by M i k e M c G o n i g a l

  "Junk is no good baby"--Byron Gysin





I cannot conceive of a life without junk food, without the
rush of getting high, of getting off, of feeling light, of
feeling lighter, of the chocolate melting in my mouth and not
in my hands, of a weekend that doesn't end with a good nod,
of a day where my blood sugar level does not soar through the
roof.  I do horrible things to my body under the pretense of
pleasure.  My teeth are plaque-damaged from years of sugar
abuse, my stomach a massive monument to Milky Way bars.  I'm
trying to figure out a lot of shit, like: What is junk, and
why do I like it so much? 

 The junk gets in you and it never
leaves.  Picturing the insides of my body, along with the
usual red meat and gristle and nerve bundles, I imagine an
invisible system: a capillary-like complex of plasticky
tubing that pulses nonstop, sending a foamy, cream-colored
insulation-like liquid to every cell.  (Since I was a kid and
saw biological textbooks with their cross-sections of human
anatomy, this is how I've conceived of my 'soul.')  I've
daydreamed that if I were to kill myself, I'd slice very
deeply into my wrist, but no blood would come out.  Instead,
white foam would issue forth from the bursted soul tubing,
very much like a can of Reddi-Whip being turned upside down
and emptied.  As I slip away into the warm bathtub water, I
bend over and put my tongue to the creaminess.  Its taste is
the same as the center of a Twinkie.






     I was birthed through the mouth of instant gratification.  I
grew up, sort of, with Sesame Street and Oscar M-a-y-e-r and
Hamburger Helper and Goofy Grape, and if I need it I need it now
and it better have lots of red dye number two.  What is the taste
of modernity?  A glass of Tang, or a bottle of Coke?  Does Coke
really take the paint off a car hood?  Did the astronauts really
drink this gross fucking orange-flavored sugary shit up on the
moon?  Well, I didn't mean for this to be a pop culture quiz.  The
point is that if desire is not brightly packaged I am not
interested in it.  I crave processed sugar molded into strange
little shapes, covered in brightly-colored bite-sized artificial
flavorings, wrapped up in plastic and aluminum foil.  I have a
great trust in pre-packaged, individually wrapped junk food; I
guess it was one of the first things that really made me feel good.
     Sugar has flavor, but it has no taste.  It has calories, but
no vitamins or minerals.






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