Van full of drunk punks . . . It will be two months since it happened and I’ve been waking up with Peter in my thoughts, recalling our travels, adventures and misadventures together. I remember being in a van full of X’s friends and entourage. “X” was LA’s premier punk era band and I, like many others, was in awe of them, thrilled when Peter introduced me. He had been part of their inner circle while previously living in Los Angeles. This wild ride occurred while Peter and I were still living in San Francisco. X was in town to play a show and we were headed to a party after the gig, a gaggle of us crowded into the back, Peter and I crouched against one wall facing several members of the Blasters who had shared the bill with X. Things were verging on pandemonium as we were all jostled about. I won’t name names but at one point-completely unprovoked—the drummer reached over and shoved his hand between my legs and up my skirt. I was shocked, may have screamed, and Peter, outraged, lunged at him. Excene, sitting queenly up front, yelled, John Doe pulled the van over and Peter and the drummer tumbled out, fists flying. I think it was John that pulled them apart. Excene was angry and exasperated with Peter and said something like, “What could you two possibly have to fight about?” Peter told her what had happened. I don’t think she believed him or just shook her head and walked away, Peter shouting after her that she was lucky to have all the friends and supporters she did and that “Heather has no one.” Years later, after John and Excene broke up and Peter and I went our separate ways, he and Excene hooked up for a while, so I don’t know, maybe she was harboring feelings for him and was jealous. Whatever. It’s ancient history but it’s true, I was a nobody. I had no one, was just some girl from small town Canada trying to be a rock star, but I had Peter. To him I was somebody. Beyond chivalrous, he was my advocate, partner, lover, and friend. Beyond identifying with the underdog, Peter was a populist and we used to talk about our vision of Utopia, a place where everyone is an artist and the artist in everyone is embraced.

So what is going on with the universe? One of my relatives called on Saturday, in shock, saying that a friend of her’s had been shot, in his driveway, six times and didn’t die! I have to think he must be selling something else besides real estate.

There has been a lot of horrific violence too close to home this year. While Roderick and I were on tour this summer, a young woman from Salt Spring Island, a model, was murdered in China. They weren’t exactly close, she was probably more an acquaintance than a friend, but he was stunned by it. Naturally. You shake your head and wonder. All you can do. Then I wonder why my brain isn’t working so well. My head has been fucked with in a major way lately. I keep saying I am having a hard time assimilating it all.

Nov. 7, 2008

I didn’t know dogs were grazing animals! My AmStaffs (American Staffordshire Terriers), Brinda and SamIAm are the source of much amusement, how they earn their kibble, their most important function in fact, besides guarding the house and property. When I take them out for a walk, they must stop and sniff so many things along the way including any and all previous pee and poop. They often pause to bicker, SamIAm, the younger of the two, charging Brinda until she growls and snaps at him. He really does behave like an obnoxious teenager doing everything he can to irritate. This morning, they both jumped into the pond for a drink, chewing on the tender grasses in the water. I have heard this is good for their digestion but apparently that’s pure speculation. No one seems to know exactly why they do this. I know SamIAm eats it because Brinda does. He copies many of her behaviours but not all, thank Christ, because she has some seriously annoying bad habits. I cannot break her of jumping on people. She is hyper vigilant and so excitable whenever people come around. Sam made me laugh so hard on the way back. He jumped into the rushing creek and started biting at the white stuff, the frothing water.

Nov. 5, 2008

Thank God the Americans got out and voted and elected Barak Obama for president! Did the right thing. On our tiny island of 3500 people last night were two gatherings which became celebrations thank Christ. I couldn’t sleep the night before and it wasn’t due to my normal insomnia. I was very excited and anxious about the U.S. election. I was not going to take for granted an Obama win. One group rented the local cinema to watch returns together and another was at a friend’s large rambling house near the Cove. FC had an official Obama/Biden sign on his fridge. Originally from the Buffalo, NY area, he has lived happily in Canada since 1970. Fortunately, the anticipation was finally over and we got to crack open the bubbly pretty early it seemed.

My greatest hope is that maybe the rest of the world can stop hating America so much. They have a leader at last that has more charisma, intelligence and acumen than JFK or Bill Clinton, neither of whom could keep it in their pants. No politician can be entirely sincere, but they can be visionary and I believe Obama is. He is also a savvy strategist, a brilliant orator, and managed to appear more presidential than any other candidate in recent history.

Why am I trying to convince anyone of anything? I met a miserable old coot at the gathering who prided himself on his technophobia and anti-social nature. He spent a lot of time complaining about bad art and computer generated effects. I called him a snob, an elitist, and then I wondered why I care at all what people like him think.

Replied to a concerned friend friend today, thanks for asking and you know what, I am having a hard time dealing with Peter’s murder. Still. I’m angry! Feeling sick often, sad, mopey, depressed, inert. I feel betrayed, furious that that asshole took Peter away from all of us. I didn’t know how much Peter meant to me. Understanding that now is part of the pain, that I didn’t express it to him. I just figured I’d see him in LA in the not-too-distant future, that we’d hang out and catch up, like old times. Our rapport, our bond, remained, but he did not, and I couldn’t see it coming. How could I have imagined that our supposed mutual friend would shoot him dead? I see now too that Peter helped pull me out of a deep depression. I was miserable, lost, confused. We did so many wild and fun and creative things together. Obviously any future as friends is cruelly gone, over. Yeah, I’m still grappling with it.