"Sixth Sense" game-changing wearable tech

Early Shakespeare

Weare I a Kinge I coude commande content;
Weare I obscure unknowne shoulde be my cares,
And weare I ded no thoughtes shoulde me torment.
Nor wordes, nor wronges, nor loves, nor hopes, nor feares,
A dowtefull choyse of these thinges one to crave,
A Kingdom or a cottage or a grave.

no punctuation

They’re so cute when they’re young then they grow up sometimes the mirror image of the parents that teach them I spent the first 5 years of my first son’s life being a model to him now I know I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to undo that modeling when he uses sarcasm I see my self when he plays practical jokes at inappropriate times I see myself when he screams at his younger brother I see myself at the most inappropriate times he will do the most inappropriate things not in a mean spirited way just in the way that his daddy does it he is truly my teacher I see his behavior and I know where I must change I must present a better example when first a parent for the first time it is unknown to both moms and dads the extent to which the young little life forms will imitate everything we do and everything we think and everything we are we have no one to blame for how our kids turn out than ourselves I love these people that want to rely on the schools or the government to teach their kids because it starts and ends in the home it starts and ends with the caregivers I can remember as a young boy I couldn’t wait to be grown up enough to smoke because my dad smoked and when I did choose to smoke I puffed on the same brand as he did but it is the more insidious parental traits that seep into our dna that can cause us trouble in our adult lives until recently when I got angry at anyone I would just shut down turn off all my outward emotions and sometimes fall asleep just like my dad used to do it took some deep soul searching to connect the dots and realize that I had to choose who I wanted to be with the help of my wife who is a very understanding woman I have learned to trust my emotions trust that I can express my emotions and won’t get laughed at or scolded or won’t hurt anyone because I feel deeply and passionately

The Carpet Can Only Hide So Much

“Give me that broom,” Amanda demanded in a stage whisper as she closed the door to her hybrid car. Hart padded the last bit of orangey-brown leaves into the corner, but to no avail as three more dropped from the giant oak just as he slowly haunched down onto the red metal porch chair. You’d think the tornado that was Amanda would ruffle the pile of leaves as she approached Hart.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I gotta stay busy.”

“Well be busy reading, or looking at the clouds or anything but what you’re doing.”

Hart leaned back, a heavy sigh emanating from his chest. His bald head felt cold in the crisp autumn air. His head shook a bit as the screen door uncharacteristically slammed shut. He shuffled to the door, pried it open and sat at the kitchen table, freshly laden with goodies from the store. They would have to wait for their proper place of rest as Amanda bent under the table, stretched the broom out from the tips of her fingers in an attempt to retrieve days-old cereal nuggets lodged under the white radiator.

“Stop, Amanda. Just stop. We gotta both stop.”

“I can’t.”

“Neither can I, but…

Amanda fell into Hart’s lap, her limp shoulders heaving up and down. Hart collapsed onto her back. She heaved, he rose, she exhaled, he rested. Nothing needed to be said and yet the comforting lock of their bodies said it all.

The Memory Police Approach, Save Your Moments

I remember waiting to go to school because I envied my brothers who got attention for their homework.


I remember the close relationship I had with my mom, we went to shows together, we went to dinner, we did many things together.

I remember when I felt betrayed by my mother, that all she wanted was for me to do her bidding and that I really had no personality.

I remember the pool in our backyard and coming home from working in a hot smelly kitchen and jumping into the fresh water.

I remember loving my dad for his sense of humor

I remember hating my dad for his unpredictable behavior.

I remember making my classmates laugh, finding that I had talent for comedy.

I remember being on the good side of authority because I was cute and funny.

I remember being scared of my power and not knowingwhere to turn for support.

I remember writing papers for many of my classmates and being found out by the teacher because the irony and sense of humor throughout was similar.

I remember writing a story about visiting the dentist and saying the fish in the tank had braces and thinking it was the funniest thing I had ever written.

I remember having a girlfriend in highschool and staying with her because I was afraid I would find no other.

I remember reading with this girlfriend the joy of sex and then trying to have sex with ice cubes pinned against our genitalia.

I remember the dogs I’ve had thoughout my life: rusty, spot, Jennifer, muffin, willie, and loving all of them.

I remember my maternal grandmother, who, unknown to us, suffered fromAlzeimer’s and we used to take advantage of her senility.

I remember my fraternal grandmother and how we loved when she would babysit us because she was kind hearted and warm and sweet.

I remember having a tough time in high school and not being able to be vulnerable. And paying for that for the next forty years.

I remember my hand being held in a crowd by a fortune teller and she stopped and said, “who’s hand is this?” and I answered and she proceeded to tell me how special I was and the special things I would do in life.

I remember the gypsy lady saying I would be great.

I remember the delusions of grandeur.

I remember the delusions of lowdeur.

I remember saying goodbye to all those who loved me before I swallowed the pills

I remember staying alive because I had to, because I wanted to, because life is short and it really doesn't matter what anyone thinks; I've got a lifetime to accomplish what I WANT

I remember something, something sweet, something mellow. something that kept me alive

North (mind), South (emotion), West (body), and East (spirit)

In many Native American spiritual traditions, the directions North, South, West, and East correspond to mind, emotion, body, and spirit. These four are seen as ways of experiencing the world, each with its own validity and each with its own powers.

