the state of affairs at this moment

Right now I’m looking at a glass of beer and thinking very hard. I’m experiencing a deep ambiguous longing that’s perhaps crossing the line into desperation. The beautiful waitress clearly does not like me. The fat waitress however is constantly looking over at me while doing other things, failing to hide her own human desperation. I certainly can identify with her position and yet I want nothing to do with her, just as the pretty thin blonde waitress wants nothing to do with me. It’s a weird rejection triangle. There’s a clever term: rejection triangle. It makes me wonder who’s sitting at the top of this food chain of longing and rejection. Who is it that rejected the beautiful waitress? Ah, but enough of that. I go back to looking at the fine glass of Duvel and pondering my own issues. Sitting alone, staring off into space over a glass of beer, and meditating on god knows what kind of hopes and dreams very much reminds me of myself in 2006. Those were better, more luminous times. The road was more open back then. I didn’t own anything but my own convictions. I felt free, totally fearless. Yes, if there’s anyone in the world who can help me now it’s the Joseph of 2006 or thereabouts. If only I could channel some of his energy. He was inspiration on the move. He acted with authentic spontaneity. He had the urgency of a man who knew the world was ending. He was young and alive and on an honest-to-god crusade. Now, somehow, only four years later I’m tired and sick and frightened. In 2006 I felt as though the clock were ticking, as though youth were ending and this were the eleventh hour. Now I know I was right. I burned the fire of youth’s last hours in that weird Vltava dusk, in that “purple haze” of psychedelic intensity. Now I know I was right. Sadly and weirdly enough, I survived the end of the world: my own personal apocalypse. And what can possibly follow that act? Nothing good I’m sure. I desperately wish I could channel that lightning one more time –and perhaps I will. Its do or die this year. It’s time to “storm and break out” from this line of artillery that’s got me hemmed in on Grant Street. One way or the other, I’m going to turn thirty in Sakartvelo. I’m going to find the kingdom of heaven. I’m going to look into love’s eyes and demand: “Answer me!” Until then I will pray and meditate, live the best I can, and storm the gates of the kingdom one more time. I remember myself when I was twenty-five. That’s the self I need to keep with me always. I can still find him. I look up and can’t help but notice that the beautiful waitress is smiling at me.