B100 … illusions of love and heroes..

Levon Helm, once a hero, now gone

If you have read any of my more profound writings you may realize that some, if not all of your favourite heroes, leaders, gurus, artists, writers, are mostly, no more than someone like myself that really doesn’t know as much as you would like to believe they do. We’d like to believe that these unknowns, heroes are all so much more intelligent, spiritual, profound than they really are. It makes us feel safe. Media includes and excludes which enhances the trance, and that’s what we get, a facade wrapped in awkward realities. It is hard enough to know yourself (who ever that may be?) let alone another mind, but opinions keep on rolling on down the line, that’s the nature of the beast. When all is said and done, ‘we’re on our own’.

Teddy, fifteen in his backyard

To my friends that pretend to gag when they see my Blog pop up, if anything, you may realize that your heroes are nothing more than a more talented, well spoken, articulate version of just another mind wandering thru these streets of deep strange times and corrupted space trying to make sense in their own ways of this odd and beautiful world/universe…..just like me, but you may think you know me and think to yourself, no fucking way does that guy know this shit…and that’s right he probably doesn’t, (not in your terms) or does he?

Dylan is just one of my favourite artists and i am in awe often with his creations…….but he’s just an ordinary guy, at heart, with non-ordinary talents and a lot of hard work..he knows that, i know that….he says it in so many ways, if you listen carefully; just like me, cept i don’t have the fame, the money, the draw of the cards, the turn of the dice, the fate of the late, nights destiny and his talent, but i have mine and that is the way it is, what i got, and at my age, the game is almost thru, here………i’m fine with that, most of the time.

Iggy Pop, the 80’s

The art and the artist are like two completely separate strangers strangely connected, possibly, as earth and sky. The earth looks up at the sky and wonders when in the hell is it gonna fall and show it’s true colours and the sky gazes down with its wavering winds and wishes it could sleep, just for awhile, hidden along those soft and silent curves upon those mysterious plains. They, the two of them join as a kind-of ‘one’ in collaboration along with the turbulent seas and the rushing streams, silver lakes, clouds of water with a thirst for creation that unites them. The art or the artist, whom to trust, whom to believe……….’trust in no one’, the rain speaks, ‘let deep unspoken faith be the process, be the known, that is your best bet’…..’pick the queen of hearts’.

I want to thank the ones that have had the guts to acknowledge my posts, even when it was not socially acceptable. When many in this world seem to see nothing but black and white, wrong and right, while reality often weaves its truth thru gray, multicoloured endless questions. Thanks to the ones that exposed their shallow scared safe distance, also, tho you may not know who you are.

These are the times for all of us peasants to come together, rich and poor, bright and dull, to unite under the human heart of love, as trite and simple as that may seem, it is the only way. Jealousy and conceit is rusting our souls, this is the time to surrender to the hands of our maker, beyond the terms of the earth, great mystery, god; die to whence you came, we are of one purpose, somehow, someway, written deep within the heart, deep within within. When you listen carefully, honestly, sometimes the silence will speak in light, within the trees, the wind, ‘all creation is connected to one heart and you will know’.

Patrick, friends and enemies…

 An ancient saying i stumbled upon along the way….’Some of your friends may become your greatest enemies and your enemies may become your friends, so treat them all alike’. That really does say chapters, volumes and with a simple, ‘love all’……as best you can, when you can and if you fall off the horse into the realms of darkness, and as soon as it be known, don’t question a thing, just get back in the saddle and keep riding.

Thanks again friends, enemies, life and this new energy of death ever slipping in so closer and closer; makes me aware that i do really care of what you think about me but not so much as to hide and die in the closets of my mind, as so many tend to do.

My enemies will hate me even more after this, possibly, probably, and my real friends will caress me even tighter….what a strange planet….the earth will grow stronger as the world continues to die…….that’s just the way it is.

