Or Possibly an Aneurysm

7:40 PM MAY 21 2009 ---KODIAK
An uneasy hush fell over the Borough Assembly Chambers as I brought my tirade to a close with a flourish and a fleck of foam. The members of the Assembly looked at me as though a bear was hanging over the lectern. I can hear the desperate clicking of the panic buttons hidden under the rim of the mahogany table: buttons that will summon the security gorillas from their basement lair with swinging batons and that pesky straightjacket. My time is short. So I gather my files and folders, leap to the aisle, shuffle sideways through the double doors and jump into the Jeep. I nose the Jeep up Pillar Mountain and park between the titanic feet of tomorrow’s windmills. They’d never look for me here.
They all think I’m crazy. The fools.
I began to hear whispers soon after I started preparations for my campaign for Governor of Alaska.

“Doc thinks you’re crazy.” Branson told me as we waited in line for a latte last Wednesday.
“That’s not a whisper.”
“He thinks you’re suffering from megalomania. Possibly brought on by a brain tumor.”
“Well, in my defense-- megalo is definitely one of the best manias. There have been some very high functioning megalomaniacs. And talk about a fun mania! You rip around all full of confidence and grand designs...”
“I think you’re just drinking too much coffee.”

Crouching over a small brown notebook in the Jeep I sipped my espresso and listened to the hum of electricity to be. Then I fell to work on my great work of literary import- Kodiak: A Play in Three Acts. All the jigsaws are flying recklessly into place.
Soon I will be deep in the Western Gulf, witching whales and putting pieces of Pollock into the great circle of life. Under me, in the black bottom of the sea, a fish awaits his fate.