This morning I finally received the autopsy report. The attached letter read “It is unfortunate that it took so long, but there have been articles in the local press about the backlog in the courts and Medical Examiner’s office, so apparently this has been an issue for many people.” I am grateful to the embassy staff for their perseverance of effort in securing this document.
While my Spanish skills are poor, I can read it enough to know that the cause of death was the “toxic effect of carbon monoxide.”
You do what you have to do to make a living….. Not one of Patrick’s proudest moments, but something more to add to the long list of things he did to get by. He wrote this in 2004.
I remember Deià when the village was a haven for pornographers. A burgeoning nest of bohemian writers and painters soon becomes a honeycomb for dope dealers, Don Juans, and other hangers-on. Such was the case by the late sixties and seventies.
To cite a few examples: Michael was a pint-sized Manson type who used his sexual charisma to send his women off to Morocco to smuggle hash and kif into Mallorca; when one of these was busted and jailed, he fled his house down the Clot road, leaving quite a few ruffled birds in his wake. Another dealer new to the village showed up one Sunday afternoon with a suitcase packed with slabs of dark brown hashish, but his buyer didn’t show, and he had to sell a key for a pittance to get back to Palma and off the island. And more than one trafficker in acid had graced the village with their dreams; they shall remain nameless, though all residents know who they were. Continue reading “King Leer”
Patrick sent me this short recording a long time ago (the file date is 2003, but it may have been earlier than that.) He said it was the last nightingale of the season before all flew off to wherever they go next.
I believe it was this song that filled his ears when he finally passed into the nothingness.
I have used it for my Windows “shutdown” sound all these years because it is so peaceful.
Here’s a newsletter I just received from an Arizona realtor. Given the difficulties and heartbreak of this year, and the challenges we’ve had to face with our personal losses, I found it an interesting read.
Notes that Patrick had made about a writing technique, from a file dated 30 Aug 2014, referencing the book Writing a Novel by Watts. Some of Patrick’s examples come from his own unfinished book, Dr. Weightnovel.
It must be human nature to question the future, to try to envision what the world would be like after we’re gone. We wonder how people would respond to our absence, curious as to what factors might affect their reactions. Would they grieve less for suicides than for those who fall in sporting accidents? Do tears flow more freely upon the battlefield than in crumpled, burned-out cars? Would they burden themselves with misplaced guilt, thinking they could somehow have influenced one person’s small history?
It must be human nature to pose these queries. As we approach the time when the faithful fade to nothing and thus reveal the fallacy of their beliefs, these questions must be asked.
Or, in the unlikely reversal of philosophy of the practical minds who failed to fall for the hypocrisies of religion, but nonetheless discover the glory of an afterlife, the questions still drip from dying tongues, unanswered to all but those who are gone.
Each of us imagines how others would react, but each of us might be surprised at the actual result of such an inevitable and irreversible experiment.
Historians study the past, scientists measure the present, doctors heal and artists reveal, all in a quest to comprehend the future.
It’s simple human nature.
I wrote this on 19 Feb ‘3 while eating lunch at Lupe’s. I came across the written manuscript this morning and thought it has a place here on Patrick and Stephanie’s web site.