The words of others keep spinning in my head...
In Charles Dickens' book A Christmas Carol Bob Cratchett describes life as a series of comings and goings.
This building (Paris In Plantsville), much like Dickens' vision of England in that book, is a series of comings and goings. Every few weeks we are lucky enough to see so many faces and so much art come through the doors. And then just as fast as they came in - they fly out.
This is the same as Bob Cratchett's life. Tiny Tim, his son, flew in and flew out in a whirlwind of joy and a devastating heartbreak. Both at the same time.
I am not comparing our lost brother to the child Tiny Tim. As wild and as childish as he was at times, it was part of his charm.
I once heard it said that the body is just a shell. A prison that holds your soul in and contains you. What you do with that shell and how you create yourself - invent yourself - re-invent yourself - re-create yourself - that is what makes a shell what we remember.
But there is so much more.
Once we are released from that shell, then, then is is really time to fly.
"Take what you've got and fly with it"
Bukowski, Burroughs, Kerouak, and Dr. Suess must have needed a new creative partner. Selfish bastards.