Chapter III –Bottoms up Schooling [BUS] aka The youthful mind wars

I have no polished certifications other than a “MOC.B” [sic] Degree; a university chew-tTO-or who at age 20 failed to achieve lecturer status, not sticKING around long enough to be formally capped with my B.COM[1] degree from the University of Natal, South Africa.

Certainly, less said the better but more important is to get one’s light message across to as a broad a spectrum as possible which means one needs to first watch what one says, chew on the words and only be prepared to spit them out if willing to put them down on paper other-weiss to throw the thoughts into the waste paper basket.

Second, one needs to turn up the frequency until we all stand as one and ride the Cc:rest of the wave negatives in tow. Two birds in the hand may at first blush appear right but it will eventually block out the sunlight as one keeps grabbing for more, grubbygrub.com the start of great things to come.

Unless one holds one in the left hand keeping the right in check never allowing either to feed off those in the center by teaching the kids right from wrong that begins with what we write DNA say encouraging the bright lights limiting though artificial light which naturally includes the square root of negative numbers including that of negative one, toes to boot unless we all begin to sing the same tune, “The problems of the word …”

Putting aside my military obligations to fight a war where the pheasants were having a field day feeding off the peasants, I flew the coop for the freeze of a late Chicago snow-flurry that cost a mayor her woolies as she ran out of gas, snow removal equipment and hot seats to boot.

Prior to immigrating to the United States on March 17^th 1978, one week before turning 21, I demonstrated not only that I could hold down a job for a period of almost 3 months butt I could do so while stirring the pot constantly on the look out for who is buttering the bread feeding the physicians who simply practice medicine at our expense.

Besides for good surf my birthplace, Durban, South Africa, was known as one of the best pot-growING spots on the planet. Durban Poison, better known on the streets of Amsterdam as DP, was a staple diet of the underprivileged needing a break from the monotony of the nonsense promulgated by the ruling elite, “Apartheid protects your native culture.”

The question of needs and wants lies at the heart of most peoples’ discontent especially when the tTOo get confused. I concluded fairly early in life the need to be conscious of one’s needs and wants, weighing words carefully, aware that there will never be enough gold to cover all one’s wants especially if all one wanted was to give everyone a fair shot at the brass ring, ring of truth more along the lines of the Yiddish expression, “Sh-vei vir de kinde” as in,

“Shoosh, this is our dirty little secret that the children will only perhaps find out when they are over 21 living it up on “de riv-ie-err-or.”

The day I arrived in Chicago the river was green a far cry from Blood River where the blacks were mass-acred while being civilized, one pale battle where the French stayed home, although our history books were so polluted with nonsense it is possible that at least one relations of Mess-ier in conjunction with one rebel ran circles around the underprivileged be4 tying them in knots.

Trouble begins when the need to survive gets intertwined with greed, wishy-washy folks to be equally feared with the most rapacious and to be ultimately pay through the nose. I do not come cheap telling my clients,

“I am paid to give you my best suggestions which is not necessarily what you want to hear, fully aware that what I am saying is exactly what your significant other would say during separation proceedings, easier though to sever one’s ties from a spouse than one’s god, DNA naturally you recognize that the only persons who really know you are your spouse and your dog.” Housing and a pot full of warm porridge is all that a bear needs.

God gave us two ears and a mouth so that we should listen twice as hard as we speak and never want for anything but the basics like having a clean spot to go to the bathroom, more an issue for women than for men who do listen better than what most women give us credit for although it is obvious that it is mostly men who design restrooms. Butt on a hole women are more competent in running the show than what most men care to credit them 4” [sic].

So, with my ear to the ground listening intently to my mother lecturing her pupils on the benefits of Charm School, “Head up, shoulders back, stomach in, buttocks tightened” I began to formulate a different type of schooling approach hereinafter referred to as Bottoms Up Schooling or BUS for shorT, which stipulates first focusing on what lies at the bottom of the heap, i.e. the output.

“Working one’s way through an organization is similar to understanding what organisms were first inputted, i.e. garbage in garbage out or what audirtors would refer to as FIFO, First in First Out, let those who remain eat kuk.

By simply watching the direction of the hot air rising one can isolate trouble spots where the cold air, brought about by some individual leaving a window open, a telltale sign of discontent, short-circuiting the climb to the executive suites with their grandiose views of conquering the world.

In a nutshell, the fish rots from the head down. Eventually it all comes out in the butt” [sic].