Join me in a quadra-directional journey as I experience my mind from the various points of the compass.

Mind

I shrank, to the size of a thought, an atom, a vibration. I entered my mind on the left side and trod along the squishy canals. They spiraled inward like a primeval conch shell. They zigged and zagged like a great river. I crossed the corpus callosum and wandered the mirror-image of my left hemisphere. I encountered the same deep rivets, older than time itself. I hiked along, seemingly for days, going deeper and deeper into the various parts of my brain. I saw some tangled webs in my hippocampus and worried at the potential pathology. My journey into the limbic system was like entering a haunted house. Spooky, dark and practically extinct. I traveled down my spinal column, straight down. It was a bumpy ride, like a roller coaster made to mimic white water rafting. At the base of my spinal column, I found a tiny sac and entered. Inside were the keys to the kingdom of heaven. I jangled the keys in my left hand and place them back down on a squishy pillow of ligament and blood.

Emotion

It’s not every day that I get to go inside my mind. I was excited and nervous. When I shrank to the size of a thought, my body felt like cellophane under a hair dryer: tight and shriveled. A great rush filled me, and I felt like an atom ready to burst forth its enormous power. I could feel the wisdom of the ages in my frame. I swam effortlessly along the watery canals of my brain. Electrical lights popping on and off like in an arcade. I was in awe of the tremendous power and resourcefulness of my mind. It enveloped me, cradled me, comforted me, yet it also scared me. Could I live up to such potential? Had I lived up to such potential? Crossing over to my right brain, the answers to the aforementioned questions were evident at once: yes. I could. I did. I always will. There was nothing to fear in this womb of love. I was loved, I was total love, I always will.

Body

There’s no easy way to get into one’s brain except by becoming thought. So, with a little magic, I became pure thought and entered my left hemisphere. It was dark, but I managed to capture a synapse and harness its electrical buzz to use as a source of light. I fastened the light to my head like a miner, a miner for peace, as it were. The road was bumpy, wet and filled with the crackling noises of small “pops” going off almost all the time. The air was busy with many scents, some of them burnt orange, others clear blue and misty green. I had to dodge many trains of thought, linear lines of logic that rumbled through with seemingly no regard for any other synaptic presence. Rude, I thought. How rude! I crossed the corpus callosum, a shaky bridge from here to everywhere. In the right hemisphere, trains of thought took a back seat to universal bliss. I was welcomed all at once by everyone who had ever lived and who will ever live. Bliss engulfed me. It felt like a warm blanket and smelled like spring. I was home. I went deeper into the deep blue. Music played that sounded like cotton balls. Happy people invited me to sit on pillows made from good deeds. I sat and have yet to get up.

Spirit

He shrank to the size of a thought, a mere vibration amidst the trillions of vibrations that occur every second. He entered his mind as a thought, first on the left side. I purposely wanted him to enter from his left hemisphere because I didn’t want to shock or startle him. Too often in the past when I’ve been tasked with helping someone discover his inner infinite bliss, I was too eager for them to get from here to everywhere. So, with Hunferth, I took my time. I allowed him to swim along the logical canals of the left brain. I gently guided him to the right side. He entered and was immediately swallowed by an enormous wave of gratitude and bliss. He was hanging ten on the ocean of love. He was free-floating down an endless sky of infinite potential. He knew everything and nothing, which put him in a state of total bliss. I love this part of my job. We will always be friends now. He will always trust me and I will never waver. I can’t waver. I am what is.

French Bread, Lamb's Brain & French Women

The French bread in France is the best bread in the world, but you have to slather it with the French butter. Then you have to have a bowl of café au lait: half coffee, half hot milk.

I was 21 years old and it was my first trip to Europe. I accompanied my mom to Lourdes, France, where we would do volunteer work for the thousands of pilgrims seeking spiritual healing, if not physical healing (the foolishness of such pilgrimages is another story). What I remember most is the food. The cafeteria dinners for the workers were delicious. There were always slices of turkey, or veal, or beef, or chicken and everything had a gravy. Potatoes were boiled, baked and French fried. Vegetables were not overcooked, lots of fresh green beans. And fresh salads and hot soups.

I remember how good the sliced roasted turkey tasted. I was amazed at the delicious meats that accompanied meals. Veal, such a delicacy in the States, was served several times a week (I had worked in a restaurant as a teenager that substituted pork loin for veal. When breaded and covered with cheese and sause, no one was the wiser. The pork was much cheaper. I used to think of the poor unsuspecting Jews who were eating pork and felt bad for them).

But back to France: the bread. Ahh, the bread. With every meal, bread and butter.

Lourdes is the perfect place to experience a multitude of cultures because people from all over Europe come there to be healed.

The Spanish were the most jovial of people, always singing with guitar accompaniment.

The Italians were boisterous and fun, always ready to discuss food.

The English…well, the English breakfast was a feast, with a variety of meats, gravies, potatoes, lots of sausages and tea. The Germans enjoyed cold cuts and cheeses for breakfast.

