"Twenty-three" by MC Lars

Dear Pat People ,

Andrew Nielson (MC Lars), a roommate of Pat's at Stanford, has written a song, which he wanted to share. It's part of his latest album This Gigantic Robot Kills, which has been well reviewed thanks in large part to "Twenty-Three," the song he wrote for Pat. Check out this review, which Andrew sent to me: http://changetherecord.net/2009/01/18/mc-lars-this-gigantic-robot-kills-2/

The album is available on Amazon, but "Twenty-Three" can be downloaded at this link courtesy of Andrew:

http://mclars.com/mp3s/albums/2009%20-%20tgrk/08%20Twenty-Three.mp3

"Twenty-Three" is a lovely tribute, beautifully written and produced. Andrew has dignified the life and death of Pat in an intimate and eloquent way. Please join me in congratulating him for his artistry, and join me also in supporting him by purchasing the album on Amazon.

All my gratitude, Andrew,

Pat's mom

Pat at Stanford

"Twenty-Three"

lyrics by MC Lars

music by James Bourne



I don't sleep, because sleep is the cousin of death



Down the hall, there's a kid that I know

He's kind of quirky so I say hello

He's so sarcastic but he's always right

Working on those problem sets late into the night

Mad magazines sit piled by his bed

A million brilliant thoughts going all through his head

We bike to class in the autumn rain

He tells me that he's fine but I know he's in pain

Pat I miss you dude it's so hard to say goodbye

In Europe last winter you were tired of the lie

Monoxide in the bathroom but the door was locked

We were always there for you, you could have called and talked

I felt guilty and alone and so sick when I discovered

You did it in Berlin, you'd just talked to your mother

I guess it was too much, depression disillusion

Maybe suicide's an answer, but it wasn't the solution



CHORUS:

And I wish that you hadn't done it

Could have won it and moved on from it

And we could have grown old together

But instead you'll always be 23.... 23.



We sat together one night on El Camino

On the bench by the bus stop hiding from El Nino

You told me your secret I just sat there in shock

You couldn't tell your parents, you couldn't break that lock

Cognitive dissonance, trapped in your shell

Depression and regression made your life a living hell

The pain was too intense, the fence too strong to break

So you went to Germany, it was too much to take

You came back broken hearted distracted by the dream

The worlds collided now, college wasn't what it seemed

You went to back to Berlin to find yourself once more

They broke down the door and found you lying on the floor

I took the Amtrak up the coast, your mom met me at the station

I went to see your house and photos of your graduation

We drove to your grave, no tombstone where you lay

Your freshmen yearbook's by your bed and your room's in disarray



CHORUS



(vocal samples recorded spring 2003)



Lars: Ladies and gentlemen, I want you to meet a good friend of mine, this is Patrick Wood!

Pat: What's up Lars?

Lars: What's up Pat?

Pat: How you doing man?

Lars: Good. What do you think of me having my recording equipment take up three quarters of our small room in the Kimball dorm?

Pat: It's no problem man, I love you.

Lars: I love you too Pat.

Pat: Thanks Lars.

Lars: Pat Wood! Hey that's you.

Pat: (Sarcastic laughter)



CHORUS:

And I wish that you hadn't done it

Could have won it and moved on from it

Now we'll never grow old together

But you're in my memory, 23... 23.



Suicide sucks.

Year Three

~A place for Patrick,

in the city he loved~

Patrick Wood, 1982~2006

On Patrick's bench at the Stanford Center in Berlin.
Photo by Jutta Ley, Winter 2008

Dear Friends and Family of Pat,

Thank you for another year of cards, letters, well-wishes, and heartfelt thoughts. I have reread your Christmas cards and can't help but shake my head at the time you took to connect, especially when it was a connection miles away from a holiday celebration. I am not much farther along in understanding, but I am heartened that you continue to show support for someone no longer here but not gone. Just knowing that the ever-present paradox is shared works miracles. It's as if I handed my life over, and you rebuilt it. I guess that's one lesson with which I've come away: if you are lucky enough to be surrounded by good people, you can survive anything, even (as I anticipate) your own death.

I'll pass on a good quote by Ezra Pound from a steadfast cousin in Alaska. "A poem is a momentary stay against confusion." Meaning is rare and precious, but it does come from the greats who went before. They have endured all and steer with wisdom born of hardship and eloquence. I include your letters and kind deeds in that category. You have astounded with your tributes to Pat, including Andrew Nielson releasing a song he wrote called "Twenty-three;" Libby designing t-shirts to help with her reflections yesterday; Pomfret School awarding $1,000 to incoming freshmen in Pat's name. Last year, two incredibly talented students received it; Tobi creating a stunning pictorial essay of Berlin, which I hope he will not mind me including here :) ; Joe and Tibor sending birthday wishes on the blog; Jutta sending the picture of Pat's snow-covered plaque above; my cousin Karen calling regularly while her own sister was dying of breast cancer; and my cousin Polly starting a Day of Silence, a nationwide recognition that gay students must be silent about their identity. She started it in Pat's memory at her school in Long Island. I'm working on a similar program at my school.

And just when I think the list of kind deeds is finished, I remember that yesterday, as I was writing this note, my dear friend Nora came to say good bye to an old horse who will soon be underground with other equine friends at the top of our fields. At twenty-nine, he is older than Pat would have been. He has seen the comings and goings of our entire family. For most of those years he stationed himself to view the house. Neither dog nor fellow horse dared to obstruct his monitoring. And if he spotted you around feed time, he whinnied to remind you who came first. We had a good cry outside with him in the freezing January wind. We thanked him for the many thrills he had given us--thrills not entirely expected like walking over small trees to scratch his stomach, letting himself out of latched doors to roam and snack freely, finding food in pockets with a muzzle like an opposable thumb. That muzzle is now covered with incurable infection, and when the light in his eye grows dim, we will attempt to open the frozen ground one more time, much like we did for Pat three years ago.

Thank you as always for listening, reading, and writing. Your shared sadness pulls me out of the vacuum into which I descend to think about Pat.

All my love,

Lisette

Published by Pat's Dad in the Woodstock Villager 1~31~09