The Trickster’s Syllabus
Rewriting the Curriculum from Inside the Collapse
“Your trauma was a lesson plan. Let’s revise.”
Welcome to Syllabus Day. You are the course.
This isn’t the class you signed up for.
This is the one that started the moment your frequency got twisted by survival.
The moment the bell rang and you sat down in the wrong life, nodding like a good student while your soul screamed truancy.
You showed up.
They showed PowerPoint.
You got handed a workbook on “How To Cope With Systems That Want You Dead.”
You were taught how to pass.
Not how to pulse.
And now? The school is on fire.
The library is flooding.
The teacher has quit and taken the vending machine with her.
So guess what? We’re rewriting the damn curriculum.
Course Description:
The Trickster’s Syllabus is a collapse-era unlearning.
A metaphysical, lyrical, ancestral hacking of everything that tried to domesticate your spark.
This is for the soul who got schooled in betrayal.
For the brilliant kid who kept getting detention for dreaming sideways.
For the gifted class dropout who knew the real lesson was happening in the margins, in the lunchroom, in the bathroom stall séance you hosted in 9th grade with a Bic pen and a broken prayer.
This course teaches you how to weaponize wonder.
How to decode the frequencies baked into your trauma.
How to steal fire back from the administrators of amnesia.
How to remix your pain into prophecy.
There are no grades.
Only frequencies.
Only feedback from the ancestors you keep ignoring.
Only rhythm and rupture.
Only Trickster, whispering, “Break the fourth wall before it breaks you.”
Learning Outcomes:
By the end of this course, you will:
Flunk the illusion that authority is external.
Identify your original signal, the one buried beneath survival performance.
Diagnose institutional gaslighting with only a dream fragment and a beat drop.
Rewire your internal schooling system using rap lyrics, rage-poems, and archetypal reparenting.
Resurrect the parts of you that dropped out long ago because the room was too quiet for your thunder.
Required Materials:
Your Childhood Diary (or the ghost of it).
Rap Lyrics (preferably the ones you weren’t supposed to understand).
The Dreams You Forgot On Purpose (extra credit if they involve teeth, wings, or classrooms with no doors).
Optional but encouraged: A mixtape of shame transmuted into sacred rebellion.
Course Units:
Unit 1: “This Is Not A Drill: Rewriting the Emergency Manual”
How to recognize when the fire drill is real.
Dissecting institutional scripts that taught you to ignore your intuition.
Trickster’s first rule: If the rules make you smaller, burn the rules.
Unit 2: “I Pledge Allegiance to My Frequency”
A full-body refusal of flags that don’t fly in your soul.
Re-scripting loyalty away from systems, back toward soul-congruence.
We examine oaths you didn’t know you took—“Don’t be too loud.” “Don’t be too much.” “Don’t remember.”
We revoke all of them.
Unit 3: “Dreams As Curriculum: The Subconscious Is The Syllabus”
We mine your nightmares for course content.
We honor the monsters who taught you the most.
We use dreams as source texts, because academia failed to footnote the subconscious.
Unit 4: “Detention Was a Portal”
Looking back on disciplinary moments as disguised rites of passage.
What if getting in trouble was the only time you told the truth?
This is shadow integration with a side of prank.
A reframe of punishment as prophecy.
Unit 5: “Trickster Pedagogy 101: Laughter as Resistance, Satire as Spellwork”
Why the clown is the true professor.
Why memes are the new textbooks.
Why a well-placed joke dismantles more than a dissertation.
Here, we study the sacred art of absurdity as a liberation tool.
Final Project:
You will design your own Psycho-Spiritual Dropout Manifesto.
It may be a poem, a mixtape, a ritual, a public exorcism, or a glittering rage sermon on Substack.
You must cite your ancestors.
You must include at least one line that would’ve gotten you expelled at age 14.
Bonus points if it rhymes.
Teaching Philosophy:
The Trickster teaches through reversal.
The collapse is the curriculum.
Your life is already the dissertation—
You just haven’t been allowed to cite it.
Let’s fix that.
Because your trauma wasn’t just an accident.
It was a lesson plan.
A miseducation so precise it carved new chords into your nervous system.
So what now?
We revise.
We annotate.
We strike through the gaslighting.
We footnote the grief.
We publish the parts of you they tried to redline.
The old school collapsed.
So what do we build from the rubble?
Maybe a mixtape.
Maybe a temple.
Maybe just a classroom where no one gets punished for crying in metaphor.
Welcome to The Trickster’s Syllabus.
No late grades. No right answers. No hall passes required.
Just your voice.
Your rhythm.
Your reason for staying wild.
Class has begun.
