Quite Unusual Mission

In one sentence, what work is Quite Unusual trying to do?

Save sex, Save the World.

What kind of work is Quite Unusual doing?

Achieve world peace one small step at a time, starting with creating games to teach the three pillars of Mindsight, Communication and Relationship Skills.

We will make games that stealthily teaches Mindsight and how you earn the trust of those you have sex with, and why that is important.

What impact do you hope to make with this work?

Teach Mindsight which will cause compassion and kindness which will allow people to heal their Core Wounds which will cause people's Hearts to grow to Size 5 Hearts

Who are you hoping to reach with this work?

The world is in a bad state, it can't be fixed immediately; but maybe we can put a bandaid on the adults of today so that they don't mess up their children bad enough that we can't teach them how to raise people that are capable of being part of a healthy society.

Describe the work you plan to do in more detail.

"Besides, how will you be controlled by society if you feel no shame around sex and masturbation?"-- May Pang This Scientist Wants to Prescribe Masturbation as Medication

What we're really here to talk about is the "how." Okay, so how exactly do we create this world-shattering, if you will, innovation?

To end trauma we need world peace. As Harville Hendrix found out "Objection to difference is the source of conflict." The biggest Objection to difference is to demonize the 'other'. To get people to stop demonizing each other we need them to understand each other. For people to understand each other they need to have civil conversations with each other. To have a civil conversation you either need to love that person or to slow down and take steps to understand another person, which is not natural. These skills need to be taught; we can train our brains to experience a sense of belonging like never before. Here's what I'm doing.

As Einstein once said, “The world is a dangerous place, not because of those who do evil, but because of those who look on and do nothing.” to Save the children we have to make it so people aren't too busy with satisfying the vary bottom of Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs so we need you to use the lowest need we can(which is sex(which is a different need than sexual intimacy)) WoMon just the first step in http://toohna.ourproject.org/w/index.php?title=The_Plan

Will this work? You may not know this but plenty of porn is easily available for free on the internet yet one of the first major Captcha breakers was solved by having a game where people solve the Captcha by giving them a pornographic image for each Captcha they solved.

So The Power of Porn is a very proven thing.

So will just getting people to talk to each other really change things?

Magen's story

" Initially, the people I encountered on the platform were just as hostile as I expected. They were the digital version of the screaming hordes I'd been seeing at protests since I was a kid. But in the midst of that digital brawl, a strange pattern developed. Someone would arrive at my profile with the usual rage and scorn, I would respond with a custom mix of Bible verses, pop culture references and smiley faces. They would be understandably confused and caught off guard, but then a conversation would ensue. And it was civil -- full of genuine curiosity on both sides. How had the other come to such outrageous conclusions about the world? "

"Sometimes the conversation even bled into real life. ... He ran a blog called "Jewlicious," and after several months of heated but friendly arguments online, he came out to see me at a picket in New Orleans. He brought me a Middle Eastern dessert from Jerusalem, where he lives, and I brought him kosher chocolate and held a "God hates Jews" sign. "

"There was no confusion about our positions, but the line between friend and foe was becoming blurred. We'd started to see each other as human beings, and it changed the way we spoke to one another. "

"It took time, but eventually these conversations planted seeds of doubt in me. My friends on Twitter took the time to understand Westboro's doctrines, and in doing so, they were able to find inconsistencies I'd missed my entire life. Why did we advocate the death penalty for gays when Jesus said, "Let he who is without sin cast the first stone?" How could we claim to love our neighbor while at the same time praying for God to destroy them? The truth is that the care shown to me by these strangers on the internet was itself a contradiction. It was growing evidence that people on the other side were not the demons I'd been led to believe. "

"These realizations were life-altering. Once I saw that we were not the ultimate arbiters of divine truth but flawed human beings, I couldn't pretend otherwise. I couldn't justify our actions -- especially our cruel practice of protesting funerals and celebrating human tragedy. These shifts in my perspective contributed to a larger erosion of trust in my church, and eventually it made it impossible for me to stay. "

