“We Honor You With This Chicken,” says the brother.

I'm on the back of Marcelo's Kawasaki and we're speeding through O Centro. Kids shooting marbles. Black woman breast feeding. Trash fires in the street. It must be 100 degrees out.

We cut up a small hill and race across a field towards the mountains, and now we're nearing what resembles a ranch. Chickens everywhere. Squawking and pecking and bobbing and Marcelo says we're here.

It's becoming dark. The humidity says it's only getting worse. We're in a shed now with who I think is his brother. He holds a knife, but a machete is on the wall. On the ground there is some hay, there is some blood, and I'm guessing a killing stump. His brother exits the shed.

Marcelo rubs his hands together, says I'm going to love this. His brother returns with a whale of a chicken. It's going nuts, and it's getting loud, really loud and I hate this. I hear the wings hoping they will finally fly and the brother's feet shuffling for position through the hay. Marcelo yells "Ya!" as his brother becomes too large to be human. I can't feel anything.

The brother looks at me and smiles. He's missing teeth, and what I finally think about is, "he's missing teeth." Then, wham! Cuts through the chicken's neck.

Marcelo whacks me on the back and looks to see how I like it. I look at him like I've suddenly gone deaf. But then, I smile. I look at the scene again and feel the moment's exclamation flush quickly to my face the way a new bruise pulses pain. I laugh or cough, can't really tell, but I'm ecstatic. My throat clears and I'm howling now, whooping it up with Marcelo.

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)