selfishness
is the default setting.
every animal
on this dirt planet
wakes up
with one thing
hammered into its skull….
don't die.
thats the whole
program.
no right nor wrong
just a lion
chasing down a gazelle
on nothing but pure instinct.
not thinking
about the gazelle's kids.
not wondering
if the gazelle
had a good weekend planned.
the lion is hungry.
the gazelle is slow.
thats the entire
fucking philosophy.
and you,
you with your lease payment
and your oat milk latte
and your bullshit
curated life
on a screen
you're no different.
not at the root.
underneath all of us
is the same
twitching,
sweating,
terrified animal
that would shove
its own mother
into oncoming traffic
if the other option
was dying
in a ditch
when survival
is on the line,
you'd fuck over
every person
you ever claimed
to love
and not lose
a minute of sleep.
you'd push them
deeper
into whatever cesspit
they're already
choking in
and walk away
whistling
some stupid song.
your ass first.
then your blood.
then your country.
then maybe,
if there's
a scrap left over,
the rest of
these sorry bastards.
thats the pecking order.
itss wired in.
its not going anywhere.
this voice
that never shuts up,,,,
I don't give a fuck.
I have to make it.
I'll do
whatever sick,
ugly,
shameless thing
I have to do
to get through this.
and "this"
is a motherfucker.
inflation
crawling up
everyone's ass
genocide
in the Middle East
while people
scroll past
dead children
to watch some asshole
rate a cheeseburger.
half the world
can't make rent.
the other half
is three bad months
from the same gutter
survival of the fittest
and when the walls
close in,
you'll cut
every rope
tied to every person
slowing you down
and let whatever's
behind you
eat them alive.
this is the factory setting.
and without it,
without that ruthless,
cold-blooded,
selfish instinct
the whole species
would've been
fucked
into extinction
the first time
life showed its teeth.
but here's the thing
that keeps me up.
one species.
one stupid,
drunk,
self-destructive species
out of millions….
figured out
how to hack
the whole system.
us.
homo sapiens.
the only ape
dumb enough
to invent
both the love poem
and the hydrogen bomb
in the same
miserable millennium.
margarett mead.
anthropologist.
someone asked her:
what's the first sign
of civilization?
what was
the exact moment
a bunch of apes
running on dumb instinct
became
something more?
she said:
a healed broken femur.
here's what it means.
back then,
you snap your thigh bone,
you're fucked.
done.
finished.
can't walk or run.
can't hunt.
can't drag your ass
away from whatever
wants to kill you…
and everything
wanted to kill you.
broken femur
was a death sentence.
then something
with claws finds you.
or the infection
eats you from inside.
or you just
lie there
staring up
at the same sky
that doesn't
give a shit
about you
until your heart
stops.
so when
some archaeologist
digs up bones
from a million
years ago
and finds a femur
that snapped
and healed
everything changes.
because it means
some other ape,
some other starving,
hunted,
scared-shitless creature
with its own neck
on the line,
chose
to carry
that broken one.
dragged them.
fed them.
watered them.
stood between them
and whatever
came with teeth.
for weeks.
months.
while it made
their own survival
harder.
while it burned
their energy.
while it gave them
not a fcking thing
in return.
zero payback.
just one animal
deciding
another animal's life
was worth
hauling around
like dead weight
through hell.
thats
the birth of civilization.
it was one act
of irrational,
stupid,
beautiful
selflessness.
the ability
to give a shit
about someone else
when giving a shit
might get you killed.
thats
what separates you
from the lion.
the question is
whether you've got
the balls
to use it.
can you get
what you want
out of this life
without stomping
on someone else's face?
thats the test.
the only one
that matters.
the true sign
of intelligence
is whether you can
win this thing
without becoming
the kind of person
that disgusts you
i walked away
from a six figure deal
last year.
the man
across the table
needed me
to smile
and nod along
to shit
i knew was rotten.
the money
was beautiful.
clean.
everything else
stank.
i drove home
with less money
and more of myself.
most people
can't feel
the difference
between those
two things.
they think
a dollar is a dollar.
they think
a yes is a yes.
but there's
a version of yes
that fucks you
from the inside.
slowly. quietlyy.
until one morning
you're brushing
your teeth
and the face
in the mirror
belongs to someone
you'd spit on
if you met them
on the street.
sometimes
being broke
just means
you're the last thing in the room
that isn't for sale.
and there's
a dignity in that.
a real one.
lets talk about church
i went once.
sat in the back
the priest
stood up front
in his clean funny robes,
well fed,
soft hands,
and said,
"blessed are the poor"
i looked around.
everybody
in that room was poor.
every one of them.
worn out shoes.
dead tired eyes.
they all nodded.
blessed.
then they reached
into pockets
that had
almost nothing left
and dropped
their last dollars into the basket.
and the priest
drove home in a ford everest.
blessed are the poor.
because the poor
keep tithing
and the priest
keeps eating and fcking lil boys
religion’s economy
works exactly
like every other economy.
the man at the front
gets the truck.
the men in the pews get a word.
blessed.
try putting
"blessed"
on a plate.
see if your kids
stop crying.
satan
will dangle everything
in front of you.
money.
power.
beautiful whores and
stage green girlfriends
and the price tag,
always,
is the part of you
that you can never
buy back.
your balls
its a dogshit trade.
and most people can smell it.
but there's
a quieter scam.
one that whispers
in a voice
that sounds
exactly
like your own.
justifying
being broke
as a virtue.
this
is the trap
that eats people
alive.
the slow acting poison.