"In spite of overwhelming grief and terror, I left Westboro in 2012. In those days just after I left, the instinct to hide was almost paralyzing. I wanted to hide from the judgement of my family, who I knew would never speak to me again -- people whose thoughts and opinions had meant everything to me. And I wanted to hide from the world I'd rejected for so long -- people who had no reason at all to give me a second chance after a lifetime of antagonism. And yet, unbelievably, they did. "

"The world had access to my past because it was all over the internet -- thousands of tweets and hundreds of interviews, everything from local TV news to "The Howard Stern Show" -- but so many embraced me with open arms anyway. I wrote an apology for the harm I'd caused, but I also knew that an apology could never undo any of it. All I could do was try to build a new life and find a way somehow to repair some of the damage. People had every reason to doubt my sincerity, but most of them didn't. And -- given my history, it was more than I could've hoped for -- forgiveness and the benefit of the doubt. It still amazes me. "

"David, my "Jewlicious" friend from Twitter, invited us to spend time among a Jewish community in Los Angeles. We slept on couches in the home of a Hasidic rabbi and his wife and their four kids -- the same rabbi that I'd protested three years earlier with a sign that said, "Your rabbi is a whore." We spent long hours talking about theology and Judaism and life while we washed dishes in their kosher kitchen and chopped vegetables for dinner. They treated us like family. They held nothing against us, and again I was astonished."

"That period was full of turmoil, but one part I've returned to often is a surprising realization I had during that time -- that it was a relief and a privilege to let go of the harsh judgments that instinctively ran through my mind about nearly every person I saw. I realized that now I needed to learn. I needed to listen. "

"This has been at the front of my mind lately, because I can't help but see in our public discourse so many of the same destructive impulses that ruled my former church. We celebrate tolerance and diversity more than at any other time in memory, and still we grow more and more divided. We want good things -- justice, equality, freedom, dignity, prosperity -- but the path we've chosen looks so much like the one I walked away from four years ago. We've broken the world into us and them, only emerging from our bunkers long enough to lob rhetorical grenades at the other camp. We write off half the country as out-of-touch liberal elites or racist misogynist bullies. No nuance, no complexity, no humanity. Even when someone does call for empathy and understanding for the other side, the conversation nearly always devolves into a debate about who deserves more empathy. And just as I learned to do, we routinely refuse to acknowledge the flaws in our positions or the merits in our opponent's. Compromise is anathema. We even target people on our own side when they dare to question the party line. This path has brought us cruel, sniping, deepening polarization, and even outbreaks of violence. I remember this path. It will not take us where we want to go. "

"What gives me hope is that we can do something about this.

The good news is that it's simple, and the bad news is that it's hard. We have to talk and listen to people we disagree with.

It's hard because we often can't fathom how the other side came to their positions. It's hard because righteous indignation, that sense of certainty that ours is the right side, is so seductive. It's hard because it means extending empathy and compassion to people who show us hostility and contempt. The impulse to respond in kind is so tempting, but that isn't who we want to be. We can resist. And I will always be inspired to do so by those people I encountered on Twitter, apparent enemies who became my beloved friends. And in the case of one particularly understanding and generous guy, my husband.

There was nothing special about the way I responded to him.

What was special was their approach.

I thought about it a lot over the past few years and I found four things they did differently that made real conversation possible. These four steps were small but powerful, and I do everything I can to employ them in difficult conversations today. "

"The first is don't assume bad intent. My friends on Twitter realized that even when my words were aggressive and offensive, I sincerely believed I was doing the right thing. Assuming ill motives almost instantly cuts us off from truly understanding why someone does and believes as they do. We forget that they're a human being with a lifetime of experience that shaped their mind, and we get stuck on that first wave of anger, and the conversation has a very hard time ever moving beyond it. But when we assume good or neutral intent, we give our minds a much stronger framework for dialogue. "

