Elon Musk just put a price tag on obedience. It costs $200,000.
Musk: “You don’t need college to learn stuff. Everything is available basically for free. You can learn anything you want for free.”
Every lecture. Every textbook. Every framework ever written. Free on any screen in any country right now. The entire knowledge monopoly collapsed in a decade. Nobody updated the price tag.
Musk: “Colleges are basically for fun and to prove you can do your chores. But they’re not for learning.”
Strip the ivy and the branding. What’s underneath is a four-year obedience trial. Can this person follow instructions on a schedule without asking why.
Musk: “There is a value that colleges have, which is seeing whether somebody can work hard at something, including a bunch of annoying homework assignments, and still do their homework assignments.”
That is the entire six-figure value proposition. Not what you know. Not what you can build. Whether you can be managed. The establishment doesn’t need you educated. It needs you domesticated.
Musk: “If you’re trying to do something exceptional, you must have evidence of exceptional ability. I don’t consider going to college evidence of exceptional ability.”
The system doesn’t produce exceptional. It produces manageable. It takes the most creative years of your life and teaches you to wait for instructions. That is not education. That is containment.
Musk: “Gates is a pretty smart guy, he dropped out. Jobs is pretty smart, he dropped out. Larry Ellison, smart guy, he dropped out.”
They didn’t leave because they couldn’t keep up. They left because the ceiling was underground.
8 billion people now carry the same library in their pocket. The one these institutions charged a lifetime of debt to access.
The only product the university still sells is the belief that you need one.
The Atlantic is well-written “fiction-journalism.”
A writing coach once recommended it early in my career, not for its substance but for its style. And sure, the prose was clean and the cadence polished. But it didn’t take long to realize I wasn’t reading journalism. I was reading someone’s emotionally curated alternate version of reality, tailored to comfort the already converted and confuse everyone else.
Since then, I’ve classified it under a genre I call fiction-journalism, where activists masquerade as reporters and write political fan fiction for people too lazy or too ideologically committed to check the actual facts.
The Atlantic doesn’t inform. It performs.
It doesn’t challenge assumptions. It flatters them.
It doesn’t uncover truth. It buries it beneath layers of narrative fog designed to make their alternate version of reality feel more real than the world outside your window.
At this point, calling it journalism is like calling a costume party a congressional hearing. Sure, everyone’s in character, but no one’s doing the job.
Eddie Van Halen, whose innovative and explosive guitar playing kept the hard rock band that bore his family name cemented to the top of the album charts for two decades, has died at 65 https://t.co/Q2HbIpkhpd
@SpeakerPelosi Trump is a crazy asshole, duh. But don’t think that you’re not part of the problem Nancy. You need to come down and settle on something now! @MarkMeadows#Don’tPiecemail