It’s never “duck.”
Autocorrect gets it wrong every time—
but maybe it’s right in spirit.
Because sometimes all you can do
is scream “duck!”
and hope you’re low enough when life swings.
You ever notice how the Joneses never asked for the job?
The world made them saints of suburbia,
heroes of hustle,
the holy grail of comparison.
But no one ever asked if they wanted to be the Joneses.
No one ever asked about the cost.
The sleepless nights.
The quiet panic of keeping up.
The tax of always smiling when you’re running on fumes.
Everyone wants the view from the top,
but no one wants to climb.
They want the reward
without the sweat,
the title
without the test.
Instant gratification in a slow-cooked universe.
But here’s the thing—
you already have what you need.
You always have.
Sometimes you get what you want.
Most times you get what you deserve.
Let that sink in.
You. Get. What. You. Deserve.
Your actions—or the lack of them—write your world.
Your inner weather becomes your outer landscape.
No magic. No miracles.
Just mirrors.
I can tell who you are by your shoes.
Not the price tag, but the mileage.
The dust.
The direction they’re pointed in.
And I can tell your state of mind
by the way you walk into a room—
do you shift the air,
or just take up space?
Some people smell like creation,
like the spark before thunder.
Others?
Like skunk on a hot day—mad, mad.
That’s the stench of blame, of waiting for life to change
without ever changing yourself.
Because life didn’t do you dirty.
You did you dirty.
We’ve all got a story,
and it always begins at the break—
the trauma, the loss, the fire that woke us
or burned us down.
That’s where the real gospel starts,
the one no preacher ever taught:
to reach what’s out of reach,
you’ve got to let the old you die.
You sacrifice.
You rise before dawn.
You stay up late.
You do the thing you hate
because it builds the muscle you’ll need
for the thing you love.
Everybody wants to lead
until they realize leadership means
staying calm in chaos.
Smiling through the shitstorm.
Carrying the torch when the wind kicks hard.
It’s getting up when your bones say “don’t.”
It’s climbing the hill
when both ways feel uphill.
It’s razor focus when the fog rolls in
and you can’t see anything but the next inch.
That’s the truth the Joneses know,
the truth most won’t say out loud.
The universe doesn’t owe you anything—
but it reflects everything.
So when all else fails,
when the sky falls and the noise gets too loud,
and you can’t tell what’s coming next—
just scream “duck!”
and keep moving forward.
Because even if the world’s off its rocker,
you don’t have to be.
You just have to keep your rhythm.
Keep your fire.
Keep your truth tuned in
like a lost Pink Floyd transmission,
echoing through time,
half gospel, half madness—
and all you.
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