The Stage

From here, I see it all. The power to enflame a crowd, the power to transmit my message. I'm not on top of wooden planks, I'm on top of the World tonight. The hands I touch, they're changed forever, while for me it's still another sticky feeling on my palm at the end of the evening. The girl I pull out of the crowd, she's going to talk about this for months, while to me it's just another faceless body, yet another ecstatic fan.

I love my job. I hate my job.

Does it make sense? I'm not sure. I'm not sure it makes sense that my job exists, that my job gives me this unbounded power over the people I can touch with my voice. Whatever message I want to transmit, I can do it. I use the tools I have, every year some new ones, and I change the path of the people who cross me. I'm glad I'm with the good guys. There's such a feeling of alienation in all this. I love the feeling of empowerment, but I hate the same people who give it to me. I hate their morbid curiosity, the fact that they strip me of my privacy, and yet, they are the very thing that keeps me going. I'm at the same time one with my audience, and separated from it. I enjoy my never ending popularity, and I hate it for the things it steals from me.

Love, hate. Power, weakness. Is mine a job, or is it a mission? The border is not that clear. I cross it, deliberately, and then I step back, afraid of what I've done. My ends will never meet anymore. I've become a prophet, in spite of me.