I in flight; the Institute, in phase change.

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The plaster bust was a welcomed gift from Shawn Kornhauser

Yesterday was Halloween, with sheets of rain. Halloween: what an apt night for the Philadelphia Institute for Advanced Study to shed its earthly coil; leaving behind the bulk of its brick and mortar and planks and drywall. I sat for a while, in my office— my Studium— for the last evening ever, pondering a plaster bust of myself… Three years, nearly, given over. And yet, I couldn’t find room for sentimentality. I was only thinking in terms of release.

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And what am I saying? Three years? Really six years… I’m more or less resigning myself to part-time citizenship in the city I love, full of dearly beloved, but still— not a tear… I really hate goodbyes. Me and Institute will roam the World Between. Ghostly beings, consummated, having transcended into Pure Idea.

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Halloween night, and lights strobe in the standing shell. Fake spider webs. A paper epitaph for the Institute. Bands lug instruments. Old friends wander. Sienna plays a Dutch girl. I play a “rogue,” or a “sexy” homeless man. The party starts and fills with creatures.

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The Institute is emptied, dark, and pure. I look over the space from above, taking in its enormity. Take pictures. Throw poppers. Dance. Jonny Santoro accidentally puts his shoulder through a window. The bathroom sink is covered in blood. People stand over, nursing and annoying him. Everyone gets a little messy; occasionally mushy. The night dimly ends and we almost make it to a diner. The whole thing was more like a memory, like a shadow play, than a night in the life of a man.

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Daylight reveals a minor mess that has to be cleaned before Monday— before the keys change hands. Still, no teardrops. Only eagerness. Plans and paperwork. A broad and inviting  future. We sweep glass, dust, clear and reorganize. The last minutes tick by. Where’s my phone charger? We go to Paradise diner. The atmosphere is too good and too warm. I half-wanted to leave on a miserable day, didn’t I?… Damn, the first twinge… Philadelphia, my spiritual estate. Promised Land of the Irrepressible. Say Goodbye.

The sky is sharp. We pack. Loose ends. Leave the key in my office door. Things are cheerful. Then, a last snapshot or two. Is there anything we’re forgetting? I want a picture of Richard Davis and I, shaking hands— a portrait of partnership. While shaking his hand, I realize I’m shaking the hand of the most amazing person that I know. A real Mush Moment.

I try to hide the pang under the cover of words and dashes, but it doesn’t help when I look over and see Sienna sobbing and dripping wet mascara down her mother’s shoulder. Fortunately for us men, we can always stifle our effusions by teasing women for theirs… There, there.

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