David Bougard pressed the snooze button for the 4th time as he rolled over in his bed.
His back hurt and he regretted not closing the window’s blind before he went to sleep the night before.
The thought of another unproductive Monday was pounding on his frontal lobe.
It’s not the first time he felt like quitting, but like the many Mondays before he pulled himself together.
First his mind, while laying motionless and irate in his too small dorm bed, then his body melting from under the sheets and onto the cold cluttered floor.
He hated college, he hated his classes, he hated homework, his friends and he just barely liked his girlfriend. He hated that he hated everything and he hated most of all that he thought that college was where he needed to be.
His cell phone lit up. 11:44am Monday, Febuary 6th. With two classes missed already he still had a third at 12:45. He hated his third class:
American Political System. Blah blah blah democrats, blah blah blah republicans, blah blah blah blah. He was required to take the class and it was this that pissed him off the most.
Requirement: Two social sciences, doesn’t matter which, just pick two then well move you along to the next few requirements.
He still doesn’t know what he wants to do with himself, but he’s told not to worry about it, that life works itself out.
Socrates once said that the wise man has control of his pleasures - he doesn’t leave shit to chance, to the random dealings of the world, and he knows what he needs and doesn’t need.
David Bougard doesnt know what he needs or what he wants. He doesn’t feel very wise.
The bathroom light is hot and his eyes are creased and crusty. His forehead is low and his lips full and pursed.
His expression is serious as always. He’s not a morning person and these days he finds people with sunny dispositions annoying to say the least.
He’s tall at 6’5 and he hates all the attention he gets from it. He’s attractive but shy and quiet. He keeps to himself. Wash his face, brush his teeth, put on lotion, deoderet, brush his hair. His phone alarm sounds loud 12:00pm. He hits the snooze. 35 minutes before class so he goes to the kitchen and sits down to eat a bowl of cereal. Half way through the bowl he gets a text message. It’s from his mother, “how you doing son?”

He doesn’t know why but he becomes upset, then after a little more thought, angry. “How am I doing”, he thinks to himself over and over. He starts to sweat.
He picks up the phone and begins to type out a reply.
“I’m alright. I got a lot of stuff I need to do and get done, but I’m not in the mood to work hard.” He erases it and types a different one. “I feel lost and I don’t know if my tourtutous means will be justified by my ends.” He erases it and types a different one. “I miss home and I want to give up, my friends back home have apartments and day jobs and I have homework and student loans.” he erases it and types a different one. “I haven’t been to class in awhile and I don’t care about the things I’m learning.” he erases it and types another. “I’m coming home soon. College isn’t for me.” He pauses and stares at his phone. He can’t believe what he just wrote. He cant believe it took him so long to write what he just wrote. Suddenly he’s not angry anymore as he presses send then finishes his bowl of cereal. He goes to his room and closes the blind. His alarm sounds 12:35 pm and he turns it off. The thought of another unproductive Monday escapes him as he drifts off back to sleep.

Third Bass had it right when they wrote Pop Goes the Weasel cause these days it seems that the music has nothing to do with artistry and creativity and more about getting money. Not all artists are like this in my opinion, there are still those few that hold it down for what Hip Hop really means, but your lil waynes, rick rosses and kanye’s and Jay Z’s are just making a buck.

Bad enough that our art form sold out to the almighty dollar, but the bull shit that’s saling is what pisses me off the most. I got way too many sisters and brothers and aunts to listen to and like big sean (ass) and tyga (lap dance) and there’s too many bitch bitch hoes hoes shaking they ass and thinnking its okay cause they gotta use what they got to get what they want.

I feel like woment these days care too little, but I do understand. What can they do about it. I guess the answer is nothing. My opinion of hip hop from the last 10 years can be summed up in two words:

Fuck it.

-BO