Love in the streets…

down in the calle people are struggling
for a few strips of bread some are begging
some are taking pics and posting smiles
others are eating fancy meals with too much money

words too lazy to walk and thoughts too tired to think
the struggle has worn itself thin as an ancient taboo
faded down streets of glory like an old tattoo
and it’s closing time for us with whom knows who

the rolling hills used to roll right past my door
now they don’t do that anymore
the age of reality has sunk deep
low, down here, where everything is asleep

the heart ate my truth and bit into my soul
if it weren’t for my love i’d be nowhere at all
the masked men and the demons disaster
this world’s on it’s last leg, a last layer of plaster

too bad your mind loves the grooves where you suffer so
that you can’t rise above to step into the dance
and while you hesitate things are fading fast
often in life, you get but one chance

The WaterTower on Duke St across the plains of the Mount Hope Cemetery – Kitchener On Can

I love you Christine….

I fell in love last night in a dream with Christina. She lived two doors down for a couple of years when i was thirteen or so. I’m not sure if i had ever spoken to her but i noticed her every move when she entered a scene in and around the streets. I knew her brother Terry or maybe they were cousins, yes, she lived upstairs and he down but both shared the front door. Terry played baseball in the water tower field sometimes, i didn’t know him well, never asked about Christine.

I went to Mrs Heinbucks one day, down at the end of Stall Ave, possibly that was the day i went to apologize to her for whom knows what, we, our gang were the rowdy ones in the neighbourhood. We played lacrosse endlessly and the water-tower field was just beyond her back yard. Teddy lived a few houses back towards Duke St, which is where i lived down on the other side of the entrance to the water-tower and its huge field, or so it seemed at the time. Our lacrosse indian rubber or a sponge ball would often bounce into Mrs Heinbucks back yard. Her yard was over grown with shrubs and wild foliage of all kinds. We loved it but difficult to find a lost ball. Looking thru her front window one day, her hall way was strewn with stacks of old newspapers the ceiling high. Some called her a witch. We didn’t even know what a witch was, some scary person, is what we thought. Old decrepit, unusual, ugly, mean, something like that.

Chrisitne came to the door, i was surprised and totally lost control of my voice and my posture went flopping around like a rag doll. What was she doing here? I quickly maintained some composure and asked for Mrs Heinbuck. She hummed and hawed and said “sure, but she’s busy”, and i quickly interrupted and said, “ok, no problem, i’ll return later”…and i might have said, “thanks” and left nervously, awkward…..the beginnings of love?

I remember Christine being the sweetest thing that had grown in and around that neighbourhood and i talked to her, but once in my life, until last night. Last night we were in love, she was cuddled up beside me and i was telling her about the creation of the gelatine slides i produced that the producer of the CBC documentary on myself so much loved. Her father was curious and asked me numerous questions as Christine and i cuddled and laughed, hugged, joked and just loved one another. We were in tune, one love, immersed in a ‘now’ of sweet sweet young and tender romance.

That carried on until i awoke, sixty yeas later. Here in Mexico in some apartment over looking the pre dawn skyline of San Miguel de Allende. I instantly realized, deep, how i terribly miss that feeling of being in love. There is nothing in this life that can compare. Possibly that is why i have gone from one love to the next. When it faded, i faded and things fell apart. Apparently, there is a so called deeper ancient love that caresses the changes as they appear, possibly, but i believe most hang on out of fear, loss, loneliness and the horror, as one gets older, to die without any love at all.

Is it all about love, simple love, innocent love, deep torn worn love, love of every nature and how it weaves itself thru the strands of the mind and time, always ready to invite you in. Is mature love simple love made simple again? Possibly, but i desired that innocent, pure and fresh sweet spirit of new young love.

I loved you Christine, last night and possibly all my life was just waiting for this moment for you to appear. Now you’re gone and I’m back in the vacant neighbourhoods of my mind.

Every one is gone, returned to their ancient lives. Ted, my adopted little brother, Edjew and his pigeons and his beautiful sister Theresa, Helmut, my best friend from four houses down the road on Bismark Ave, Les, down the rail tracks across from the feared Hillers, the big gang of 13 kids up on that high hill over looking the territory. I never got to know them until i was a young man of 15 and entered high school with Mark Hiller in my class and now Joe, his older brother has been in and out of my life ever since. Just talked to him the other day. Reestablished our bond and now the last bend is sucking us around the last views. It won’t be long now.

