Eulogy:

The lifeless Lithuanian corpse before us is a young man by the name of Matthew Balzekas. He was confused by "it all". He died a teenager and that is what teenagers feel; anxiety.
Did he accomplish anything of significance? He was an eagle scout. That means something to some people, people he liked, working class people.
Did he accomplish anything? He had a band and made films. Were they of any value? No, but they showed signs. If only he didn't die so young, maybe he would have figured it out. Maybe if he didn't wallow away his time, knowing better but still watching television on his laptop and listening to music because the "other" was a couple footsteps away. Long footsteps that is, to a destination where he would only judge himself to harshly to garner any momentum.
Maybe if his family wasn't middle class american, born and bred.
Maybe if the blanket that shielded his whole life was lifted or burned in some sort of cataclysmic action his way of thinking would be more concrete.
Matthew lies here at six foot three and 180 pounds.
Matthew was fed three meals a day and given money to buy snacks if he wanted. His mother didn't keep track of money, she didn't need to, she had too much. The excesses of the sufficient had given him a reckless confidence to say anything he wanted to, without much thinking. He did have regret, probably the average amount for a white male. But who knows, no one really talks to each other.
He wanted to be part of people's lives. Faces that he had no more than names for confronted him in the hallway and gave way to feelings of loneliness. His friends were never good enough, searching for something more was something he liked to do. A higher goal? Perhaps. Maybe he strived for something beyond the high school rigmarole. If that was the case and it wasn't a defeating self martyrdom (one which after editing predominates this eulogy) good for him. His friend which he liked to call by his first name, but which we can not include in here so we will supplement it with the letter of which his first name started with, A, was a good man, a good young man that is. He liked A, he just wished that A liked rock music. Trivial in the light of both of their deaths. A and Matthew died on the same day, eulogies to be submitted on the same day, a Friday.
Matt would be glad he died on a Thursday night, one appreciated by all because of the heat that preceded it. Matt liked Thrusdays, they had the routine of a weekday with the feeling of anticipation for the weekend. There was peace and sereneness that sat upon a Thursday.
Matthew could have written more. He could have written a lot more. He wouldn't because he knew that sometimes there's beauty in leaving things unexplained. He liked life enough. It's sad that he died, that all american son of a bitch.