"The second is ask questions. When we engage people across ideological divides, asking questions helps us map the disconnect between our differing points of view. That's important because we can't present effective arguments if we don't understand where the other side is actually coming from and because it gives them an opportunity to point out flaws in our positions. But asking questions serves another purpose; it signals to someone that they're being heard. When my friends on Twitter stopped accusing and started asking questions, I almost automatically mirrored them. Their questions gave me room to speak, but they also gave me permission to ask them questions and to truly hear their responses. It fundamentally changed the dynamic of our conversation. "

"The third is stay calm. This takes practice and patience, but it's powerful. At Westboro, I learned not to care how my manner of speaking affected others. I thought my rightness justified my rudeness -- harsh tones, raised voices, insults, interruptions -- but that strategy is ultimately counterproductive. Dialing up the volume and the snark is natural in stressful situations, but it tends to bring the conversation to an unsatisfactory, explosive end. When my husband was still just an anonymous Twitter acquaintance, our discussions frequently became hard and pointed, but we always refused to escalate. Instead, he would change the subject. He would tell a joke or recommend a book or gently excuse himself from the conversation. We knew the discussion wasn't over, just paused for a time to bring us back to an even keel. People often lament that digital communication makes us less civil, but this is one advantage that online conversations have over in-person ones. We have a buffer of time and space between us and the people whose ideas we find so frustrating. We can use that buffer. Instead of lashing out, we can pause, breathe, change the subject or walk away, and then come back to it when we're ready. "

"And finally, make the argument.

This might seem obvious, but one side effect of having strong beliefs is that we sometimes assume that the value of our position is or should be obvious and self-evident, that we shouldn't have to defend our positions because they're so clearly right and good that if someone doesn't get it, it's their problem -- that it's not my job to educate them. But if it were that simple, we would all see things the same way.

As kind as my friends on Twitter were, if they hadn't actually made their arguments, it would've been so much harder for me to see the world in a different way. We are all a product of our upbringing, and our beliefs reflect our experiences. We can't expect others to spontaneously change their own minds. If we want change, we have to make the case for it. "

"My friends on Twitter didn't abandon their beliefs or their principles -- only their scorn. They channeled their infinitely justifiable offense and came to me with pointed questions tempered with kindness and humor. They approached me as a human being, and that was more transformative than two full decades of outrage, disdain and violence. I know that some might not have the time or the energy or the patience for extensive engagement, but as difficult as it can be, reaching out to someone we disagree with is an option that is available to all of us. And I sincerely believe that we can do hard things, not just for them but for us and our future. Escalating disgust and intractable conflict are not what we want for ourselves, or our country or our next generation. "

"My mom said something to me a few weeks before I left Westboro, when I was desperately hoping there was a way I could stay with my family. People I have loved with every pulse of my heart since even before I was that chubby-cheeked five-year-old, standing on a picket line holding a sign I couldn't read. She said, "You're just a human being, my dear, sweet child." She was asking me to be humble -- not to question but to trust God and my elders. But to me, she was missing the bigger picture -- that we're all just human beings. That we should be guided by that most basic fact, and approach one another with generosity and compassion. "

"Each one of us contributes to the communities and the cultures and the societies that we make up. The end of this spiral of rage and blame begins with one person who refuses to indulge these destructive, seductive impulses. We just have to decide that it's going to start with us. "

Christian Picciolini's story

You say,"But Megan was just a child holding a picket sign. Surely The hardcore leaders of the Neo-Nazi's won't be swayed so easily."

"My journey away from violent extremism began 22 years ago, when I denounced racism and left the American white supremacist skinhead movement that I had helped build."

