My father, born with the Silent Generation, told me never to argue with a fool. And later Jay-Z reminded me as well, “people from a distance won’t know who’s the fool.” The following words aspired by an older gentlemen at a Pearl District bar downtown Portland, Oregon. I noticed immediately he was eager to talk, and I don’t do small talk. I could tell he was Drunk. I was younger than him, and he also assumed that. He began speaking to me like a drunk man too old to be at the bar. But given this crowd his age was likely on par. As I tuned him out, he said this, “…oh man, when you get to your fifties, it all goes down hill from there brother!” Here’s what I thought about the situation driving home. (Feature photo by Oladimeji Odunsi on Unsplash)
January 11, 2019

Fighting For The Generational Fools

Understand what generations raised you. Know the causes they fought for.

So what if you didn’t know your mommy or daddy.

Generations of fools raised them cruel.

As we all took in that last breath, we floated here lighter.

And as we all exhaled that next breath, we sunk in further to the fire.

Fire that transmits to desire. A desire for more air, which is why we all care.

Have you read about these unfollowing, generational fools?

It is them. Such a thought that will deem them ignorant tools.

Rather a social medium’s lab fool.

Like money is a tool, without language it wouldn’t be so cruel.

Unfortunately, some do not get to take this next breath.

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Let alone, live to remember that first breath.

The one we all took when you began reading the first line of my text.

Failure is likely the only rule in life. Can you show that to the people?

Or do you hide, delete, and re-filter like weak people?

They are not the eyes following you.

The views are just the attention, thus, why heads down do not surprise you.

Easy for them, ignorance comforts them.

You’ll never see success the way others will see it.

Who and what are you fighting? Money? I would never believe it!

Don’t ever listen to the other generations. Their 50s is far from your 60.

Their 70 is no one’s 45. Our 20s, decades from how they will survive.

They told me 35 is when it hits.

They told me a pilot is white boy shit.

They told me 50, is likely when life will get shifty.

Don’t tell me the road is rocky.

With no pop, no style, my writings assumed cocky.

I did it my way.

Your dreams are thoughts in my way.

I do not apologize for turning my shoulder to the sunken black man assuming my dreams.

The last black man to do that, a police officer wanting to kill my dreams.

Vegas like the nerve. A gut feeling to black officer’s, but I still watch and observe.

Those days are past me, like the suicidal journals that sit by me.

Only failures unfollow their ego.

Only failures unfollow attention.

So, what the fuck is it to you? This is simple world-play and a good rhyming rule.

Pull back the curtains and be happy to see your favorite negro back.

A generational fool who can speak, is the generational fool who can teach.

Same with the dumby in him whom he believes.

Like getting to 50 was my intentions and dreams.

Projecting my dreams like he art him, as if I’d ever dream like him.

He met the untouchable fool. The untouchable negro.

The animal which speak, running to mountain top peaks.

Out of respect I live my dreams on behalf of generational fools.

Thinking time was the ultimate rule.

But I should have told him, you’re speaking to a generational culture, fool!


Born and raised in Portland, Oregon, Budd writes to encourage readers to explore the depths of their inner ocean, an unexplored self, because it's fun once you get through the emotional part... “The world around us is our vehicle, what you'll read is how I digest it.” -Budd

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