More Mumbling

I can almost hear my eyes creak, opening to blue slices of pale sunshine through the thin blanket. The pattern on the couch is familiar, still glimmering darkly from last night’s festivities. Growling, I pull myself to my feet and look around the room. Empty beers, something cheap, crowd the table and cluster by the feet of chairs, ashtrays overflowing.
-- What happened last night?
-- Ambushed by lysergic storm troopers.
Of course. Why I still feel bubbly, wobbly as a Jello salad. We observed the table as some distant coral reef.. And giggling we recalled when, with unreliable gait, I found myself stranded on a glacier, which was really an icy driveway.
-- Any of that crummy dust left?
-- Some, but you can’t both sneer and smoke.. Pick one or the other.
-- Jeez, won’t you have some coffee first?
We saw the edges glistening in shy suggestion of another realm, we saw the pinpricks of the cosmic light that gleamed through the wispy substance of this veil, we laughed at the massive cosmic joke. Then one character began speaking only in gibberish.

Some sniffingly disdain such people as those who resist growth, who seek to maintain their youth in the perpetual Now. There may be some purchase to this analysis, but my own idealist pragmatism stays unchanged. What good does such a conclusion do me? Am I to avoid the very people who offered me their shelter and shared with me their food? Such is the burden of the informed: what do I do now?