"I was just 22 years old at the time, but I had already spent eight years, from the time I was 14 years old, as one of the earliest and youngest members and an eventual leader within America's most violent hate movement. "

"But I wasn't born into hate; in fact, it was quite the opposite. I had a relatively normal childhood. My parents are Italian immigrants who came to the United States in the mid-1960s and settled on the South Side of Chicago, where they eventually met, and opened a small beauty shop. Right after I was born, things got a little bit more difficult. They struggled to survive with raising a young family and a new business, often working seven days a week, 14 hours a day, taking on second and third jobs just to earn a meager living. And quality time with my parents was pretty nonexistent. Even though I knew they loved me very much, growing up, I felt abandoned. I was lonely, and I started to withdraw, and then I started to resent my parents and become very angry. And as I was growing up, through my teenage years, I started to act out to try and get attention from my parents."

"And one day, when I was 14, I was standing in an alley, and I was smoking a joint, and a man who was twice my age, with a shaved head and tall black boots, came up to me, and he snatched the joint from my lips. Then he put his hand on my shoulder and he looked me in the eyes, and he said, "That's what the communists and the Jews want you to do to keep you docile." I was 14 years old, I'd been trading baseball cards and watching "Happy Days" -- I didn't really know what a Jew was. "

"But it was as if this man in this alley had offered me a lifeline. For 14 years, I'd felt marginalized and bullied. I had low self-esteem. And frankly, I didn't know who I was, where I belonged, or what my purpose was. I was lost. And overnight, because this man had pulled me in, and I had grabbed onto that lifeline with every fiber of my being, I had gone from 'Joanie Loves Chachi' to full-blown Nazi. Overnight. "

"I started to listen to the rhetoric and believe it. I started to watch very closely as the leaders of this organization would target vulnerable young people who felt marginalized and then draw them in with promises of paradise that were broken. And then I started to recruit myself. I started to do that by making white-power music. And soon, I became the leader of that infamous organization that was led by that man in that alley who recruited me that day, who was America's first neo-Nazi skinhead and who had radicalized me. For the next eight years, I believed the lies that I had been fed. And though I saw no evidence of it whatsoever, I didn't hesitate to blame every Jewish person in the world for what I thought was a white, European genocide being promoted by them through a multiculturalist agenda. I blamed people of color for the crime and violence and the drugs in the city, completely neglecting the fact that I was committing acts of violence on a daily basis, and that in many cases, it was white supremacists who were funneling drugs into the inner cities. And I blamed immigrants for taking jobs from white Americans, completely neglecting the fact that my parents were hardworking immigrants who struggled to survive, despite not getting help from anybody else."

"For the next eight years, I saw friends die, I saw others go to prison and inflict untold pain on countless victims and their families' lives. I heard horrific stories from young women in the movement, who'd been brutally raped by the very men they were conditioned to trust, and I myself committed acts of violence against people, solely for the color of their skin, who they loved, or the god that they prayed to. I stockpiled weapons for what I thought was an upcoming race war. I went to six high schools; I was kicked out of four of them, one of them, twice. And 25 years ago, I wrote and performed racist music that found its way to the internet decades later and partially inspired a young white nationalist to walk into a sacred Charleston, South Carolina, church and senselessly massacre nine innocent people. "

"But then my life changed. At 19 years old, I met a girl who was not in the movement, who didn't have a racist bone in her body, and I fell in love with her. And at 19, we got married, and we had our first son. And when I held my son in my arms in the delivery room that day, not only did I reconnect with some of the innocence that I had lost at 14 years old, but it also began to challenge the very important things that drew me to the movement to begin with: identity, community and purpose -- things that I had been struggling with as a young boy. And now, I struggled with the concept of who I was again. Was I this neo-Nazi hatemonger, or was I a caring father and husband? Was my community the one that I had manufactured around me to boost my own ego, because I felt self-hatred for myself and I wanted to project it onto others, or was it the one that I had physically given life to? Was my purpose to scorch the earth or was it to make it a better place for my family? And suddenly, like a ton of bricks hit me, I became very confused with who I'd been for the last eight years. And if only I'd been brave enough to walk away at that moment, to understand what the struggle was that was happening inside of me, then maybe tragedy could have been averted. "

"Instead, I did compromise. I took myself off the streets for the benefit of my family, because I was nervous that maybe I could go to jail or end up dead, and they would have to fend for themselves. So I stepped back as a leader, and instead I opened a record store that I was going to sell white-power music in, of course, because I was importing it in from Europe. But I knew that if I was just a racist store selling racist music the community would not allow me to be there. So I decided I was going to also stock the shelves with other music, like punk rock and heavy metal and hip-hop. And while the white-power music that I was selling was 75 percent of my gross revenue, because people were driving in from all over the country to buy it from the only store that was selling it."

