WORDS FROM WALL.VEGA- THE EPIPHANY

wallyvega

As I sit in the lab with a pen and pad

I try to grasp my situation while

I gasp for inspiration.

Not to compose a 16 that’ll make your grandmother YULE

But to show my father that I’m not a f*cking fool

Because he doesn’t see the vision.

He doesn’t see how

For years I’ve fought back tears

And listened to his sneers and

Learned to love fear and antagonize cheer.

Its December 5, 2008 2:32 in the a.m. eastern standard time. In my left ear is Shawn Carter’s “History” and in my right ear plays Drake’s “Say what’s real.” Red bull in my unlucky hand. See I’m left handed, so I could give two shits about ever being right. In the other hand is my phone. I desperately need to call someone, but I don’t think anyone would understand. One day I’ll get over my pride. But it has been so loyal to me.

I’m working on 10, 500 word journal entries and an autoenthnography paper that has to be between 5-10 pages. Autoenthography is not even recognized by the spell check. Professors continually make up bullshit and make us theorize about it. I’ve been working on this shit non-stop with a six hour break. Why am I fighting so valiantly for a dream that isn’t mine? As tears twinkle in the fluorescent lights of the “state of the art computer lab”, I can hear my father’s voice warn me “Make sure you go to college. No one will want to hire you without a degree. Are you going to graduate this year? I wish you would hurry up and graduate, you sister never has these problems! Do you want to work for McDonalds you whole life? Yeah that’s good you’re the president of your fraternity and you’re getting your name engraved on your campus…but where do you want to work next yr?”

With less than a year left, I have never wanted to quit so much in my life. But I’ve never been a quitter, but I also feel that you should walk away when you have outgrown something. During my years at the University of Cincinnati, I have grown exponentially every year, but now should the training wheels come off? You can’t teach me what is in my heart. You can’t teach me creativity. No English class can teach me how to write. I won my first writing contest when I was 8. When I had heart problems, they said fuck the pacemaker and attached my arteries to an iPod. I don’t belong here. I can’t stay focused. In class I cannot hear anything but lyrics from my professors’ mouth.

I had an internship as an assistant buyer for a fortune 500 company. It was a great company. I learned about myself and the fashion industry. But I did not use one gift that God gave to me. The only time I wrote was to email the people that my boss didn’t want to deal with. I felt like a caged animal everyday in that office. I felt like my soul was dying, the more I spent time there. The first couple of days, I had hope and promise. By the last month, I was sneaking to listen to new music and writing lyrics in between the emails and passing co workers who were spying.

But I can’t drop out, what’s my back up plan if I don’t make it? No, I will make it. But where the fuck am I going to live? How am I going to get money without a degree? How am I going to pay for studio time? How am I going to pay for this mixtape? Every day I stay in school, that’s 24 hours I didn’t spend making music, that’s 24 hours I wasn’t recording, that’s 24 more hours that no one hears what I have to say. I’m not getting any younger. I know Ye’ and Jay didn’t come out until they were 26, but shit, I have a lot to say. I have a lot to do. I have to show the public what’s true.

I’m crying not because I’m broke. Tears aren’t flooding my goatee because I’m not going to have this paper finished by 1p.m. I’m not wallowing because my father will disown own me if he knew that I’m going to be the greatest entertainer that the world has ever seen. Because that’s what everybody wants to be. But I swear that everybody is not ME. I weep because there is one person that needs my inspiration right now, this very minute, this very second and I can’t reach them, because I haven’t reached that stage, to get that paper, the four year raper, that fresh line taper…. meaning its value fades quickly. When I turned 21, my grandfather told me that he had a dream when I was born. In that dream God told him that I would change the world. With my life’s ambition being to become immortal and then die, will I become the exception or the rule? Am I justified or Ja Rule?

If you never hear from me again, visit me 30 years from now in your nearest [insert favorite department store here].

Wally.Vega

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2 Responses to “WORDS FROM WALL.VEGA- THE EPIPHANY”


  1. 1 Cat December 6, 2008 at 4:31 am

    i know exactly where you’re coming from and i don’t know how much weight my comment may carry to you but if it makes any different right now on december 5th 2008 at 11:23 pm eastern time in southern florida you inspired me to write…something…anything. hopefully you find solace in the fact that you reached someone tonight that really needed it. & i’ll be holding my breath for that mixtape too

  2. 2 lovejones19 December 6, 2008 at 5:28 am

    i know exactly where you’re coming from and i don’t know how much weight my comment may carry to you but if it makes any difference -> it’s 12:25 am eastern time, i’m in southern florida, & you inspired me with this piece. hopefully you find some solace in the fact that you reached someone tonight that really needed it. & i’ll be holding my breath for that upcoming mixtape.


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