Possibly Christine felt for me as i did for her, also, way back then. We were so in love last night. A few years later i met someone similar, Carolyn and she took me in for 6 years thru the storms and fantasies of the sixties and our youth. We had a love, as they say, you don’t find every day, karma possibly. The early moments of pure love, there is nothing worth more in this most weary world.

Carolyn in the seventies…which is after the sixties.

I went on to others, love has always been my deepest love, everything else is secondary, trite really. In my mind, woman are the flowers of paradise, their beauty is incomparable, their love is perfect, magnificent, tender and whole. Us men boys know this and they feel it.

Goodnite Christine, thanks for your love, our love, so close, pure and so long ago, I’m such a silly man.

Images and writing by patrick wey

PS: i don’t know anything for certain, cept, that no one else does neither, probably, fortunately………my heroes died long ago; the way is no way at all, so do what you will, but if you will……..be kind with love, that’s everything. 


Instant Revisit of this Article, a critique of sorts…

As in ‘Instant Karma’ a song written and performed by John Lennon, i felt this piece needed to be revisited instantly, even before i publish the original ‘writing’. There have been numerous ideas/concepts swarming around my skull in times of self doubt in the last month since i had began writing this ‘writing’. I felt the need to do an, ‘Instant-Revisit’ to ‘illusions of love and heroes..’

To begin with, i feel at times that this article paints me arrogant, full of shit, manipulative and a number of other negative characteristics that haunts my inner stability, so much so, that i thought that it would be a great exercise to point these issues out and do some in-article self therapy, analysis, transparency, as is often called in our modern times.

I do find it difficult to know whether my writing is any good at all, worth the while for anyone to spend the time to travel along these thoughts as they lay themselves out upon this dessert of nouns and coyotes on the run. I have had some positive encouragement by some of my friends that are respected in various fields from medicine, poetry, out-of-the-box thinkers, writers, artists and house wives to factory workers, a wide variety of our society…….but still, i just don’t know. CBC bought and played past work of mine including a multi-image show of Vern Harper some 25 years ago and did a documentary on myself entitled ‘A Path of His Own’. They highlighted my photography and a song i wrote, a ballad of Vern Harper explaining parts of his life. That is all so long ago, vague, irrelevant it feels. Possibly i am fooling myself again, in ways i can’t comprehend. How much of all this matters? Time passing by, so many roads, so many.

I live in a rather peculiar universe in my head and yes i suppose everyone does. But it is obvious that the majority of people have a variety of relatively common, traditional, trendy sets of heroes floating around their brains, like a carrot dangling in front of a mule, they believe, i don’t. I left all that behind years ago, i trust no one and question everything. It doesn’t take a genius to manoeuvre thru that suburb. And there are those in their high-rise cells that are terrified of flying any higher, sinking too low, so they attempt almost nothing out of the ordinary, follow the flow, live and criticize every attempt to release themselves and free themselves from their shackles and then curse them that are free.

That is the way i see it sometimes, often. It is difficult to understand realities and not fall into lecturing and yet teach somehow, someway. This has the danger of appearing arrogant and more so than that, being arrogant, preaching and not walking ones talk. That is the battle. I weave in and out of these terrains. 

I am not always strong, i am not always weak. I fear the unknown, i throw myself into it. I know much about uncertainty which is a mystery to me. I attempt to be honest and end foolish at times. I am not a liar, though i have lied, unintentionally. I mean well and have strived to be a good man and many times have failed miserably. 

