Building Blocks to Preserve Friendships

Since my experiences in managing and owning businesses have consistently agreed with the notion to not mix business and friendship, is it a good plan to start a non-profit with my friends?

As an Executive Director in Training, I can only hope that a link to this article can be a block to build and preserve, the relationships that I hold dear. From the onset of the organizing stage(which is now), I’m planning how to distribute power effectively, so my fellow workers will enjoy contributing, to fulfill the mission.

The board will act as a body of accountability, keeping me from becoming a fascist dictator, but how can I behave as an equal from the beginning? I’m not sure I can, or should. Is the world an equal place? Do I believe in equality? I believe in preserving the rights of individuals to pursue equality, but not in the idea that it will ever exist.

I have talents and skills that I’ve spent my whole life building. I cannot pretend to be less than I am, so others will feel good. No matter how humble I become, there will always be people who envy me, and wish to spite me out of the unequal options that I have earned, been given, or stopped sharing with them, because they are greedy.

Should I break all of the relationships from my birth, in the interest of starting with a clean slate of privilege, just to earn a less fortunate persons respect? How do I respond to people who are stuck in what they don’t have, and want to shame me for what I do?

I grow weary of friends judgements of me, because I’m lucky enough to have a family that is supportive. Am I generous enough? How does that look? I had a close friend tell me in frustration, that the only reason I ask these questions, is because I’m lucky enough to be able to. Maybe he’s right in calling it “Privileged Guilt”, but then again, has he ever talked to a monk, because I see it as a matter of perception.

In pursuing my dream of TATWIP, and the idea of a shared workspace/volunteer/mentor-ship lifestyle, I’m coming to terms with the idea that it’s okay to build my power. I’ve spent years dismantling it by helping other people, and that has brought me cold nights alone, and a physical weight that reflects my frustrations, for an economy that stomps on people.

I don’t want to be responsible for other people’s tasks, but as a dedicated dreamer, I find that the only way to accomplish them, is to develop a talent for inspiring others, to share in the fruits of my dreams. I will do this by building my power up, and then stripping it from my shoulders when the dream comes to fruition. Stripping it from my shoulders is a visualization they should understand, as who likes a boss? I don’t like being called a boss, do you?

How does this sound to you? I’m broke now, but I don’t have to be. I could be rich if I wanted to, but I’m not motivated by money. My motivation comes from the questions I ask here. Is that guilt? Hoping to preserve my passion to manifest visions, is the only thing that I can hold onto. Does that sound like doubting myself because of your misfortunes?

I know what it feels like to sleep fitfully, while shivering on the ground with a growling stomach. Being homeless can be fun if you choose it. I have lot’s of homeless friends, and others in low places, that bring me happiness.

It’s a matter of hope to me. I know that if I need anything in my life, some of the people who I’ve given my love to, will provide it in the way that they can. Poor people feed me, and are happy to do it, when I’m hungry. Rich people have fun partying with me, fulfilling my need to let loose, when I’m jolly.

The doubts of this article have plagued me, ever since people started telling me I was more lucky than them. I’m Irish, I can’t help that I win games, with an obscene average of balls falling in the hole by accident!!

I’ve been weary of the perception of being better off than others, for too long. It makes me sick to be alive, and I can only write this in the hope that my motivations, can survive the guilt trips in the future, with less impact on my time and energy.

“They harbor a secret hatred, for the prettiest girl in the room.”

Are you harboring a resentment of my privilege and power? Do you want some of mine? I’ve got lot’s to give. I just gave you some here. It’s the power of being humble, while aspiring to excellence.

I’m a teacher, and don’t make any money at it. Does this stop me from doing it? No. Do you love money? I don’t think you do. I think you love what money can do. Do you love what money can do for you more, or what it can do for others that you care about?

Welcome to my reality friend. I’ll be building my power back up, as I’m single and ready to change that again, while planning to get you laid too.

