Rowdy, wordy, dowry. Dating the up.

Howdy.

Guess WHAT.
Guess WHAT ELSE.

How I FEEL about all of it.

Oh, I'm graduating on the ninth. I have my LAST CLASS OF COLLEGE tomorrow.

The sequel to my favorite flash adventure game came out today. Yes, it's true. JOHNNY ROCKETFINGERS 2 is in the house. Yes, there are exploding pidgeons, drug dealers, and gigantic piles of pirate treasure. And crappy city apartments.

How I feel about homework: a poem I read at the Bowery Poetry Club yesterday. You should have been there! It was lots of fun. It's pretty happy with itself, this one.

DULLLLLLLCE DOZEN

I have been living twelve hour days!
In an emergency, I
sleep.
When things are good, I
click.

I bet you didn't know this, but
on an analog clock
the hands point to one number twice
twice one number in a day, it's a warning
from father time, that
It's a motherfuckin school night.
If it's 11 PM, you automatically have to think
Am I ready for 11 AM? It's quite ingenious. The army
must be confused. Heck,

in my world
if you've got something due at 3 PM
you sure as shit betta
be thinking about what you have due in twelve
little hours, or you should at least
be surfing the internet frantically, spasmodically
hoping for something all-consuming.

People tell me, look out
this bus ride takes six hours,
look out, you'll have to be in class
for four more today
I just look that shit in the eyes and say
HAH. I have
on bad days
sat in a chair and stared at the same, 18" screen
watching little figures in red overalls hit
head bricks and follow
strange fungi
across the map
That's called emulation, mother
fucker, that's called patience, that's called
staring at colored numbers
variables behind backdrops
and I have done it
at 12 AM, thinking about noon
until noon, and all I've got to show
is a save state.

In the last twelve hours
I have been dodging myself
to get this shit done
And see behind all these applications
to the unfinished essays
that will graduate me.