The French women were the most beautiful, with the Spanish a close second. I loved talking to anyone who spoke French, male or female. It is one of my favorite languages to listen to, even today.

I remember while in Paris for a connecting flight, I ate in a restaurant that was at the top of a building. I ordered a salad that had lamb’s brain. Hey, when in France…! I wouldn’t get it again, but the rubbery, white brain matter resembled the boiled whites of eggs or squid.

I also ordered shrimp at a French restaurant they came out with their heads on. I had never seen that in the States.

In many ways, I felt the Europeans were so far more advanced than us. They seemed so much more willing to live life, to be in the middle of life despite the debris, to be a part of their environment, whereas we Americans like to sanitize everything.

In France, people eat on sidewalk tables where very narrow cobblestone streets are choked with diesel spewing vehicles and they don’t care. (Today, in the States, more almost all restaurants offer sidewalk tables, but this wasn't always the case.) Dogs in France accompany their owners into shops and cafes. Kids drink wine and beer. Everyone smokes. I liked the "realness" of France back then.

Things might have changed a bit since then, but I’ll always remember the food, the beautiful women, and the smell of diesel. For the longest time, the smell of diesel took my mind back to the narrow streets of France. I would follow diesel trucks for miles, huffing and dreaming.

I Feel Newspapers' Pain, But I'm No Doctor

Everyday, I pass several newspaper boxes on my walk to my office. Two papers are local weeklies, one is the city daily. I scan the top stories, sometimes finding them interesting, but I am never propelled to buy a newspaper or to read the online versions of the papers. I am addicted to CNN.com for my daily news.

I can't remember the last time I purchased a newspaper or even grabbed a freebie. I want to read everything online (and I'm older than most). I go to CNN for quick hits, to get a sense of what's going on and if there are any breaking stories I need to be aware of. That's it for news. I then have several other websites I rely on for reading material with a bit more gravitas.

There is a new site called Good, which I enjoy very much. I like that the writing is intelligent. I like the Tikkun blog. I'm neither Jewish nor particularly religious, but I like the heft behind the thinking and writing on Tikkun -- and I like its progressive slant. I don't go to Salon as much as I used to, nor to Slate. I get the NY Times table of content in my email every day, but might actually read a story once a week, if that.

I don't have a lot of time to devote to reading. I have a full-time job and a full-time family life. Much of my "pleasurable" reading is done with my young boys. In fact, I have read with my oldest several of the Percy Jackson sagas and The Chronicles of Narnia, as well as The Diary of a Wimpy Kid series. All of these books have been very enjoyable. My young guy is reading The Fantastic Mr. Fox and other such stories.

I have a stack of my own books on the ready to be read. They include Homer's Odyssey, Hitler's Private Library, The DaVinci Code, The Best 10-Minute Plays of 1996, and many more. I recently read My Stroke of Insight by Jill Bolte Taylor, a fascinating read of this neuroscientist's descent into disability caused by a stroke and her recovery. I also just finished reading The De Vere Code, a book that purports to have found a code in the dedication to Shake-Speare's Sonnets that identifies Edward de Vere as the author. I happen to believe that de Vere is the actual author of all things Shakespeare, but I was not convinced of the case presented by Jonathon Bond in The De Vere Code.

My oldest son recently asked me what books I read as a kid. I could only remember one book: Miss Pickerel Goes to Mars. Growing up, our house was littered with magazines: Time, Newsweek, Life, Look, National Geographic, and two daily newspapers and the Sunday edition. Plus, we watched a lot of television.

Today, we don't have cable and TV watching is something special. The boys watch cartoons only occasionally. We will get a DVD from the library and watch it together on Friday evenings with homemade popcorn. We get National Geographic and The Progressive, but that is it. I would love to subscribe to Scientific American, Smithsonian Magazine, Psychology Today and other mags, but money is tight. We get leftover copies of The New Yorker, which I enjoy, especially the cartoons. But I could never subscribe to that magazine. Issues would pile up, unread, and I'd put a ton of pressure on myself to save every one until I've thoroughly digested every morsel of them. I can't take that kind of pressure. .I've read of a similar phenomenon called TiVo guilt, where people leave reams and reams of recorded material on their recorders hoping someday to be able to watch all of it. I wouldn't know. I don't have TiVo. I used to love to watch shows like 24, Numbers, CSI, Seinfeld, The Simpsons, Family Guy, and others. In today's world, I've had to make choices for what gets my time. TV lost.

As an editor for both a print and online media, I feel the pain of newspapers. But they have failed to remain relevant (whatever that term means: content, velocity). I cannot cure them. I don't know who can. My 8 year old goes right to the computer when he wants to learn something, generally to NFL.com or some other sports-oriented site. But he also knows how to use google, which he recently used to learn more about Greek gods, which are pervasive in the Percy Jackson sagas. He will never buy a newspaper. Well, he might buy one or two. But he will never be a subscriber. This is the future.

All I can tell the newspaper people is to take two gigabytes and call your IT team in the morning. That should cure your headaches.

(Image from McFarlaneusa.wordpress.com)