the hobble goblin is alive and well and eating cupcakes

I am on drugs.  It’s 4 am; I’m in my hotel room.  I am Kerouac or Ginsberg or some other guy famous for stealing the early morning hours and trying to swim the drug haze with a snorkel and a Macbook, set up to catch the ideas that swim like so many fish around my swirly mind. In truth, I can’t sleep because of the knee pain, and I can’t think very straight because of the Percocet.  I don’t mind these morning hours.  It’s currently early afternoon in my other motherland, that sweet, sweet Armenia.  I’m hoping to catch a…