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LIQUID GOLD It accomplishes what theorists, from Aristotle to Marx to Galbraith, have failed to produce: a Utopian State - state of mind that is. Because, while attentively listening to its ramblings (or while under its influence if you prefer), the world -for a momentary glimpse of time- is perfect. Your friends are funny, your girlfriend is pretty - the rigors of work a distant fuzzy memory. There exist no obstacles: you possess the pugilistic prowess of Mohammed Ali, Don Juan's charisma, and the financial resources backing Bill Gates. Both regret and fear dwell elsewhere. But, like all good things -as Adam, Eve, the Romans and M.C. Hammer can quantitatively testify- every good time consists of both a beginning and a conclusion. After which, chaos usually reigns: exile to the hinterland, barbarian raiders, creditors with grudges, beer stained jeans, vomit stained jeans, piss stained jeans, beer and vomit and piss stained jeans, nasty headaches, exorbitant Visa and Master-card bills, black-eyes, groveling to your girlfriend, letters of apology to the city, and even an occasional night spent on the hard bench in the local hoosegow! The twin nomads fear and regret have found a new home. Until, that is, they are banished once again, the following weekend (Happy hour at Spud's Pool Party bar & tavern 4 till 7 except Sundays, when it lasts all day) or night if you're lucky-with that first sip of Liquid Gold.