I wanted to share this picture. It’s been the stock banner that has accompanied any official or marketing-related messages from the u. of bird rising from the ashes.
He’s a human archetype—a median of racial morphologies--a Jungian phantasm.
His suit is fitting for an open coffin viewing. His face has a smearing of confidence with a heavy helping of mediocrity's bosom thrown in. He’s the last guy you could imagine having wild sex let alone going nuts and stabbing a neighbor. No, he’s a teacher at the university of bird rising from the ashes—the ashes of a now-extinguished cigarette. He’s worked his way up in corporate America by kissing ass. Now he’s ready to share all that he knows about business with students the world round. He’s a teacher at the university of the bird rising from the ashes.
He’s never had a drink. He only had a coffee once when he had to work that long stretch to cover up for his boss’ blunders. He comes home and watches several television shows while eating a meal the recipe for which accompanied the crockpot in which it was cooked. He has a small dog with a skin rash. It’s teeth chatter as it bites at tangle of fur, dried saliva, and the orange paste of its body’s immune response oozing out. When he takes off his suit and puts on a pair of elastic waistband denim jeans, he’s ready to teach for the next 4 hours at the university of bird rising from the ashes of a long-extinguished dream. He's saving the money he's making teaching part time for his own dream--a larger TV and a cozier couch. His 401k safely continues its monetary mitosis, accreting into a larger and larger sum.
And, drowsy from a long day of perfectly contented labor, our protagonist from the banner undresses from his elastic waistband denim jeans, slips into a pair of pajamas that his mother had given to him in a past Christmas. He takes a few pills for ailments that only his doctor could detect, and descends into a dream. The contents of his dream are nothing, a nothing fueled by tonight’s chicken-rice-tomato sauce casserole. He's maintaining a body destined to become the boat's ballast. This guy's no rocker.
Nothing risen, nothing gained, nothing learned our organic intellectual, the man with heaps of practical skills, teaches like his boss bosses him--by the book. There's no room for creativity, no room for real thinking. No, the students perform to carefully pre-determined measures. That's the only hold on education's reality this man has. He teaches according to the class program laid before him, and for that he is duly compensated to the tune of $800 extra dollars every five weeks. He'll have that TV and couch by Christmas.
And so our protagonist from the banner of the university of the bird rising from the ashes continues to plan, to dream about a future with one minor gain. Slowly he accumulates things as part of his conquest of lack.
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