Oh Yes, I Do Have a ’tude
I may talk about it some more later, but I must prepare and brace myself because I am finding out that the privilege class get their feelings hurt very easily. It is easy now, almost cookie cutterish to say, “I have privilege I acknowledge this” but for some reason these privileged people demand to continue defining the less fortunate, the less privileged, not in the less fortunate’s reality but in how the privilege class sees them. In the privilege class, the so-called anti-racists/classists (it’s become all colours too, not just limited to whites, but still mostly narrated by white men with the most to lose if their current and historical position is lost) like to tell somebody that they are too combative, too angry. Damn where have I heard this accusation before?
I’m sick of it. I am no saint, I know this, and sometimes I do imagine how life would be easier if I were to just become part of the bourgeoisie (we certainly make enough money now and have the credit to pull it off. Although we must hide that fact depending on who and where we are at, because that is part of being from an underclass, but only a member of the underclass would understand this balancing act, the bougies will find it silly I am sure since they love to let everyone know how much they have and what they are doing for all those poor unfortunate souls) but my past, my friends, my childhood friends, my old neighborhoods, my family, the people I used to work with, the women I help get G.E.D.s keep me focus, and remind me daily that this bullshit narrative written about the underclass that these privileged people write on the web is just that, bullshit. And the net certainly has soured my aspirations for a PhD. Fuck that. I rather pump out as many G.E.Ds I can in order to infiltrate the sacred institutions of the deserving privileged class (if that is what the G.E.D recipients want to do. Many actually enjoy being vocational and only feel their vocational type jobs are inferior because the privileged class is determined to pay them inferior wages and treat them as if they are inferiors). Maybe a real struggle story can be told and heard, instead of the crap like “My mama had to get a job when I wanted to be a cheerleader in high school so I could go to cheerleader camp.” Boo hoo. Or the poor struggling town folk that cheers and passes tens and twenties to the college bound boy so he can make the town proud. My heart just breaks with joy. Or the most famous one, “we moved around a lot.”
Oh, I know, that bitch should not have opened her legs. It’s always the answer, always. It may take several degrees to arrive to it, and several philosophers will conic about, but it is and has always been the final destination.