the lie
that tastes so much like truth
people will
tattoo it on their chest
and die defending it.
the story
goes like this.
poor people
are good.
struggle
is noble.
being broke
means you're pure.
means you're honest.
means you
didn't get
on your knees for anyone.
horse fucking bullshit.
absolute,
weapon grade
horseshit.
poor people are not good
by default.
they're desperate.
and desperate people
are the most
dangerous
motherfuckers
on the planet.
you want proof?
go live
in the ghetto.
live there.
six months.
see how noble poverty feels when someone
puts a knife
to your throat over forty dollars.
when your neighbor
kicks your door in
at 3 am
because his kids
haven't eaten
in two days
poverty
doesn't purify shit.
poverty
strips you down
to the animal.
takes that survival instinct
and cranks it
all the way up
and snaps off the dial.
the middle class
can afford
to be kind
because they can
afford to be kind.
they have
enough room
in their lives
to hold a door.
to help somebody.
to not be
a fucking parasite.
thats what happens
when you're not being eaten alive
every second
of every day.
and "broke because
of my values"
is the slickest,
smoothest,
most full of shit lie
a person can tell
themselves
when they're alone
at night
and the rent
is late
again.
it sounds
like this,,
"that business
wasn't aligned with my integrity"
"I refuse
to play
their dirty game."
"I'd rather be poor
and clean
than rich and corrupt"
oh yeah?
so you don't have to learn
to sell then.
don't have to
pick up the phone
and get
told
to go fuck yourself forty times
then another forty thousands
don't have to
study marketing.
test an offer.
run an ad.
track a number.
follow up.
follow up again.
and again.
and again.
you don't have to
drag yourself
through
the sleepless nights
and the self doubt
while everyone you know
is out
getting shitfaced and calling it living.
"broke because
of my values"
suck my dick bitch
thats not integrity
that's cowardice and slaveminded
thats laziness
and arrogance
fucking each other
in the back seat
and naming the baby
righteousness.
laziness says,
I refuse to learn
the ugly skills.
arrogance says,
I'm above
this filthy game.
unlike those sellouts.
I've seen
this asshole
a thousand times.
"won't compromise
his integrity"
but hasn't showed up
for ninety days.
hasn't tested
one offer.
hasn't read
one book
on selling.
hasn't picked up
the phone
once.
hasn't shipped
one single thing
into the world
he calls it
integrity.
it's fear and excuses
but
and I'm not going
to bullshit you
the other side
of this
is just as fucked.
plenty of people
grind
like animals.
wake up at five.
hustle sixteen hours.
run ads
and they're
still broke.
or worse.
they make it.
the pent house
ferraris
bitchesss
the whole
glossy,
instagram worthy
pile of shit.
and they lie
in bed at night
in a house
that cost more
than their parents
made in a lifetime
and feel
absolutely
nothing.
because they built
something
nobody wanted.
or they burned
every person
who ever loved them
getting there.
or they sold
so many pieces
of themselves
along the way
that by the time
they arrived
nobody
was home.
so here it is.
the only truth,
broke
doesn't mean
integrity.
rich
doesn't mean
you sold
your soul.
the two
have nothing
to do
with each other.
stop
confusing them.
stop using one
to justify
or excuse
the other.
stop
telling yourself
pretty little idiotic
bedtime stories
that let you
stay exactly
where you are.
the good life…
the real one,
is simple to say
and a bitch
to pull off..
integrity
plus extreme competence
you build something
that matters.
something real.
something that solves
an actual problem for actual people
who are actually
suffering.
something
that lines up
with who you are.
your principles.
the lines
you will not cross
even when
crossing them
is easy
and profitable
and nobody
would ever
know.
and then
you market the
shit
out of it
this is the part
everyone fucks up.
they make
something good
and then sit there
"if I build it
they will come"
"god will
open the doors."
"the cream
rises to the top"
the cream
doesn't rise
to shit.
the cream
sits in the dark
and rots
unless somebody
shakes the bottle
hard enough
to shatter it.
the universe does not give a fuck
about your
quiet little masterpiece.
the real world will run you over
like a freight train
at full speed and not even
slow down
to see what it hit.
you have to
open your mouth.
you have to
scream
into a world
that is drowning
in noise
learn marketing
write.
test offers.
run ads.
track numbers.
ship something
every fucking week
and do all of it
without selling the one thing
that isn't for sale.
if you can…
wake up
every morning
and fight
study the game.
eat the rejections.
swallow the doubt.
improve the craft.
ship and ship
and ship….
while refusing
to lie.
refusing to scam.
refusing to step
on someone's throat
for six more inches
toward
some finish line
that keeps
moving anyway
then you're
not coping.
you're building.
you build something
you'd sign your name to if every person
you've ever loved
living and dead
was standing in the room
watching.
and then
you fight for it.
fail.
get up.
fail.
get up.
fail.
get up.
ugly,
stubborn,
dog-brained
persistence
that doesn't give
a single fck
about looking good.
just about not staying
on the floor.
thats
the healed femur.
the override.
thats the thing
the lion
will never
understand
and most people
will never
have the guts
to try.
you can survive
and still
carry someone
on your back.
you can still
stack money
and still
keep your name
worth saying.
you can win
and still
look yourself
in the eye
but you
have to take
the hard road.
the one
with no shortcuts.
nor scam trades.
easy money
means selling your balls
to satan.
hard money
is hard.
the road
is long and mean
and quiet
but its right.
and right
is the only thing
that still
compounds
after everything else
has turned
to shit.
the true sign
of intelligence
isn't
what you can take.
it's what you
refuse to.