Fear of Commitment?

How to Use a Commitment Contract to Change Your Habits

Techno-Silicone-City Haiku for the masses of connectors that much be assembled and matched by EOD
a blending of languages: the poetic meets the practical; the ECO-MBA becomes the Bio-Lyricism specialty for studying the still lives of butterflies, staring at sunbeams long enough to make graphs, the equations of equality and equilibrium, debunked, debriefed, deconstructed, deluded and now the finalized making of the deal. 

Treatise: "How to negotiate a better life" - Lesson 1: Read this HR documentation of how to behave. Ignore most of it because you are distracted by Bob Dylan and Billy WIlder, two creatives before your time who said what they liked and you liked what they had to say, ironically retro, suitably nostalgic, possibly waylaid, trying to figure out a way to market the cacophony that cannot be turned into advertising, marketing or bold-faced lying, the consulting kind where you find out that people's biggest fears revolve around hair--the losing of it and the extraneous appearance of it as you age, as in who needs that? Why can't the human body get a break in some ways, a loophole, if you will: you get older, you don't have to shave anymore, wouldn't that be nice. You eat the color of hair you want -- brunette? More chocolate. Blonde? Bananas and cheesecake.

It's precisely where she wants to be, or so she tells herself, running on avoidance and that ergo-limited sense of dread, okay, what now? Sometimes you just have to check out, and NOT jump from the 9th Floor. It's hard to put into the words the impact that emotional distress has on our lives, our very existence, the wrinkles and grey hair that come and go, as I turn the corner,
Smash Cut -- I just found out is an abrupt or sudden splice (that differs from a jump cut, because it goes to another image, not just a jarring size 'jump' of the same) -- was the cover of a book that started with some inane male-female deficiency reference that bored me
she continues:
the gate's locked
people yelling
the word 
is that alright? Are we interminably to be punished for the sins of our father's fathers?

With regards to the matter of life at hand, let us return to the concept presented of Commitment Contracts.

Negotiation 101
all over again.
What did I learn? A woman can barter a golf club while a man, he can get a deal on a necktie, a diamond and a shoe shine.
Women, they are good at manipulating sympathies for their progenitors, the hope of humanity, cutthroat balance sheets and evaluative efforts at quantifying a life's purpose. They are the harshest critics, biting when cold, scary if vulnerable intermittently. Generally qualitative not quantitative.
Men, the hierarchy-builders, come and go, according to the fit of the suit, the shuffle of the caregiver, the keeper of his treasures, at home, at the office, in the bank and on the yacht.
Why do those trademark celebrities gravitate towards the working girl look and others are drawn, latched on to the breadwinners? Role reversal. Mister Mom and his stay-at-the-office mistress, jogging route right thru the gated community, kids grow up singing "Half Breed" in their sleep, communing with alien invaders, playing PS3, x-box love and weeee! The interactive mind meltdown, the way from adolescent zombie-drom to post-career nihilism, checking out, tuning in to hot acts on the boob tube, fast moves on the controller of the course of a 3D simulated reality, the car chase through gangland, the navigation of little Hollywood, the aftermath of recognition, the Entitlement Age has lead to a string of desperation, desolation and disappointments all lined up for the bureaucrats' bounty.

   "Will he choose me?" Will I be next? Is this "the Price is Right" or "Let's Make a Deal!" I'd do well at "Family Feud" with a non-traditional family, they'd have to all come from middle Virginia, have been either expats or stayed put, no in-between semi-flight to 'more opportunity for growth,' 'better schools' or higher gross domestic product coming in thru short-term gains and leaving via the nanny, gardener, housekeeper, lawn mowing man, satellite gadget technician (half-trained with a faux certificate of expertise, with regards to types of connections -- red, green, blue wires; which to cut first you can find on "Stargate" -- the answer? McGiver has to wing it, he gets lucky, his commander intuition in tact.

   If only all of our commander intuitions always lead us down the right beaten path to fields of joy and and ultimate, okay so this is what it's worth? Okay, I can accept that...But that is far away and for now, the uncertainty is a killer, the absence of a cohesive American Dream we can all plug into (like the mythology of the generations before, who failed, in general, to guide us, until a new wave of family values: family first, 9 to a room, stick together, hoard jobs and place on the sidewalk).

