Hello Darkness Our Old Friend

This morning, after complications from pneumonia threw him into a four-day coma, Dr Rex Patch has died. 

Dr Patch was a close personal friend and advisor, and a bridge between the vanished writer Harry Hardiner and those of us who love to read and interpret his work. Dr Patch's best-known writings were critical and exploratory essays—the bulk of his Hardiner writings were collected up and used as source material for the first several editions of The Rosewire Companion, and his forthcoming collection of personal reflections will be published posthumously by Pinkum Press after what looks to be several years of poring through Dr Patch's intricate notes. 

I don't know how best to put it—we've lost a library, our wings have been clipped, the lights were turned off. Here at Pinkum Press, Dr Patch has had a constant presence both physical and intellectual. I type this, in fact, wearing a pendant around my neck which Dr Patch gave me when we reopened Pinkum Press—it is a small jade buddha on red thread. You can make out the buddha's smile. It makes me glad to think of all the times that Dr Patch smiled like that.

In selfish terms, I guess I always expected that my relationship with Dr Patch would lead me into some revelations of Harry Hardiner's whereabouts, or his ultimate fate. It seems silly in retrospect, but at the time, it was such a certainty I never bothered articulating it to myself or to him. That opportunity has passed, however, and all I can do to honor the man is continue my work.

With that in mind, I will upload today a PDF of the last work I ever put in front of Dr Patch—a fever dream of everything, a study of nothing, a revelation of a memory. His last words to me were about this document, which is rough and rushed and does not do linguistic justice to its ideas: he said, "I see now." And he smiled like a Buddha.

Rest in peace, Dr Patch. May angels sing you all the way up the ladder to your peace.