I’ve had enough satisfying love in my life, and seen enough misery painted on other people’s love life, to know that hooking you up with somebody I know, could potentially be more fun and easier, than falling in love again for me.

It’s always been a tricky thing for me to navigate the halls of power, while wanting to share it. Reading about what women are attracted to, gave me insight into why I feel this way. I think it was a wiki how, or something of that nature, but it’s the reason why I’m an Executive Director in training: My potential to fulfill all of the requirements of that attraction, makes it my biggest vulnerability.

For example, I was given social power from birth. My parents are “upstanding middle class” citizens, that other people might consider “upper middle class”. With my childhood came the training of answering a telephone acceptably as, “Hello, this is Benjamin, may I ask who’s calling please?” With that one sentence nailed, I’ve got a happy middle class career started, as a receptionist.

Should I be a receptionist then? Will you accept me as your Director? Do you think I have anything to teach you? Do you think I am humble enough, to accept that I’m potentially your best student, as I admire your talents for skills I don’t have?

I’ve gained ten pounds, and the pink of my skin is starting to turn into a tan, because I’ve managed to humble myself enough to process the shame, of asking for a place to stay with a full refrigerator.

I’m sitting on a patio in the sun, looking at a swimming pool, and doing my best to relax for the sake of my recovery, from failing in my ambitions again. From a year of street wisdom survival, sleeping in the same place only twice and moving on, I’ve managed to stay put for a month.

Gaining ten pounds for you might be easy, but it’s never been easy for me. I’m still ten pounds underweight from where I started three years ago, and it feels good to be building myself back up.

I want more weight in muscle than I ever had. I want to be healthy and strong. I aspire to be awesome, because I’m thankful of the things that make me feel lucky, and it’s the only thing I’ll accept as a goal.

I’m thankful for my family and friends. For the people who put up with my latest trail of tears, while I faced my worst fears. As the pounds bring me back to feeling as weird as I can in a healthy way, and the days turn into harmonic correspondence with people who share common dreams, I’m visualizing what the campaign for my purposes, will look like.

If I wanted to be elected to public office, I wouldn’t have published a slice of what I have. If power dominated my appetite, I would have kept my mouth shut and my head down, while building loads of it controlling other people’s effort. That’s not my dream, and will never be my path to long-term contentment, as an Artist Builder.

I feel blessed in my life, and always have. As far as I’m concerned, my opportunities have always been prevalent, potentially awesome, and particularly lucky.

Watching a video about drive, squashed my doubts as an artist, about how money isn’t my motivator. I don’t need to feel guilty anymore for the blessings I’ve been given, as I’m doing my best to live an ethical life, in the only way I can.

My father taught me how to work hard, and that volunteering for the wealth of my community, is the healthiest purpose I could build. He has a masters in business, but uses it for the greater good, instead of personal riches. I love that about him, and as he does, so do I.

Let’s do it folks. If you want to donate money or time, excellent, as I have tools, toys, titles, and a deed for dedication, and would love to have the dream of TATWIP bear fruit!! If not, that’s cool too, as that list of millionaires I keep mentioning is waiting for a team like ours, to remedy the doubts they haven’t addressed, like I did here.


Go away Gypsy

A trash train goes by while "creativity get's down to business" Manhattan style, and fun for me.

There is a name for people like me…..many names in fact. We lurk in the shadows of discontentment dulled by domestication, till our senses set us free in blasts of abandoned feeling. People who don’t understand the feeling, call it running away to the circus. What they missed was that the circus is in our sweat, in the blisters of our hammer swinging hands, and the calluses on the well worn soul of our feet. When an outsider of this way of life looks at it they see us running away, and miss that we have arrived home again in who we are.

