Graphic by Mai Morsy
When I had journeyed half of my NSOP way, I found myself within an abandoned house For I had lost the path that leads to John Jay Ah, it is hard to speak of what it was, That lonely lounge, dirty and deserted Which even in recall renews my fear: So bitter—Ferris coffee is hardly more severe!
ABANDON EVERY HOPE FOR SOCIAL LIFE, WHO ENTER HERE These words—their aspect was obscure—I read inscribed on the fireplace, and I said: “Public Safety guard, their meaning is difficult for me.” And he to me, as one who comprehends: Here one must leave behind all friends; Here every type of fun must meet its death.
First Floor: NO FRIENDS LIMBO The kindly guard said: “Do you not ask who are these shades whom you see before you? I’d have you know, before proceeding with the task, they do not talk; and though they have 11 insta likes, that’s not enough, they never look a soul in the eye.
Second Floor: SINGLE FOR LIFE The cruel Tinder, which never rests, drives on the thirsty with its violence: swiping left and right, it harasses them. When they do not come up with a match, then there are cries and wailing and lament
Third Floor: IN SEAS I am now on the third floor, filled with cruel, unending, loud, and accursèd printing of problem sets; Orthogonal transformations, matrices, and lines of code come streaming down from the hellish printer
Fourth Floor: PLAYS FORTNITE In mild sunlight these shades are destined to faint.
Fifth Floor: WRITES FOR THE FED Here, more than elsewhere, I saw multitudes to every side of me;
their insecurities unmistakable and so were their fears They begged and pleaded with each other; and with long faces Each turned around and, wiping off their tears, cried out: “Why does no one laugh at my jokes?!”
Sixth Floor: PART OF THE COLUMBIA CS CLUB ‘100001000,’ 1000. ‘101011 10000111011010111100.’ 100111010…1100001011
Seventh Floor: PROFOUND AND EVERLASTING LONELINESS And now, across the empty hallway, there passed a ghost Horrid tears were streaming down her eyes ‘Tell me who you are,’ I cried, ‘Your fame I shall restore at most’ And she to me, ‘How ignorant you seem to me, my fame I don’t prize Bury my skeleton in the Butler stacks before you see sunrise’
Eighth Floor: WRITES FOR SPEC The kindly guard told me: “Son, now see the souls of those whom terrible op-eds has defeated.”
Ninth Floor: NO ONE EVER CAME BACK Once their dorm rooms these shades had entered Has no human seen or heard their cries again When I came up against this life obscure, I lamented: For stink of hot cheetos and pizza caused my senses pain I fainted: sooner should I called out my guide’s name…
