I ask again, and evermore, what is life? I don’t claim to have shopped enough or seen enough sunlight refracting off red rocks in remote desert locales from my seat in a hot spring lithium bath to know.

I do know that life feels DEEP lately. We lost Christopher Lee. Suicide.

I don’t want to just be a steward of memories.

I imagine that those who leave this earth by their own hand are finally free from the grief and pain they did not know how to escape. Those of us left here with their memories must daily sweep the same corners, and find ways to make our beds with clear eyes. I feel particular compassion for those of us who were the first to find and name the remaining bodies. The role we’ve played is both regrettable and close to god (or whatever you comfortably call that entity/notion).

PAUSE

I saw Silver Linings Playbook last night. I loved it. I just love a romance. Is that terrible? To some, it is terrible. I’m not looking for penny candy, long nightgowns, candles in iron candle-holders held aloft with a finger loop, or piano lessons in a parlor. I’m just looking for some good lovin’ from a quality human. If that makes me NELLIE OLSON THEN FINE.

Today I met my deeply wonderful friends Ray and Patty at the Venice skatepark. It was fairly busy, and a thick snake of tourists pushed against the railing to watch skateboarding and California happen. I performed skating in a Mellow Way. Snake run many times, middle bowl a few times. Local super-shredders Shane Borland and Chris Russell were out, getting everyone stoked. Toward the end of our tenure at the park, a wonderful, shining, beautiful woman appeared. Like she had ripped herself out of a John Hughes movie. She looked like Brooke Shields meets Kristen Stewart, with olive skin. Thick eyebrows, gorgeous long, dark brown wavy hair blowing out behind her as she skated the snake run. I fell in so much passion with her I couldn’t believe it. As of now I think I will bring her to mind at least once a day for the rest of my life. She was wearing a cream color, collared blouse buttoned all the way to the top. Black tight jeans, navy blue woven belt and black Chuck Taylor high tops. She was so fine it was insane. I was wearing my purple TITS (the band) shirt…”TITS” is written in huge hot pink letters. With ENORMOUS tan shorts (me truly bottoming out with my body dysphoria…bought a pair of size 11 new shorts at the Log Shop’s closing sale. Get it together, lady.) I felt like such a clown next to the vision of what I WANTED to look like. Her eyes were dark and moody and wouldn’t look at anybody while she was skating. She had great skate style. Appeared that she was with some generic-looking skate doodz. I’m sure they’re wonderful people. But who is SHE. I didn’t even know how to ask because I felt like I would just be like, “Hello can I kiss your face into mine?” And she would be like, “GO AWAY GAY CREEP.” and I would never get over it. So I really prevented anything bad from happening in my life ever by just staying away and feeling like Cher next to Joni Mitchell yet again (buffoon to genius).

Unrelated (?) thought: Rihanna’s performance of “Stay” on SNL. Holy bittersweet dysfunctional devotional love from a bruised land. Dear goddess, keep her in your sweet palm and never let her go.