Cut and pasted from my youth group bulletin, courtesy of my good friend Nick (thanks, man):

Hi Everyone,

This Friday and Saturday Si is performing Shakespeare's Twelfth Night* on Friday and Saturday 7:00 at the Edgebrook Community Church (6736 N Loleta in Chicago, I'd use mapquest for directions). Having sat in on some rehearsals the show looks great, and there are swords! (what could be better?) To answer the aforementioned question, what makes it better is a mere $2 for admission! Try that at navy pier. I hope everyone can make it to support Si and see the play, which has swords ;-)

Peace, love, and lots of shiny objects
~nick

*not solo, unless the flu goes around

So many feelings, impulses, and dreams fight for my attention, leaving me uncertain of where I am or what I should be feeling. Physically, I'm fine (a little better than fine, as I've been noshing on leftovers all day), but having my stream of consciousness form a whirlpool inside my skull messes me up but good.

Maybe I've just watched Garden State too many times, but I've been doing a lot of thinking about what "home" means to me lately. My initial thought is this house that I'm sitting in right now, but that's not quite it. Really, it's more of a combination of this house with a certain number of specific people who live there with me. Some don't live here any more, which has caused me to have to stretch out in search of another handhold, like a vine of ivy searching for something sturdy to cling to. Now, instead of a singular strong rock, I float thanks to the many places and people who are a part of me, and are my home, whose combined efforts keep me buoyant. So as my house fills again, I feel more at home than ever, and I'm very, very, thankful.

Tunes: "I'm On My Way", The Proclaimers (iTMS), "At My Most Beautiful", R.E.M. (iTMS), "More Than Love", Los Lonely Boys (iTMS).

This is the third morning in a row I've been woken up by a telemarketer calling. All the morning wakeup calls have been from the same company, and one marketer even had the audacity to call again later in the day yesterday. Do they REALLY think that I'll start giving them money, just to shut them up? Or do they believe that the more they call, the greater the odds I will stop saying "No, I'm not interested, stop calling me" and listen to their offer and actually take them up on it? I try to be polite when dealing with these invasions of my time, but I've grown progressively less so. At this rate, any telemarketer that calls before 9:00am and wakes me is likely to be greeted with an expletive and a dead line (possibly a few extra expletives if it's from the same company).

Grr.

feeling muscles slowly burning
entropizing, vainly yearning
wanting just to stretch beyond
confines of disease's bond
feeble neath this grey pall
clenched tight in sickness' thrall
whispering my last request
praying that what i've confessed
through the son will be forgiven
when from life my soul is riven

Tunes: "Thunder", Prince (iMTS); "Summer of '69", Bryan Adams (iTMS); and "I Don't Wanna Be", Gavin DeGraw (iTMS).

The cold night air prickles along the skin of his arm as he sits at his table, pencil poised over yet another sheet of paper. His eyes close and his brow furrows as his hand bursts suddenly into action, scrawling rapidly across the page. Just as suddenly, he stops, and reads over what he was written. As his eyes scan the sloppy script, his head begins to shake, and something inside him snaps as, frenzied, he tears the paper to shreds and throws the pieces into a pile of similar remains on the corner. He pauses, breathing deeply, and he glances up at a framed picture on the wall. He relaxes, and pulls up another sheet of paper as the chill sets in again.

Tunes: "Save Tonight", Eagle-Eye Cherry (iTMS).

It's times like yesterday that make it seem amazing that it took Einstein to realize that time is relative.

The piano started quietly, soon being joined by gradual layers of voices, all singing together, "Veni Sancte Spiritus": Come, Holy Spirit. Ministers of all denominations made their way slowly, reverentially, to where he knelt, and laid their hands upon him. A clear, pure melody soared out over the congregation from Susie's throat as the whole congregation raised their own hands to show their acceptance of his sacrifice, his offering of servitude to God and to God's people. Tears ran silently down faces as the chanting slowly hushed until it was barely more than a whisper.

It couldn't have taken more than four or five minutes. But for all of us, and I'm sure especially for Tripp, it lasted-- and will last-- for a lifetime.

My big bro Tripp's been all holy-fied. I'm proud of you, dude.

The island is a small one, with only a few square miles of open land. It's privately owned, with minimal taxes going to the reigning government, which doesn't really care. Sitting in the Pacific, it remains largely undeveloped, with plenty of natural flora and fauna. There aren't many buildings: a scattering of small houses, a tiny chapel, a partially covered courtyard, and a small solar/wind plant. As the sun sets, two people are silhoutted against the horizon overlooking the wine-red ocean.

Oh, c'mon, is it really too much to ask?

Tunes: "Island In The Sun", Weezer (iTMS).

Hey, at least he can pronounce polysyllabic words...

Tunes: "I'm So Bored With The U.S.A.", The Clash .