"I also had customers come in to buy the other music. And eventually, they started to talk to me. One day, a young black teen came in, and he was visibly upset. And I decided to ask him what was wrong. And he told me that his mother had been diagnosed with breast cancer. And suddenly, this young black teenager, who I'd never had a meaningful conversation or interaction with, I was able to connect with, because my own mother had been diagnosed with breast cancer, and I could feel his pain. On another occasion, a gay couple came in with their son, and it was undeniable to me that they loved their son in the same profound ways that I loved mine. And suddenly, I couldn't rationalize or justify the prejudice that I had in my head. "

"I decided to pull the white-power music from the inventory when I became too embarrassed to sell it in front of my new friends. And of course, the store couldn't sustain itself, so I had to close it. At that same time, I lost nearly everything in my life. I used it as an opportunity to walk away from the movement that I'd been a part of for eight years, the only identity, community and purpose that I'd really known for most of my life. So I had nobody. I lost my livelihood because I closed the store. I didn't have a great relationship with my parents, even though they tried. And my wife and children left me, because I hadn't left the movement and disengaged quickly enough. And suddenly, I didn't know who I was again, or where I fit in or what my purpose was supposed to be. I was miserable inside, and I often woke up in the morning wishing that I hadn't. "

"About five years in, one of the few friends that I had was concerned about my well-being, and she came to me and she said, "You need to do something, because I don't want to see you die." And she suggested that I go apply for a job where she worked, at a company called IBM. Yeah, I thought she was crazy, too. "

"Here I was, a closeted ex-Nazi covered in hate tattoos. I didn't go to college. I'd been kicked out of multiple high schools multiple times. I didn't even own a computer. But I went in, and somehow, miraculously, I got the job. I was thrilled."

"And then I became terrified to learn that they'd actually be putting me back at my old high school, the same one I got kicked out of twice, to install their computers. This was a high school where I had committed acts of violence against students, against faculty; where I had protested out in front of the school for equal rights for whites and even had a sit-in in the cafeteria to try and demand a white student union. "

"And of course, as karma would have it, within the first couple of hours, who walks right by me but Mr. Johnny Holmes, the tough black security guard I had gotten in a fistfight with, that got me kicked out the second time and led out in handcuffs from the school. He didn't recognize me, but I saw him, and I didn't know what to do. I was frozen; I was this grown man now, years out of the movement, and I was sweating and I was trembling. But I decided I had to do something. And I decided I needed to suffer under the weight of my past, because for five years I had tried to outrun it. I'd tried to make new friends and cover my tattoos with long sleeves, and I wouldn't admit it because I was afraid of being judged the same way I had judged other people. Well, I decided I was going to chase Mr. Holmes out to the parking lot -- probably not the smartest decision that I made. "

"But when I found him, he was getting into his car, and I tapped him on the shoulder. And when he turned around and he recognized me, he took a step back because he was afraid. And I didn't know what to say. Finally, the words came out of my mouth, and all I could think to say was, "I'm sorry." And he embraced me, and he forgave me. And he encouraged me to forgive myself. He recognized that it wasn't the story of some broken go-nowhere kid who was going to just join a gang and go to prison. He knew that this was the story of every young person who was vulnerable, who was searching for identity, community and purpose, and then hit a wall and was unable to find it and went down a dark path. And he made me promise one thing, that I would tell my story to whoever would listen. That was 18 years ago, and I've been doing it ever since. "