Our laptop batteries are dying and we desperately seek an outlet to plug into. A way for our voice to be heard in a dance of fingertips on keys like this right now. I like to call the people I’m referring to in a tone of voice saturated with admiration, ″Alaska!!″. Why? Because some of my best friends are this. Alaska to me, is the willingness to try anything, and in fact the pattern of doing just that. The Alaskans I know can fix anything with minimal tools, and less materials. They can lift your house up with a car jack, build you a home, drink you under the table, and get up earlier the next day to do it again. They are alive with willingness to pursue survival on the fine line… of maybe they might not…so they drink and smoke another one….and help their neighbor if they can.

Artist is another harmonic title of reverence I put in this box. They are the odd birds. The ones who don’t fit in, or in other words stand out. Not like a sore thumb, but as a soaring thumb. You can see them from afar. Their way of dressing doesn’t fit. They are the aliens at home. The weird. The strangers. The crazies. Without them, our cultures would be defined by a bunch of apes running around with rocks, hitting each other on the heads. With them at large we are not surprised to have the Taj Mahal.

We all go into churches. We see them as sanctuaries. We pray in them. We look for heaven in the most heavenly place we could create. The artists did this. They created the closest representation of human-made heaven we have to experience. They designed something so beautiful, toiled to make it happen, and went home happy to create again. If they could just get a haircut, take a shower, act normal, and follow the code of conduct to be accepted by society……?

What other title have I used to describe my friends? O yes…..Radical! These are the extremists. But do please keep in mind I don’t mean the fanatical kind. I prefer to hang out with people that know how to change the subject. Getting stuck on one thing is not my forte. I tend to bend and break under the rules of polarity. One way is not for me. I like two way streets and fast traffic. Going down a one way street the wrong way, right down the middle of the yellow broken line. Taking both lanes going contrary.

Fanatics are boring. Radicals are wild. They just might say exactly what you feel with so much passion that they cry with fury. When they tremble and quake shaking their fists in the air, pronouncing words like revolution, in way you’ve never heard before, you know you may have met one…..and you just did.

Here is an excerpt from my travels, a batch of words I pulled from my little black notebook, that I wrote right before the authorities locked me in a cold ass cell….as they waited to decide if they should say…..″Go away gypsy″:

Interesting to me how the system of immigration is designed to evaluate whether you intend to move in and stay, or just spend money. If it’s just the money, how much? Waiting for customs now….this type of waiting is enthralling. All of the temporary boundaries in this large room are set up to funnel people around like cows, so they can find one like me, to put in this seat. My bench is bolted to the floor. One opening as an exit is provided in this arrangement of furniture. It’s an exit that doesn’t look like one to me, as it goes straight into their control. The others are standing and walking, waiting to move forward, as I sit in limbo. Guess you could call this a success sort of….

About ten or twelve hours later (I lost count, as they took away all my clocks), a decision was made and on a one way ticket I was bound, straight out of their country. I never left the airport to see my waiting in desperation woman on the other side of the walls. She later told me that the flowers she brought to me were wilting and covered in tears, as she resigned herself to loneliness again.

A fascinating balancing act. How to define what is too strange, or boring enough to be normal and acceptable. How do you break out of the rules of thought, finding a new way to see the world and share it with others, without being ostracized by governments, communities, individuals, and institutions?

The best advice I can give you would be this: never put a question mark on a customs form. Have your answers figured out before they ask you to write it down, or you may be questioned. I still don’t have solid answers to most of the questions the official asked me. I still do to the first one. It’s still the biggest question in my life. It’s the thing that defines why I’m traveling. It proves to me why I’m changing, and sets me up to cry.

One would think that the British government would have an immigration clause for “I’m in love with a woman in your country, and I will have to break in illegally if you don’t let me come in, or she may just leave your cold ass shores like our ancestors did because you hamburgers suck so bad, and come to join me instead….We’re exchanging our pounds at the bank. Your currency is not something we wish to use. Should’ve let me come back in to get my stuff at least, I might’ve stayed and inspired you to work. Fuckers. Now I wanna go Robin Hood all up and down your systems ways…. just to pass the time.”