Urban Eden proposal:
    Sustainable economies on a local scale, tapped into a global community where workers can make a living selling their wares around the world, and not be excluded from their own backyards due to constructed concepts of proper 'economy' [If Warren Buffet can make an off-the-cuff and tasteless remark about giving away money just to have his portrait painted, he is that rich, then I can point out the obvious notion that the economy itself is a mythological labyrinth, smoke and mirrors, propped up by the policy of overworking the masses to death so they don't have the energy to even pay attention...and thus, give over most of their earnings to taxes, over-consumption of wants propped up as needs, a perpetual cycle of depleting resources to drive up prices, money and the paper it's printed on controlled by various conglomerates and an over-arching theme of dasterly deeds of the few who lord feudal over the rest of us, no matter what our innate intelligence, acquired abilities or effectiveness 'on the job' -- no, it's all about where you sit in the room, and for WB, he sits alone with a calculator and I imagine somewhat antique furniture by a window in Lincoln, Nebraska, which I found to be a calming place, right around the road work -- talk about irony.]
    The point of all this: a revised New Deal to get us out of the dust bowl; a way to support ourselves and provide a better life for those who follow us and inherit the ashes left behind. What must we do now?
    What are our rights and what are our responsibilities?
    I foresee an interchange where urban life can be useful as we evolve (not necessarily just the doom and gloom of Collapse with the inevitable decay of a neglected infrastructure, a re-defining of what makes humanity, a legacy, a thing that matters -- our children, their kids, the message we send forth, especially if and when there are much bigger forces at work, someday.
    Will we have the solidarity, the foresight, the vision to sustain what is right with our race, our species, down to the genus and family, tribal warfare aside, a working knowledge of many languages, a uniting force of survival on this earth, our shared esprit du corps no matter what our politics, creed and military training may be. Because, eventually, we may need to defend ourselves against some outside galaxy that closes in, needing our precious resources of water or metal or wood or air. The basic elements noticed by all ancients, destroyed by Anasazi over-growth or Easter Island myopia or the 'unplanned' obsolescence of gold-gilded bed posts for royalty while an ignorant peasantry starves, or the gradual unraveling of the people's will under rulers of wayfaring arbiters and assessors of value--who is to say my Walmart is worth five of your mom-and-pops strung across the wheat belt like a line of Christmas lights left on too long after the holiday's over, the embarrassment of a widow who leaves cards up all year long, over the kitchen table, because she can't bear to think of the patriarch who would have insisted on seasonal change, for his mental health and the proper leveraging of the children -- harvest time leads into a cautious winter shut down and celebration of mystery; then the rains and uncertainty, a fast track to spring, sprouting life and the summer's sun, with its accolades to daughters' fidgety skin and the prodigal son's exit, stage left.
   We need the country and the city, the country for food and the core values of this country, the gentleman farmer made equal, the American dream a possibility, the sustainable family farm, the best export of a rich and fertile land grown out of Iroquois nation meets George Washington, Paul Revere's extroverted personality and the brethren of crazy folk who came up with Independence as a notion. Despite their hypocrisies, that notion took guts and putting those ideas down on paper showed faith -- and a kind of inherent free spirit that serves the locomotion of man into some kind of leveling of possibility with clear intention, a chance to actually extend the awareness we have been given but tend to block, out of unnaturally acquired survival skills, to the life around us. 
   And the cities, sustained by the wheat of the fields, bake the bread in bulk, keep prices reasonable, evaluate, quantify and quantitatively define a true value of human life...wouldn't that be nice? The Industrial Age finally laid to rest; no more pre-pubescent sex slaves in lands of enlightenment, no weapons fired in the name of God, no evil taking over because good has given up, given in, rolled over to play dead.
   The cities provide education, merchant maneuvers bringing goods in and out; they are the places of exchange and the gathering zones for ideas. But we should still all have small plots of land for clear air, where we grow something. We should trade more, what we need we may get from our neighbors' excess. When I have, I give.

   So with that, commitment contracts. Read up.