"Between The Gutter And The Stars, People Are What People Are" -K. Friedman

Sao Paulo, 3 a.m., maybe 5--

I'm at that point again. The point where the beers can't do a god-damned thing. I wish they could obliterate my memory, knock me out and put me to bed. But I'm still disastrously awake, sitting at the desk in my motel room. The lights are off, and I am writing in the dark. I tell myself that maybe that last sentence carries weight. Stupid to think such a thing right now. Just write.
I peer out the window upon graffiti walls of exposed concrete. A few heads milling about and some cars driving slow. Somebody told me the transvestites walk this street.
I wipe the sweat off my brow and rub it into my hair. I ring out my eyes. Maybe one more beer will do the trick? I turn to fish one from the ice in the sink. The ice has melted. So has Camila in the bed. Camila. Camila. I like to say the name. I say it aloud this time, "Camila!" She wakes up briefly and spouts something hostile towards me in Portuguese, then melts again. Camila.
I met her this evening at the reading in Madalena. She approached me shortly after I read and told me that my poetry was vile and it disgusted her. I told her I agreed, that it disgusted me too, and that I hate myself most of the time, so I'll buy us a round to celebrate our honesty and disgust...
Now my disgust sleeps there in that bed, wrapped up in my sheets, in my sweat, even a little bit of blood, and she is about to become another one of those poems. Somebody out there loves Camila.

Update

I haven't posted something in a while. I'm sure the three people that read this are pulling their hair out. But things are happening and piling up, and my head is quite heavy these days. I have an agent now. I know he's reading this, so I'll just fuck with him for a bit. He researches blogs, and as he put it, is "trying to find a voice in this free medium." What a guy! Anyhow, he needs a short story to shop around. I told him that "We Honor You With This Chicken," Said The Brother is a phenomenal story, but he is really into this idea of "fresh." My sister would appreciate that.
Anyway, I haven't posted because I have been working on some stories for this guy. I've been switching between two. One is about an American insurance scam ultimately leading to a bad car wreck and not having sex. The other has to do with the idea of going forward in reverse, literally and symbolically. As much as I want the former to work, the latter is consuming more of my head. Secretly, however, I am pulling for the insurance scam. What American wouldn't?
I am leaving for Sao Paulo tomorrow. Be back soon.