Gingerbread Dead

If I lived in a gingerbread house, I would be overweight.

If I had a gingerbread girlfriend, I would need a new one every day. Great mobs would gather around my half-eaten gingerbread house and chase me through the streets, calling me Hannibal the Gingerbread Cannibal. But no one would understand: I just can’t help myself.

Is that icing on your face… ?



White sugar devils

I darted across the street to the liquor store at Normandie and Hollywood. Yes, the one Bukowski talked about robbing in “Tales of Ordinary Madness” (page 7). But I was not here to rob the place or even get a drink. My soul felt empty but I knew the truth. That goddamn sugar addiction. It had been my birthday and I said yes too many times and here I was finally eating Thia food in Thiatown (only because I know how much it upsets everyone when I eat Thia food in Chinatown). But I was unsatisfied. I was offered all the depraved delights of man but I wanted one thing to fill that hole in my soul. SUGAR. Three days of cold turkey would be needed soon, but not tonight. I’ll kick tomorrow as “they” all have said a thousand promise-filled nights.

The liquor store was neon bright but there was darkness in the air. I talked myself into a lower dose and just got an ice-cream bar. The man at the counter did not look me in the eyes when he scanned the item. “Holy Jesus!” i said, as the price $2.89 came up. I am going to quit this shit…tomorrow.