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On Drinking (written 2005)

So I had this dream last night and it’s stuck with me all day. So much so that I’m now writing it down to try and exorcise it.

So in this dream I’m taking the piss horribly out of David Mamet. I’m not sure why, except possibly he’s drinking Budweiser and refusing whisky. And I’m taking the piss out of him, his Hemingway complex, his religious bullshit, his cheerful keyboard-wankery and his reduction of everything to basically chopping fucking wood.

And for no good reason I can see, he shows me his penis. And it’s square. Well, it’s rectangular, I guess. But you know what I mean. It has corners. And an oaky grain to it. And he tells me that he has to take a tomahawk and hack a fresh notch in Rebecca Pidgeon before he fucks her each month. Because more than once a month, he says, and a man can get to kind of like it, and it’s one short step from there to wearing a dress.

And the thing is that alcohol has not actually passed my lips all week. Haven’t been drinking this week at all.

I’m not really sure what to do.

(November 2005)

Published in brainjuice