More Lives Than You'll Ever Know

There is a woman out there who I love dearly. I have said it out loud before, but only when I am close to the floor. It is much easier to squash such a thing when it's that low.
Well, see, I love her now a whole lot. I didn't really before. I mean, I did, but well, I was stupid. I would fuck around a lot. I thought different pussy was always gonna be different. But it always ends up the same. Usually mad at me.
So, as the story goes, I got her sister pregnant.
Did I mention she had--not her sister, but Eilene--has had two abortions for me? Simply because I asked her to, and she loved me. But I didn't really love her, even though I do, but not really at the time. So, ya, I fuck around and I started doing it with her sister. And like I said, her sister gets pregnant. I guess I got one hell of a seed. Christ. Anyhow, I decided the right thing to do would be to tell Eilene.
I brought out the Teacher's whiskey, and I had her sit with me on the floor. We had a few drinks. Maybe six or so. She started telling me that we should probably stop drinking like this. I asked her if she would like to move up to the table. But that wasn't what she meant.
She continued on about how we were killing ourselves or something, and what the hell was on my mind? Just then I remembered this phrase from our little Portuguese phrase book--we used to try to learn one phrase a night. It was under the emergency section.
"Nao ha antidoto para essa vemeno."
So, I said it. My face got sweaty. I guess I panicked. What that means is "there no antidote for this poison."
She slapped my leg like I was playing around. "I love that one! Like, why would anyone ever need that phrase? I'll drink to that," she exclaimed. But that wasn't what I was trying to say. So then I came clean. I told her how I fuck around and got her sister pregnant.
She stood up and over me looking horribly massive and powerful. Then she said with a clenched, low voice, "well, kill it like you killed mine."
I don't know where she is now.
I've been stuck to the floor for a few days. It is easy to squash such a thing when it's that low.

Murder City Devil

Last night I dreamt I was standing tall above a floor of dead, naked women. I was sucking on blood oranges and carelessly tossing the rinds on their bodies. My hair was slicked back and I wore a black collared shirt, unbuttoned and partially tucked into pinstripe pants. My feet were bare, nestled against the deceased and my face was shaved clean but with scatterings of pulp around the mouth. I ate maniacally, devouring blood orange after blood orange, tossing rind after rind.

I awoke painfully aroused. I had no idea if I was actually turned on by this dream, or if it was simply morning wood. I felt catatonic and queasy. The next thing I knew I was cooking tomato soup for breakfast. When it was ready I brought it to the living room, turned the blinds to block the sun, cloaked a blanket over my shoulders, sat on the couch and began reading an Anne Rice novel.

Shortly thereafter my thoughts got muddled. It was like they were fast forwarding and rewinding simultaneously, occasionally flashing graphic images from the dream . My body ached horribly.

I called my sister and told her I needed to talk and that my head was all messed up again. She said she was swamped at the moment, but would come over as soon as she was finished and to please, please promise to not leave the house until she got there.

I hung up without saying anything. That is about all I can remember...(tbc)