So I figured I might as well start there, examining closely how well the janitor is appreciated, i.e. you can tell everything about the culture of an organization by the smile on the person cleaning the lavatories, careful though not to push tTOo many buttons.

In a nutshell, …

The bottom line is that I never let my formal education interfere with my learning to mention little of the lightheadedness of the elders of the Durban community. Consequently I spent much of my formative years thinking about how best to change the status quo without destroying those institutions,

“witch made cents for US to flee markets from the get-g-to not altogether different from Let my people go.

South Africa is blessed with great natural resources and possibly with the drains turning anti-clockwise creating with each turn more of a brain-drain that impacted the balance of trade for those wheaties who remained keeping their profit on each trip abroad in safe heavens like Switzerland” [sic].

So-w, in a nutshell, only the slugs and the not so good looking pigs remained and everything operated at a snails pace, despite the family’s richly satisfying Gip-sy Coffee built by the Moshal Gevisser household.

What causes peoples’ minds to warp has in fact been the mainstay of my preoccupation every since beginning to talk at age 3 and some would say I haven’t stopped since although once I have the A team in place I generally spend most of my day either sleeping or in the surf where the ocean spirits rejuvenate the sol.

During that first quarter of 1978 I also demonstrated sufficient mental health to compete with any corporate executive of a publicly traded company whose 3 month horizon blended in with everything else on a not so picture-perfect landscape while in addition, providing a cold shoulder to the University of Natal’s ruling elite with the stiff upper lips. In short order I achieved my “g-r-oal” [sic] which was to make enough money to pay off my university education debt, slip out of town but not before dissuading as many first year business-accounting students as possible to seek alternative paths,

"to health, happiness and of course we should all be financially free and promiscuous" [sic].

It was just a matter of time before I, the youngest of the Bernie and Zena Gevisser clan, began to focus on who prospered the most as in them Vs the US. My tutorial classes began along the following lines:

“Just try counting all the minor strokes the professors who profess knowing so much have had while dishing out poor excuse after poor excuse as to why they couldn’t make it in the real world and then compare the size of their brains to yours. How many minor strokes do you think it takes to make up a major stroke? Do you really want to follow in their footsteps especially if you consider that their brains are all clogged up and no matter how much good food they eat it probably doesn’t oxygenate anything butt the surroundings at arse level? Time to light a match, DP [Durban Poison] to boot, wouldn’t you agree?

Business is not something that can be taught for it requires first and foremost an understanding of human nature, something one learns around the dining room table, from parents, grandparents, from possibly just one smart really short arse friend who understood early the dynamics that hot air defies gravity; most important to watch what goes on in the streets, always paying attention to nature, to the winds of change.

It is all about human interaction with the elements, which is more art form than it is science. Now if you didn’t learn anything from the farts around the dining table and never made your way on to the streets then my suggestion is go get a job.

Now if you are unsure about what you would be best as then maybe it is okay to study art but if you cannot draw you probably won't make a living as a painter-artist. So then try the liberal arts, as in, ‘Oh what a tangled web...’ because the only thing promoted in this pigeon-hole of a faculty, silly billy, is how to commit larceny; peni-s-tentiary is for the bird-brains unless you happen to be black where it is hard to find the write words to satisfy the white bosses, cockpits and 500lb boob-ms to boot, write-minded women to embrace, peanut galleries for the masses who take most of the abuse, i.e. dog eat dog, hot gods today’s celebrities, but don’t assume everyone here is a monkey, pigeon English to sumday replace Latin.

In a nutshell, be mindful of those with smaller minds than you” [sic].

I have been working on a different approach to raising the consciousness by starting from the bottom and working up, empowering the youth who are our future to parent the parents who weren’t quite prepared for the responsibilities of parenting their parents and so the blame game continues.

Breaking from the past requires more than thinking outside of the box, it requires action that will connect up the dots while getting rid of the ditto heads who rise to positions of power beyond their level of competency never forgetting to question those who wear aprons, the Ronald “Finagle King” Perelmans of the world to ever so smartly beet, one day at a time, adding a byte of color, one stroke at a time until we all stroke each other to death with kindness.

[1] A B.COM degree is the equivalent of a BA in business. The difference is that unlike in the United States the B.COM is a complete farce from beginning to end. Whichever way one were to look at what was taught one can only come away scratching one’s head asking the obvious question “Why would anyone with half a branine want to spend X years of their life all cooped in with a bunch of inbreeds who think their shit doesn’t stink when they could be out and about surfing in one of the greatest hot spots of the world focusing on their ABCs as Always Be Cool.