Guests and Chaos.

The guests are all arriving
I’ve neither showered nor groomed
I’ve Caleb running up and down the stairs, letting guests in
while I churn this bad boy OUT.

My local bottle shop does not stock Viognier
My place is a mess–
My guests assure me otherwise.

Caleb’s flicking through Death of A Lady’s Man for me–

“I need a line. A good one.”

“You should finish your post.”

“I feel a bit rude.”

“Wow. A new MacBook Pro!”

“Uh ha. Shush.”

“How do you keep this place so clean?”

“Shut up. Have you found me a quote yet?”


I want to finish the songs. I want to be in a song. I
want to be singing my heart away. I want to fuck my
wife all the time. Will she desire me ever again? In
the dark old way? In the blind old way?

The Irish are speaking to me again. The ones who are
always in tune. The ones who are terribly drunk.
The ones who aren’t even fun.

It isn’t enough to fuck your wife. It is’t enough to
speed along. There isn’t enough in the Irish tongue.
The tress will never be green enough. That’s why I
can’t complain. Love is all overlooking. That’s why I
can’t complain.

– I’m Glad I’m Drunk. Page 179. Death of A Lady’s Man.


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