Blatant Misuse Of Power

We went from a quick flash of summer, a quarter’s worth of stripper boob through a peepshow window, on Saturday to today. Saturday was glorious, again one of those days that can make you forget the psychic trauma of winter in the “Pee En Dub” as the kids are calling it (PNW, or Pacific Northwest).

Again, no kids are calling it this, and if they are it should stop immediately. I recommend full scale street war if necessary; sling shots that fire bags o’ poo, Molotov cocktails in empty energy drink cans with the exploitive name of “Joose” printed on the side.

But Saturday, insanely clear and sunny and warm; I left the show Saturday night at ten something, walking out through the backstage doors to air that still felt way warm and inviting of delicious trouble. I was reminded of late summer nights in a Central California college town, of cheap booze and smokes and nowhere to go and little to worry about. It was an interesting next chapter to the remembered feelings of being twelve and in love for the first time that came earlier that day.

And today, filled with rain and lightening and thunder and hatred for the job I find myself doing. Almost as if on a psychic whim, I glanced up through the window in time to see a molten flash of lightning over the hills and past the freeway. I secretly wished for some anomaly in the air, in the radio and cell phones waves cruising through that air, to carry that lightning to me on buffeting pulses and charge it directly into my soul.

Then, through my fingertips, I would show those in the cubes around me that I am definitely done fucking around.