Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los mismos...
- Pablo Neruda

"I'm Still Not a Poet, But I Know It"
In my travels to locate a silent and secure place to read, I learned that April's apparantly National Poetry month in addition to being the cruelest, (all you Eliot fans in the house say "Yeah!" and flaunt your snooty booty like you just don't care!) which might explain why I tried to write a sonnet last week, but probably not.

I am O'Hara High School's Class of 2000's Poet Laureate (self-proclaimed) no more.

"Kill Bill"
I've been reading like a mother fucker for the last week in the hopes that if I read enough Anne Enright, I can convince my capstone professor to let me write my final paper -- final in every sense of the word -- on Garth Ennis instead.

I completed my penultimate college paper, "Fear and Loathing in the Land of Bad Things," for my History of the 60's class on Friday afternoon. It was another one of those wake up early and do it at the last minute type of things (as opposed to a stay up late and get very little sleep affair), and I only made it through with a little help from Mr. Ennis himself -- a large part of my paper-writing ritual is reading comics to put me in the proper mindset for my topic, and I found Preacher #50 invaluable in getting my mind sloughing through the muck and moral ambiguity of Vietnam.

If I have to write about Enright, this last 12-15 page paper could indeed finally destroy this Daredevil English major.

And if that's the case, Dr. Kerwin, I'm sorry, but I may have no choice but to Kill Bill!

"The Love Song of L. Farnsworth Clark"
I'm the worst English major in the world.

My favorite poems are the little ones,

like

A shadow does not belong to the object that casts it

and

I'm gonna rotate home from the land of bad things

or

Only your friend, Peter Parker?

and

I love you, goodbye...

And my love song probably just goes la-la-la, because I really love those la-la-la's...