Possibly these writings may have some meaning and can help another wanderer along his or her path. This life is extremely short when you round the last bends. It is important to make amends with others but more so to yourself. This self that is constantly on the move, rearranging itself, deteriorating, re-inventing its nature.
It is a mystery that i can feel love somehow everywhere for everyone and everything. Thoughts of jealousy, envy, conceit, deceit do swim in and out of my perception but ultimately love, caring, honesty, kindness is the truth that lifts my heart aware.
So with that i say i write and create artistic images purely for the world thru myself. May you get something from my endeavours. All my friends, enemies, acquaintances, for in the end, we all fall thru darkness into the light. That is what i tend to think……at the moment.
patrick wey

Covid Control Observations:
Since back in BC i realize more and more that this plan moving forward will need numerous individuals willing to control others and expose their behaviour for social credit scores. This procedure was much more dominant through-out the chain stores in Mexico as it has been here since day one. The giant Corporations are the first to implement new procedures for their One Governing agendas and smaller suffering stores follow suit and or die. An army of bullies world wide to execute the mandates. These mental types come from all classes; and social media to social credit is the path. We the passive will ultimately win thru eons of suffering. Hello new world coming, i’ll be out in the garden for now, for awhile, if you’re looking for me.
& ps: to klaus, billy, all the wives behind successful men, all your coconspirators, cronies……you’re all going down, there are many more of us than you may think, waking, seeing, preparing.

196 Image-Content of the Day 2018/09/07

196 Image-Content of the Day 2018/09/07 of-by patrick wey https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Two nieces whom are cousins, Susan and Cathy Gilchrist Schmidt. I remember that day when they tried to convince me that the Bay City Rollers were better then the Beatles. I had to laugh to myself and thought in a few years people will not even have heard of them, the Rollers that is…..my god they were young. Cathy has since passed away, bless her soul. Young girls along a row of maple trees in the rolling cattle fields of Formosa On.
circa 1976 or so


163 Image-Content of the Day 2018/08/05

163 Image-Content of the Day 2018/08/05 of-byhttps://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Suspenders and straw hats walking thru the concrete paradise
dreams of salvation lying in the furrows of their fields
baseball fun waiting in the sunday afternoon school house lot
generations of mennonite men and boys and dreams real and not….

See More

Patrick Wey

143 Image-Content of the Day 2018/07/16

143 Image-Content of the Day 2018/07/16 of-by https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
“You think i don’t know cause the way i’m dressed, the desperate walls i attempt. Well that’s not the way it is. Most of you could never walk the streets i walk but we are not that different. You would do what you have to if you had to but you don’t and that’s the difference. I look for a few cents, i scrounge around for food. Yes, i have relatives that don’t know me, don’t want to know. i have dreams and as ridiculous as they might be, they are not much different than yours. Here, take this portrait and show it around the world, it doesn’t matter a damn to me.”
I saw this shot, felt it, stole it quick, no thought but the camera, the angle, the reflection, the exposure, click………click click……..a nod of gratitude with a blink of the eye in a deep reverence and i moved into new territory. Sometimes it is like that, the ambiance dictates the move, the road pulls and i go.
Circa 80’s


105 Image-Content of the Day 2018/06/08

105 Image-Content of the Day 2018/06/08 of-by https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
‘The Ghost of Mennonite Past’ – There is a graveyard i had found in Mennonite country north of Elmira On area that had a few acres of pre-engine farm equipment. At the time the owner, My Bauman, i believe, told me he serviced people as far a Belize whom still farmed the old ways. I would go there occasionally and photograph the dead and dying remains of an era slipping away. I asked him one time if i could photograph him but he was shy and i said don’t worry i’ll get you as you work, no posing. I got this ghost like image with my camera on a tripod and a slower shutter speed. A few months later i went back and by luck he was there and i presented him with the photo. He appreciated it but it was no bid deal for him. There are many other images in my archives. That’s the story for today. circa 80’s


#95 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/29

#95 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/29 of-by https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Carl was a gentleman, always respectful and gentle in his nature. He drank at the Station Hotel, the American and the Grand Union; the East End was too rough and the Walper too gay. I traveled about and drank cheap draft beer in my younger days when i lived in studio spaces downtown between my ramblin about the world. I liked these characters, all with a history more interesting and tragic then the folk in the suburbs. All these local hotels are gone, burned to the ground or face-lifted out of recognition. Those were the nights of hard philosophy, wasted dreams caressed with friends, a time when the future was friendly, moments of deep love in the heart of the metal jungle. Where is all that now, that which we thought would live on, if not in forgotten corners of melancholy memories and twisted terrains slowly rusting away. Love, love, love gets its way…..the american hotel circa 1978 taken with my Minox 35mm camera


