There's a beat-up old washer lying by the sidewalk. I don't know why it catches my eye. I'm surrounded by Spring; the birds chirping, the sun shining, the flowers blooming... So why this small bent piece of metal? Not on account of contrast, surely. It's dirty enough that I hardly even saw it against the ground. I stand there, staring, for quite some time, wondering why.

Joyous Eastertide, everybody! I celebrate (as is my norm) with a song:

Jesus was way cool
Everybody liked Jesus
Everybody wanted to hang out with him
Anything he wanted to do, he did
He turned water into wine
And if he wanted to
He could have turned wheat into marijuana
Or sugar into cocaine
Or vitamin pills into amphetamines
He walked on the water
And swam on the land
He would tell these stories
And people would listen
He was really cool
If you were blind or lame
You just went to Jesus
And he would put his hands on you
And you would be healed
That's so cool
He could've played guitar better than Hendrix
He could've told the future
He could've baked the most delicious cake in the world
He could've scored more goals than Wayne Gretzky
He could've danced better than Barishnikov
Jesus could have been funnier than any comedian you can think of
Jesus was way cool
He told people to eat his body and drink his blood
That's so cool
Jesus was so cool
But then some people got jealous of how cool he was
So they killed him
But then he rose from the dead
He rose from the dead, danced around
Then went up to heaven
I mean, that's so cool
Jesus was way cool
No wonder there are so many Christians

"Jesus Was Way Cool" - King Missile

I wept tonight.

I was able to talk to a friend about deep-seated fears and uncertainty.

I was able to tell him how much he's meant to me.

I was able him how much I'm going to miss him.

I wasn't able to say enough, and I doubt I ever will be able to.

I wept tonight.

It seems odd that I should have such nostalgia, having seen (presumably) so little of the full span of my life, especially when what lies ahead appears to be so bright. But in spite of this logical premise, I do find myself wandering the streets and alleyways of memory, and lingering in places, times, and feelings long past. The peaks and valleys of emotion rush back as clearly as if they had happened just minutes before, and names, faces, and scenes can be seen as well as the clutter on my desk in front of me. I think what seems strangest about the whole affair is the reason for my looking back. Usually when I steep myself in retrospection, it is because I have fallen upon hard times and want to recall how well life can treat me, and will again. Now, I'm pleased, on the whole, and not really sure what to make of the lines of thought that I'm revisiting.

[revisited later:] Interesting ramble... A level of removed angst borne on a base of good cheer. I believe that the angst, minimal as it was in comparison to the rest of my emotions, needed to get out, but had an awkward time doing so. Or maybe I'm thinking too hard about all this.

Tunes: "I Am Downright Amazed At What I Can Destroy With Just A Hammer," Atom & His Package (iTMS); "In My Life," The Beatles.

Today was opening night for the play. I was gone for about 11 hours, traveling and rehearsing and performing. Aiyiyi. The show went well, though, so all's happy and good. Now, I'm rather tired, and bid you all goodnight.

Tunes: "I Sing For You," Daniel Letterle (from the CAMP soundtrack, hear it here); "My Girl," The Temptations (iTMS).

This is my first time
Writing this sort of poem.
I think I like it.

Well, it's official. I'm in the system. I've registered with the Selective Service, and they have me on their radar.

Frightening.

They're here!!! Go check out The Moves, the new band from JoshUndBrian, at TheMoves.org and buy the JoshUndBrian album, Right Man Princess. Go Nuge, you rock!!!

I start to shrink from any form of outside stimulus. A dull, stabbing ache sets n behind my left eye. The world around me loses focus, not because my eyes aren't functioning properly, but because I haven't the strength to take in my surroundings. What little energy I have left seems to drip slowly out of my body, like a maple tree being sapped. I am nowhere near sleepy enough to drift off, but not awake enough to function, either. I sit in a perpetual half-life, waiting in a purgatorial state for SOMEthing. Hamlet chose between being and not being; I would be content with either, just to escape this monotony. Life offers new experiences around each bend, while Hamlet's proverbial sleep offers dreams, which surely cannot be any worse than this static image that faces me.

...we remember before you this day our brother Michael and our sister Donna. We thank you for giving them to us, their family and friends, to know and love as companions on our earthly pilgrimage. In your boundless compassion, console us who mourn. Give us faith to see in death the gate of eternal life, so that in quiet confidence we may continue our course on earth, until, by your call, we are reunited with those who have gone before; through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Amen.