*Cleans powder substance from underneath fingernails*
First…I have missed Asylum dearly. I know that it has been over a month since my last post, and I want to let everyone know that I’ve been busy, BUT I should be back to a regular regiment shortly. As of late, I’ve been back to reading and doing some design work. Also going through my skyline(that is my timeline on Twitter – coined by our ever so creative brother over at TrueIndeed ). It can be of great benefit for me to scour through the young sisters promoting their vaginas and mouths for less than the cost of two monthly bus passes, the grand scholars that are so intelligent that they must have debated all the great minds in the world because they focus so much attention now on those they deem unworthy of their intellectual capabilities and resort to referring to those that actually can be found in the Black community as “culture pimps,” and it always provides great insight for me to click on the links of the thousands of CEOs, Movie Producers, and Models that go by names like @TheConceitedWhore, @I’mFuckingGreat, and @BadBarbieBitchWithMastersDegree.
Of course, all of those are caricature of what I’ve actually seen…not too much of a stretch, however. I am still somewhat appalled by the manner in which we utilize applications like Twitter, but I suppose others could look at my usage and frown their funny looking noses. And as much as I enjoy a round of “who can use the most obscure theories to prove that they should be seen as the smartest”, I still find my Self enamored by the sheer strength of the Black people that don’t even venture online that I deal with. Is it still politically correct to call Black people “strong”?
I also think I’m suffering from post-bullshit tweet disorder(PBTD). Reading the timelines of all of these “scholarly” activists after arriving at the place I have now (read: one bad day away from every where I come from), I often wonder where the hell all of these heroes were at when I was washing my socks in bathroom sinks and sneaking into the gym just to take a shower, hoping no one saw me shaving and brushing my teeth. I still laugh when reading the updates on twitter describing how important that piece of paper from the wizard granting us our brains was. I laugh because I remember being the only outspoken Black male in ALL of my classes. While the new age media scholars harangue those that I deem worthy of certain honors, I can’t help but to recall the preppy guys that only spoke when phrasing questions out of statements the instructor had just relayed. The quiet sisters that hid their pride behind feigned disdain while I argued the wisdom of whites not pursing their lips to even think about saying “nigga” no matter how many times they heard me use it on the quad. I remember having to pry the actual reasons why white instructors told that particular anecdote about that particular “african-american”(and no bitch, that’s still not the politically correct term. I’ll call YOU when I make up MY fucking mind about what I want you to refer to ME as). And I even laugh as I recall all the Black males that had “swag” signing up for audio classes that are probably now the same guys trying to question me about what I write. Nonetheless…I love all of you. If not for being apart of my contemporary expression of my socially genetic defined family, simply because you fuckers make me stay up night after night to prove your stigmas, your standards, and your statistics wrong.
Oh, and yes, I used first person and second person in the same paragraph;expect more you petty fucks.
While I carried a 3.7 on my homeless shoulders, I also didn’t cringe at what I determined to be the mindless chatter of the “always late to class but first to point out some trivial straw” crowd. Yeah, I remember you. You’re the one that never saw an award letter from financial aid because it was always mailed to your parents who were footing the bill. Due to your lack of appreciation for what enough of us were going “down through it” to obtain, you drank with your white buddies what you thought was a breakthrough on your way to liquor connoisseur heaven: jagermeister. You were so much of a tadpole you woke up late and entered class with no excuses – your only means of saving face? Explaining to the instructor that they had used a double negative during a lecture. How bright you must feel to have remembered your lessons from 2nd grade grammar.
Your parents must be proud…
So as I enter my second year as the Chief Executive Officer of a community globally(yeah, the world, Craig) recognized as Owl’s Asylum, I teeter back and forth with my decision to have returned to school. There is an on-going joke in certain circles:
“What do you call a college drop out? An Entrepreneur.”
Wocka Wocka!!…but still…there is a lot of truth in jest.
While the underachieving students now have shiny graduate honors and doctorates just for winning the “I Showed Up” award, and I look for a place to pawn my BA for enough money to start paying back Mohela and FedLoan, I realize that not much has changed since I made it down that yellow brick road in anticipation of the wizard handing me my brain (I actually like the brain I built before I met my CR date, but that is another topic entirely). These days you can find me on calls from Baltimore to Seattle, listening to the melodious orders of children demanding their father’s attention. Fathers that look very much like my Self, and fathers that work diligently to build their own brands and companies. Brothers that I deem very much more intelligent and creative than my Self despite the fact that I owe at least 50 thou on my “refined” mind(I should have invested in a Benz, at least people would think I was “cool”).
Ruminations of a person with my brand of sordid background can often be in conflict, and I’ve pretty much just accepted my dissonant thoughts. I did what most wouldn’t believe manageable, and yet, the most important thing I learned in the halls of learning is that most people equate “intelligence” with salaried slavery. While those same individuals that I defeated in classroom debates(I’m joking, the types of characters I’m discussing knew better) mock me on social networks, I am often only comforted by the neural discussion that I did stick to my plan, and that I stayed true to my dreams in a world where souls are sold on Ebay at a “buy now” price of twenty dollars. And yet…my greatest tasks still lie before me: I’m a tech geek with a vicious write hook(yes, “write” hook, ass suck), a lifetime of debt, and a reputation that blacklists me out of the perceived social contract. I’m actually not too disturbed by the blacklisting, I was a primary school geek, I know how to handle the “popular” crowd’s conformity, and even more, I know how to manipulate the rule makers. But debt is slavery in one form or another, and I have to deal with that. So, welcome to the GreenDJHTY…
If you are still are wondering what the fuck a GreenDJHTY is, let’s just say I got a crown royal bag full of them…and I’m ready to do the impossible again…
Tell a friend: The Bird Brain Bastard is back….and brought edutoxicants…