don't interrupt or get up while the heart is rending,plea?

promptly home from a sublime session,
basking and hounding in the assemblage of variegated souls' ethos concering living without bottles for awakening(falsie) insight-replete personal truths bandied about and I nearly always smile when some young adult 'gets it' and begins anew thislife where they leave the drinking of ethyl alcohol to those who can hack the stuff(evile potion not for us works fine(i guess) for them what ain't alkified and petrified of being ossified.
not just because an oddball like myself attends, but it's gotta treely take ALL kinds: who would 'magine we ourselves would be the kind who would fashion bonds, especially since the split moment the meet ends, most of us head for our keys and cars and check our text messagings et al.,of a time we truly get on one anothers' last nerve connexions,
a soul this morn 'pert near blew my mind with some off-hand spiteful phraseology, as happens,,so following customs(since I neither puff nor chew(Confucious say Manyman smoke but Fu Man Chu), so i had in my toolkit repertoire theoryset no exit(recalling the play Huis Clos/No Exit by Msr. Sartre, in his own way a very sociable sort, sitting at his stool and sipping wine whilst penning a work of grandeur, who had one of the three characters in one penultimate scene state "...Hell is...other people."
(astronaut at close quarters and those with bellowing woofer-bending neighbors can relate, though, and sometimes i sincerely wish a couple 'three of my cow-orkers might share in the Irish Sweepstakes or some such and move forwards on their destiny, smiling and out of my earshot with a cackle,) I arose after plunking something in the fraying basket and grabbed a half watery half full potency cup of meeting coffee, which must be this here world beneath the cloud's muckiest and mulchiest, and the decalf is hard to tell from the regular(not that I'd dare, I 'd be up for a day and a half,sure) It could lead a bowbreaking mutineer on a red morn to swear off the rum, chum.
My limmae of impolitienss at the meets is that, for as rude as I may be to myself and my loved ones, at the groups I'm little Ms Helpfulness and let's all help one another heal.
it does bugger me when dolts ,at times, move about so carelessly whilst someone is sobbing or sharing or son-of -a biscuitying their individualized this-lifetime-aha-I've-got it-nowexperience-epiphany("...and I just realized right then that, I-Need-You-Guys-To-Stay-Sober, y'see?") {that would be my epiphanetic moment,I recall}
Listening to some krsn das and his posse of background voices: I'm certainly not Hindu, though as a lad in my teens, tee-shirts sporting the visage of His Holiness Ganesh, Him of the elephantine ways, as you well know, were very much in the 'in' pigeonhole. It was peculiar how back then, with all the emphasis on doing-one's-own-thing, the clothes police only permitted certain era's(like the twenties or the gay 90's look) and to wanna be a forties-sort-of-soul(not that my mind stretched that far, I mean there was a war going on, for gosh sake) would have been ouster-batter from my clique of similars.
One time even got into a sorta-foodfight with a fellow because I wouldn't admit that I had never even heard a single song off of a Deep Purple album, yet I was dissing it
and he got me good, saying "Oh, you're just saying that album is crummy cuz Bushman says it is"(Bushman was a fellow named after a former deceased-and-stuffed ape who had lived to be nearly fifty at the Brookfield Zoo in Chicagolandand he was wisely, in 'most all matters, our leader and groovy gurdjieff type)
and what irked me most about the guy was(his rebuff to my musical critique) was that he was,
of course
utterly,completely, indefensibly
correct