#94 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/28

#94 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/26 of-by https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Hello FaceBookFriends….I’ll be short! I am sorry if i have offended anyone especially with my lack of LIKES on your content. At my age i have taken on a lot more than i expected and now with a new unrelated career in the last year or so, i hope to possibly catchup financially, but have no time left for much else. I promised myself to eliminate Social Media for the most part, so i don’t get to see other content that can often take up more time than i can afford and consequently i miss viewing your content.
It has taken me years to collect images, develop negatives, contact and make prints; then i picked roughly 20K from 120k of colour and B/W’s and digitized them. That took years and each one still has to be adjusted and cleaned up to upload properly…..I know if i don’t expose them in the coming years i will die without having to share them with friends & humanity. Therefore i am determined to put up one image a day for an undetermined time period. I hope they are enjoyed. By the number of likes i get, i wonder at times but one must do what one feels appropriate for ones life and this is it for me, for now. So thanks to those that comment and ‘like’ these content/images and the effort it takes to make this happen…..cheers, meegwetch…….circa 1976 selfie


#92 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/26

#92 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/26 of-by https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Ted Zawadzki‘s wife of past and friend Marianne. I was attempting some Rembrandt lighting for my portfolio in my very early years of portraiture. Hello Marianne wherever you are, we had many great talks together. This lighting technique is generally softer and gives a natural look with both eyes lit and easy to do with minimal equipment. Many variations with a triangle of light on the one side without a shadow of the nose alone. Rembrandt used this lighting in most of his paintings because of the superb way it exposes the softer beauty of the subject. In this case my friend without question is very beautiful.


#90 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/24

#90 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/24 of-by https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
There are so many words well placed by this guy
for some people that have ears to hear
and here are but a few from ‘It’s Alright Ma’
on his 77th birthday…..
Wow, you lived a real sureal life Bob
thanks for describing my feelings so well
with every word, ‘like it was written in my soul’

Advertising signs that con you
Into thinking you’re the one
That can do what’s never been done
That can win what’s never been won
Meantime life outside goes on
All around you
You lose yourself, you reappear
You suddenly find you got nothing to fear
Alone you stand with nobody near
When a trembling distant voice, unclear
Startles your sleeping ears to hear
That somebody thinks they really found you
A question in your nerves is lit
Yet you know there is no answer fit to satisfy
Insure you not to quit
To keep it in your mind and not fergit
That it is not he or she or them or it
That you belong to
Although the masters make the rules
For the wise men and the fools
I got nothing, Ma, to live up to…..bDylan

I created this fake poster from one of my photographs;
just for the fun of it………patrickwey

Full version of ‘It’s Alright Ma’…. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mYajHZ4QUVM


#88 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/22

#88 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/22 of-by https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Hornby Island BC last Sunday exploring the amazing shore line with Heather and Doug Biggs. Yes, this is a puddle shot with an etched feather-like image of two trees. I am working on a series of trees reflected-painted-etched by Mother Gaia water-coloured puddle images. Ultimately, i prefer the image to dance on its own as with this beauty, but occasionally photoshop lends a hand.


#87 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/21

#87 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/21 of-by https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Sasha Alexandra Zaichanka dancing across a puddle of an image from my mind on beautiful Hornby Island BC yesterday exploring the amazing shore line with Heather and Doug Biggs. The sandstone sculptures lace the waters edge like a terrain from a sacred space rarely imagined.


#85 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/19

#85 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/19 of-by https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
Rain came pouring down, i was someone else, could have been a dream, not sure, so real, maybe another life time. I was traveling home down slippery streets, it was late in the afternoon, my brother behind heading from a church service in Heidelberg. I made it i recall from the memories left inside my head but my brother didn’t. I wrote these few thoughts down and scrambled onto something new, left that dream behind. Next day reading a local newspaper there hidden down in section two a short paragraph describing a mennonite man disappeared returning home from a church service with a broken photograph hanging from the text like a dream does when it makes no sense. It is all so surreal i thought this life and all its dreams…..the photograph was a peculiar shot, didn’t even look like me………could have been the late 1800’s, i was thinking to myself……….


