You Are The Ace of Now

Technology marches forward, steady in the pursuit of improvement. Marketing is constantly evolving. Solutions never stop expanding.

Solutions are more than ideas, more than strategies, more than answers to challenges and responses to change. They’re not a way of marketing at all, but innovations birthed by changing the way you think. They’re freed by a mental revolution, a mind mutiny against conformed, routine problem solving. Saturate the atmosphere around you with your thoughts and the answer will precipitate. The cycle is never ending and increases momentum where evaporation isn’t a worry, where decomposition isn’t failure, but is natural and a cornerstone of the circle of light that not only illuminates, but guides us and warns us as we navigate the shoals and reefs of complacent thought and comfortable consideration. Inside our heads is what we know, inside the box we’re standing in is what we know we know, and outside that is an empty staff where the melodies and rhythms no one has ever dreamed of are waiting to be penned and performed. Music and word and everything else combined in brilliant new ways that escape the cellar door or those other places we’re afraid to search, forgot existed, or overlooked because of corrupted experience. Challenge what’s common, if you dare.

We inhabit a planet that’s a sphere, an infinity of mathematical points that keeps turning in a universe that is still expanding, still growing, still exploring and pushing beyond its capabilities; constantly pushing itself to the edge again and again and again. The universe has no boundaries, and neither should we. Not even the unimaginable, incomprehensible extensions of space are our border now. We are. The only thing that limits our growth is the size of our mental terrarium. Crash through with a flash flood of ideas that swallows the highest point mediocrity seeks dry refuge. Split atoms of inspiration with white-hot blasts of creative energy equivalent to a googolplex of courage-infused A-bombs and unleash enough fallout to mutate us all into 50-foot monsters of eccentricity. Get away from scratching and tickling a crust that crawls to change. Drill deep through the magma and straight to the core where there’s warmth, and live in a place no one’s ever been but everyone was told about, theorized existed and shown illustrated in a textbook we studied in 4th grade.

Put the pen to paper and tame the white bull that notches most of its victories not by wildly throwing us from the saddle, but by intimidating us never to step up, never to step in the building, never to step out of the small town thinking we’ve grown up with. Hug the bull. Embrace it. Put your face on its hide and smell its weathered skin. Grip the rope. Smell the wet dirt tossed in the air. Enjoy the ride. And when you taste blood from your lip remember how you got there and that scars are a reminder there is nothing pure, true, or inspiring that is not delivered from pain, sacrifice and passion.