there’s a hiss and sputter behind the humm that accompanies me everywhere i’ve gone since december 22nd.
the word melancholia jumped the line in my head, milliseconds before typing “depression,” in the note-title.
preparing a literal disclaimer;
at the risk of tipping my hand, i’ll say this glorious sadness, this magnificent weight – the color sunset assigned me by my dearest friend on the planet when her departure was imminent was here, in this sky, somewhere…….
…while christopher hitchens still roamed (well, maybe not “roamed”) the earth. i bring this up because of the interview i was listening to while working in my space. entitled, “All Of Life Is A Wager” (the interview at the link), he, in the gray-throes of chemo, could have been comfortable in a candid conversation regarding life and death with me and my dearest friend.
once you’re in the game, you really get the lingo.
and the interview crystallizes this point – luck – and makes me feel that the green felt that i continually imagine everything, everywhere is carpeted with (you need only to scratch the surface) is part of the biggest, grandest casino that stretches over time, space and all good parking lots.
i bring up parking lots because of the conversation i had with that lizard guy (who looks like omar sharif and sounds like eduardo ciannelli) the last time i went to the beach where maxx frolics while i looked for the big tire (i still do that) and spoke to my friend out over the green sea (of green felt), though i fear at times that the roar of the universe might be getting in the way of our words.
i can’t not cancer too often and can only not when dwelling on other pains.
i consider the pain in my right arm and say, “lucky it’s not my left arm.”
for me, that’s all i need to say. richard pryor explains below;