"You might be asking yourself right now: How does a good kid from a hardworking immigrant family end up going down such a dark path? One word: potholes. That's right. Potholes. I had a lot of potholes when I was kid. We all had them -- you know, the things in life that we hit that invariably just kind of nudge us off our path, and if they remain unresolved or untreated or not dealt with, sometimes we can get dangerously lost down pretty dark corridors. Potholes can be things like trauma, abuse, unemployment, neglect, untreated mental health conditions, even privilege. And if we hit enough potholes on our journey in life, and we don't have the resources or the help to navigate around them or to pull us out, well, sometimes good people end up doing bad things. "

"One such person who had potholes is Darrell. Darrell is from upstate New York. He had read my memoir, and he was really upset about the ending. You see, I'd gotten out of the movement and he was still in. And he emailed me and he said, "I didn't really like the way that turned out." And I said, "Well, I'm sorry." "

"'But if you want to talk about it, we could certainly do that.'"

"And after a couple of weeks of going back and forth with Darrell, I learned he was a 31-year-old military veteran who had been injured and was really angry about not being able to go to Afghanistan to kill Muslims. And one day on the phone, he told me that he had seen a Muslim man in the park praying, and that all he wanted to do was kick him in the face. I flew to Buffalo the next day, and I sat down with Darrell, and I asked him, 'Have you ever met a Muslim person before?' And he said, 'No! Why the hell would I want to do that? They're evil. I don't want anything to do with them.' I said, 'OK.' So I excused myself, and I went into the bathroom and I took my phone out in the bathroom, and I Googled the local mosque, and I called them very quietly from the bathroom, and I said, 'Excuse me, imam, I need a favor. I have a Christian man who would really love to learn more about your religion.' "

"'Do you mind if we stop by?'"

"Well, it took some convincing for Darrell to go, but finally we got there, and when I knocked on the door, the imam said he only had 15 minutes left for us, because he was preparing for a prayer service. I said, 'We'll take it.' We went in, and two and a half hours later, we came out after hugging and crying and, very strangely, bonding over Chuck Norris for some reason. "

"I don't know what it was about that, but that's what happened. And I'm happy to say now that Darrell and the imam, you can often find them at the local falafel stand, having lunch together. "

"You see, it's our disconnection from each other.

Hatred is born of ignorance.

Fear is its father, and isolation is its mother. When we don't understand something, we tend to be afraid of it, and if we keep ourselves from it, that fear grows, and sometimes, it turns into hatred.

Since I've left the movement, I've helped over a hundred people disengage from extremist movements, from white supremacist groups to even jihadist groups."

"And the way I do that is not by arguing with them, not by debating them, not by even telling them they're wrong, even though, boy, I want to sometimes. I don't do that.

Instead, I don't push them away.

I draw them in closer, and I listen very closely for their potholes, and then I begin to fill them in.

I try to make people more resilient, more self-confident, more able to have skills to compete in the marketplace so that they don't have to blame the other, the other that they've never met. "

With the Power of Porn, we'll expand the success of MyCountryTalks to all of life's divides not just political ones.

Our penultimate step is making clone of P2P(it's based on VAST) F-list clone with RT 3D graphics. We'll pick up the ball Second Life dropped when they decided to try to make themselves not appear as a pervert's paradise.

The we just need to add implement Luis Terán's SmartParticipation design SmartParticipation:A Fuzzy-Based Recommender System for Political Community-Building Then like Linus and Linux, the community should be able to do the rest of the work and we just have to relax and keep the machines working while we take on the tough problems with the world.

Achievable

Dave Logan, John King, & Halee Fischer-Wright Tribal Leadership proves the miracles possible by simply connecting people. David Logan: Tribal leadership TED Talk

Dan Siegel;s MindSight proves the miracles possible by simply being a connected person. "Mindsight and Neural Integration" with Dan Siegel, MD

Barbara Sher's Success Teams proves the miracles possible by simply having connections. Isolation is the dream-killer, not your attitude Barbara Sher TEDxPrague