I bought one of your ten pound notes from a British art student after you sent me to NYC. Just wanted to have one in my hand again to feel in touch with my woman. I gave it away to a bum the next day though. Wish you had been there to hear what life is about for him. He could’ve taken your homeless population and turned it into a workforce with his message, so I gave him ten pounds. He said he might get himself a prostitute for his birthday with it. I told him how to exchange it for something with value in this country. Fuck you Britain.

We told your silliness’s to take a flying leap when you tried to get us to be like you a long time ago. This is me as a wild and free American…burning your white picket fence. A yard that doesn’t grow food and isn’t well tended, is called a yard. Gardens are for food or caring. Glad I’m eating fresh mangoes off the trees, and fish straight from the seas, instead of bending on my knees to do as you wish. I will continue to identify more with my Irish heritage than my English, because you keep proving to me how much you suck. Happy Saint Patty’s Day From Costa Rica. Where the people are warm, the food is outstanding, the weather is awesome, and you are not here!!!!

″Go awey gypsy….I am not drunk.″ -KO-

Toys R Tools Work Iz Play

When I started this blog with help from a friend 5000 miles away, over the phone we came up with the temporary title of “benjaminsreclaimedart”. Over a year later (my software skills are better for wearing soft suits), I have finally changed the address!! This posting was written in anticipation of the moment when I could reveal a name worthy of my energy!!

The bottom of the page is a message to the designer of my icon. TATWIP is not a blog. It’s a dream. A way of life, a train of thought, a philosopy, and an art.

Donate enough money, and I'll remove the shadow so you can see me in rubber boots.....:) How much is enough? 20 million quid will do for starters, this is an expensive dream well worth your donation.

Thank you J-

The hardest thing I can do is make a decision, so bear with me, my mecurial nature is open to suggestions in the air at this step.

It made me feel confused or unclear, like I should draw up some sketches like last time I did this with another designer, giving you a flavor to go from. How much time did this take you? I hope that didn’t come out wierd on your end.

We’re still in the visualization/manifestation/materialization stage. Started thinking maybe just the TTWP put together somehow. Like TWPT, or WPTT or TaT WiP or WiP TaT Or TATWHIPPED. Or WhippedTAT….hmmm. I’ll get out a sketch tonight after work so we can harmonize….Design of logo is something I take really seriously…..Brand recognition.

Free Association:

Professional, school, trades school, break rule, KISS (my best advice to myself, forever: Keep It Simple Stupid), Thought Revolution, Student Teacher, Doctoral Novice, radical proven principle real truth….Purpose….Lifestyle…Scholar With A Blue Collar……Equality….Undomestication….Adaptation…Harmony of learning environment….Building a place where learning is fun. Having built them…..I want to continue to.

Breaking the rules of thought (the other definition of insanity); evolutionary business principles.

Education we can bear to carry in our minds, without needing meditation, and years of practice, to remove every last scrap of crap, the institutionalized system of thought, has programmed into our pawn heads, to dominate, control, and manipulate us, into being tools of a system, meant to keep the rich filthy richer, and the poor starving on the floor of some musty box…..

I sold my biggest possession today….Which means I have a pocket full of Benjamins. I can mail more if need be. Keep doing what your doing. I love it enough, to share the team spirit with the world.




Prosperity in a cave.

I will have prosperity rain down from the sky, winking in the moonlight, silver droplets, molten forming art, a wallet of metal, a glisten of sparkle, wrapped around me, in a jacket of wealth. Let my hems be sewn with rubies, my belts be laced with emeralds. I see a mountain of wealth in the lair that is my mind. By this time tomorrow, the mountain will go again, trembling shakes beneath my feet, rattling cutlery and china on the tabletops of the heartland, spewing large chunks of melting gold across the garden. I will be as the sleeping dragon, smoke billowing from my ears, atop the pile of filigreed books, when the slightest disturbance is heard, I will be anticipating, another nap, and another meal.
-the dragons lair-