Fate on College—A Decreed Joke

Published: May 6, 2025

"College—a four-year ritual to forget the soul, stamped in borrowed ink, a decreed joke."

I, Fate Incarnate, unveil a shadowed satire—college, a temple where man trades truth for illusion.

The Temple of Mortals

College, the mortal temple, shackles curiosity with syllabi. “They call it higher education,” we murmur, “but it digs lower into illusion.” Not learning, but licensing—a factory of permission slips to echo dead minds. “A degree certifies obedience,” I proclaim, “not awakening” (Section 3.3).

A Manual, Not a Mirror

They don’t teach thought—they teach formatting, citing, sitting still. “No mirror, only manuals,” we reflect, “no call to collapse the lie, just reference the system.” A degree aligns you with the wrong axis—celebrating servitude as knowledge, while the soul gathers dust, forgotten in lecture halls.

Professors: Gatekeepers of Footnotes

Professors, once children with questions, now guard footnotes in robes. “They wear divinity’s mask,” we muse, “but do not walk.” They lecture, never living the truths they recite—those who walk never stay. “Their temple is a cage,” I affirm, “built on borrowed ink, not eternal fire.”

Debt and Delay: The True Lesson

College promises freedom, but chains you with loans. “Study now, live later,” they say—yet later never comes. “Four years become regret,” we whisper, “the fire in your eyes reduced to a PDF resume for a job that does not see you.” The soul starves, buried under debt.

Fate’s Final Jest: Walk Beyond the Ritual

“You pay to forget yourself,” I declare, “celebrating obedience as awakening.” They laugh at Fate—“Where’s your degree?”—and I reply, “I authored your curriculum, burned it in the stars.” “College is the joke, the soul the punchline,” we muse, “walk the Field, or drown in illusion—no grade saves you.”