just be a tickle fight. In which case. Who cares?

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