“Are you there God? It’s me, a graduating senior. I just told my parents I want to get an MFA in poetry. Please help me grow God. You know where.”
Edgar Allen Poe:
“Once upon a commencement dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary …” ’Tis some distant aunt,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door — Who only gave me a gift card and nothing more.”
“But you know, employment can be found even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to major in STEM.”
“In order to function, that is, to be readable, a signature must have a repeatable, iterable, imitable form; my poststructuralism justifies reusing the same cover letter over and over.”
“O Me! O life!… of the questions of these recurring; Of the empty and useless years of undergrad — The question, what good was my Art History minor, O me, O life?
“Some days in late May at college are like this, the air thin and eager like this, with something in it sad and nostalgic and familiar…”