The following are excerpts of passages expressed by Phil in
his final weeks and dictacted haltingly to his nurses
during moments of lucidity:
There's an eagle flying above cliff's head and no one can tell which way
the bird is headed. He seems so direct and so sincere and he flies so
straight. A golden eagle and its golden nature with time to spare.
that eagle is going to be mine some day.
I am going to possess the wilderness and I'm going to show it to the
world as a clean hospitable place of beauty and not the ugly pathetic landscape
we have come to know. There's plenty of gunsmoke in the air. But
that doesn't make the beauty less grand. There's plenty of sparks in
the air, but that doesn't make the fire bad. Give me some peace.
This part of my composition is a little bit stranger than all the
othersit's a lot more verbose. But I love words and love using
them. The next generation of words will show that. Words are like
leaves dropping off a tree, and they are all precious and dear. There's
a place in the back of my bedroom where back thereI'm afraid to go
where anyone else writes because the power there might short-circuit
my own creativity.
I have no more pencils. I have no more pencils to write with. There's
nothing else to say. The drummer boy has a phrase or two he'll let
you hear, but not today.
I wish I could just say, "I got this problem, can you help me with
This is going to be the last writing for awhile. I'm wild with hurt,
wild with pain. My head is splitting and I haven't thought of anything
else to say or any way to end this. I know I could probably think of
something but it would probably take up all my energy. So good night
and see you soon.