Vigicant eat academic black out. Who sneak
in and delete data without a shout out. Costing
me money and heartache… hiding behind their
state degrees. Itching their seemingly educated flees.
Sick with their lack of values in a world filled with value plastics.
I need to play the game. Keep my mouth shut and refrain.
I need to win friends and influences to climb the ladder and its many shades of gray.
I’ll walk over anyone to get there one day.
Art is something no one can define.
Our children line up outside wanting to get in these
hallowed halls of time, to learn the ways of the slacker, the academic jaw jacker.
To learn from one who is sicker than they are. No richer.
I play artist but I have no heart at this. A real artist would want no part of this.
We know the system is messed up but we complain
about it in utter silence. We don’t address the system’s utter violence.
We don’t push against the pistons. Because we are tools in a machine
churning out paper for non-biodegradable hopeless dreams.
Diplomas printed on paper not worth burning. Continue to churn in a system of credit that’s yearning.
Credit that can’t be edited. Of which you must pay before you are audited.
And our art means nothing. As nothing means everything.
And everything is you and me. But I don’t have anything. I have
a dark hole in my heart because I was not told I was special.
Because I was told that teaching art would make me a vessel. That I could change
the world now I’m just another number. Just another adjunct waiting for my
summers. Maybe get a second job to help pay the bills.
And as I cower and cut and slice my friends along the way. I claw
and pull myself up to the top of the invisible academic pyramid today.
Just another youngster reaching for tenure.
Not realizing it can all can be torn from my fingertips
if I step out of line like Ward Churchill’s open lips.
Cause my art means nothing. But nothing is everything.
And everything is you and me.