Dinosaurs

Finally, a plausible explanation to how dinosaurs became extinct. That whole "ice age" thing is absurd. If they froze, how did they end up underground? And, wouldn't they have just woken up when they thawed? It's a bunch of hogwash.

Penultimate: Sounds a lot cooler than it actually is

It's almost over; the penultimate semester of my college career is almost at an end. This is by far the strangest feeling I've ever felt, like a mixture of pure, heavenly joy and total, annihilating, all-consuming terror. On the one hand, I will be done with school forever (unless, of course, I later decide I need some other degree), and so will finally be freed from the millions of trivial exercises disguised as learning that have plagued me for all of these years. But then on the other hand lies a some sort of box, the contents of which I don't know. It could be a treasure chest, filled with a job as an editorial assistant in New York and the opportunity to publish all sorts of amazing new books; or it could be Pandora's box, filled with a dead-end waitressing job that holds nothing but never-ending stretches of the same bad country playlist and whiny customers complaining that they never got their side of ranch. I'm terrified and I'm excited in a way that could only be described as sublime, except, instead of the power of nature inspiring my terror, it is the power of modern society and the treacherous depths of the American workforce.
I haven't written any poetry in quite a while, but after hearing Sara and Anderson read last week, I felt pulled back to writing, so here's something.

Winter

He's up there laughing, alright. Look at him, all big and yellow and silly. "It's not very funny down here," I shout, but he takes no notice. "My hands and feet are frozen, you big jerk. Have you ever tried walking to class on ice blocks? It's not easy!" He acts like he can't hear me, like just because he's a big ball of fire and exploding gas suddenly his ears don't work, but I know what's what. All day, he just sits up there staring at us, not sharing any of that heat that I know he's got bottled up in the hall closet. A few months ago he was handing it out like a Jehovah's Witness with a quota to meet and pamphlets piling up, but now he's just being plain stingy. Probably because he thinks it's funny to watch me try to light a cigarette with ice cube fingers. Well, I'm not laughing. I'll get him back; one of these days, BANG, ZOOM, straight to the moon with him. Then he'll be sorry; that blue cheese stench is enough to choke a horse.

And, as has been my pattern, here's a song.
12:59 Lullaby Song, Bedouin Soundclash