Excerpts from The Akaholic

The Akaholic
Observations from the bottom of a bottle By Foster Poe
Preface: I met an old fisherman in the East and he warned me not to drink too much or I could end up a akaholic(sic).

There is a river of insanity that flows through human existence in whose waters, I have, quite often, waded.

When you’re very, very sick, time is a hard case.

The many crooked roads in my life are littered with a million bits of broken glass and spilled booze from flasks and bottles that have slipped from my hands as I staggered hither and yon. I have the scars on my tongue to prove it.

Surviving hangovers is probably the worst thing that could have happened to me.

The Akaholic’s fingerprints are in the raw and the roaring life he lives.

When it rains, it’s time to dance. To dizzily dance in your darkened drinking den.

The only bartender whose name I remember is Gertie.She was kind and often called taxis to pick me up off her floor and take me back to my home. She was more competent than chrome. Kinder than a fairy Godtender.

The man is front of me is staggering, dejected, forlorn, lost, ragged, shuffling, not there. He heads for a liquor store. I too have been there. It's a madness that needs itself. Feeds itself. What it needs is oblivion. In that store ahead, I find it. Yet, here I am.

And the man at the bar who won’t buy me a drink at the last call ,let him be anathema!

I drinks me toot.I haves me puff and then I wants a little love. (Not Irish)

I want to stop drinking, so I can pray without crying.

Beauty can heal us.

For the akaholic, warning signs are lighthouses that have no beacons.

If I ever commit suicide my note will read: There is simply too much beauty in the world! I can’t take any more!

Addictions Counsellor: "How do you like living alone?"
Akaholic: It’s a match made in Hell".

When I’m drunk I can’t remember tomorrow.