#83 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/17

#83 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/17 of-by https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
A great wedding indeed Paddy Gillard-Bentley and Cas….26 years ago just yesterday.
I remember i was dressed like some weird traveller from a far off land like Mexico surrounded by a medieval wedding celebration in Europe somewhere. It was, yes, one of the most unique weddings ever. Take us back…..if only for a few long moments.

Patrick Wey

#82 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/16

#82 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/16 of-by https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day
I am afraid Vernon Harper never got to see many of these images, but many he did and i am sure he remembered the numerous moments we wandered around town together as i photographed him under so many circumstances. The only person i had documented so thorough in my life was my daughter Sierra Kachina whom passed away three years ago and also never got to see many of the photographs i took of her. Vern said, ‘often in life, you don’t get a second chance’. I had the strong urge to call Vern a month ago, and minutes turned into weeks and again a wake-up-call now lies sad in my heart. I have often thought of a book to find a home for many of these images but time and money has not allowed this to come together….perhaps now i can attempt to make this happen, if the ‘mystery be willing.’ Vern definitely did ‘live before he died’.
circa late 80’s early 90’s off spadina ave, toronto.

Patrick Wey

#81 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/15

#81 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/15 of-by https://blog.patrickwey.com/category/image-content-of-the-day

The original poem i wrote just after Bill died and before the funeral, is in the blog linked above. It was recited by my Jesuit priest friend John Veltri who encouraged this exposure (not of my premeditated thoughts) while my close friend Bruce Gremo played classical guitar. Many had attended and were sitting on the floor, standing to any corner left inside the room. Bill had a lot of friends, he was just thirty when he died of cancer in 1976, May 15. He used to joke with our sister Carolyn Roche that life begins at 40 and he let go of his pain that night on her 40th birthday. She is 82 today. Bill left behind a son Chris Smith whom he loved very much and often talked of him privately with me. Bill was my best friend, my big brother, three years older than myself with my brother Allyn in between whom also is extremely close. Lindsay Stewart ink sketched this picture from a photograph superbly and i thank him for that. The family had so few photographs of Bill. I was just beginning my life in photography that year therefore i have no images of Bill at all. I miss Bill often and i suppose i will till i’m also dispersed into the great mystery. If we’re lucky we have a special person in our lives to help us up when life gets us down; we did that for each other, and nobody has quite replaced him in that way since. His life in death has taught me many lessons. It never ends…….not yet! …….. remembering you today and sharing for the ones that might care….happy birthday Carolyn.

Patrick Wey



As he lies there
slowly turning to ashes
And time, past and future
all hurled into one
pointing our lives
to this tormenting moment
This shock of death
piercing its way
to our very souls
leaving – no escape
only tears dripping from eyes
hoping our pale cheeks
can absorb and calm the pain
This passing
completely unknown – to all here
right out of our hands
it has its say
without so much as a whisper
from our dampened lips
Tho, the fact
black as coal
still – leaves us uneasy
The glass of life
crumbled to bits
and remaining
only fragments to cherish
to linger indefinitely

Silently, the memories will come
and they will come
and come easy
for this man was a good man
a good, good man
like the rustling of the leaves
of some forgotten autumn night
and, lonesome of this world
it’s then, he’ll reappear
as the true friend he is.
the very image of his honest eyes
will say more
than a million written words
and to those who knew him
your memories will ring true
with the lessons
he has given
to his dying breath.

the pain we share
to see his vacant presence
there, in that form once his
can’t compare
to the suffering
in his long – last days
his eyes, truly in agony
his body, tormented to the marrow
now – in rest
slowly turning back
to whence it came

I pressed him, gently
with my hands
as his last breath
eased from his lips
and faded, slowly
to the heavens
and i felt deep, within my heart
the miracle of love
It would be Bills wish
to turn our pain – now
and forever
to the warm glowing love
let it be done

And may God
through brothers like Bill
make pure – all our souls.


your kid brother, pat