A Pilgrim's Journal of Life, Literature and Love
The disciples had not understood the incident of the loaves though they had been there. They collected the initial bread and fish. They collected the leftover fragments. Their hearts were hardened. The very disciples who physically took part in the miracle had their hearts hardened when they saw Jesus walk on water and come into their boat?
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And now two cones are moving up the coast
Maybe tomorrow they’ll move back down again
While we stack toilet paper and MREs
Perhaps the ice cream truck’s an ice cream float…
Pride and Prejudice was the first period drama novel I had ever read. It was on the summer reading list for my high school (I usually read every book on each year’s list, though only two were required). I enjoyed the book immensely. While Lizzy was practically me, I had Jane’s optimistic view of every person in my acquaintance. Kitty was understandable as well, as I, too, rarely got to do anything before my younger sibling…
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The summer is here, the sun beating down
This intense heart bringing so many frowns
Time to turn that frown into a smile
We haven’t been to the beach in a while…
Let us build a statue of Sergeant Schultz
Standing bravely at the door of Baracke 2
With a bouquet of flowers in one mighty hand
And a slice of apple strudel in the other…
Such an interesting name, isn’t it? What is a Tristar fan? Isn’t TriStar that Sony company? Well, it is, but that’s not what I’m referring to. It’s actually more like tri-star, triple stars. The three stars I’m referring to are Star Wars, Star Trek, and Stargate. What, you ask? Am I mad?
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I see you, my friend,
Riding off again,
On orders from madmen…
Some say this is the age of the coronavirus. Perhaps it is, but more than that this is the age of incoherence. No one agrees on what the killer virus is, where it came from, masks or not masks, isolation or congregation, work or no work, treatments, dubious medicines (Macbeth IV:1), numbers of deaths, or the utility of borders (Richard II II:1)
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Sergeant Schneider barked at us, his young heroes
And made us crawl the beach at Oceanside
And tho’ he made each day’s harsh training1 sting
One evening at Mass we heard sweet children sing…
“What is it?!” barked Alfric.
“Robin Goodfellow is here to see you, my Lord,” said the herald
“What does that wretched hobgoblin want?!”
“Y-you summoned him, my Lord,” said the herald.
“Fine! Send him in!”
