Chilled distilled life

All of a sudden, for no apparent reason,
I want to be sitting at one of those courts
where Thai people go for beers and snacks.
An occasional foreigner can be spotted there,
brought by his local date, disoriented, out of place,
too dumbfounded to even be amused.
I want to be more bewildered than him,
for I'd go there alone, on my own accord.
I want to be a stuttering weird-worded weirdo,
speak Thai with a waitress
who’s expecting English.
I want to feel self-conscious,
stared at, gossiped about,
at least in the perceptual trap
of my paranoid thoughts.

I want to be dragged out of my comfort zone,
be derailed from the commuter course of my circular thinking.
I want to overcome that first spell of embarrassment,
and start to observe everything
from a different angle.
I want to build new, productive synapses,
connect old neurons in airy new ways,
reach out for the Big Bang of novel ideas,
a still unexpanded space where events can’t take place
and yet, paradoxically, already there, up for grabs.
I want to emit ampler, rounder brain waves,
reboot my sensors, for too long clogged-up
and perceive the ensuing post-release nervous shock.
I want to make contact with the core of my soul,
take a throat-biting sip of chilled distilled life.