10:09 pm 23 November 2016

I tried to lie down and rest but the itching in my throat made me cough and cough so I got up and sat down at my laptop on the kitchen table and now try to figure what to write.

I could work some more on my fragments from an ancient life, and part of me desires that, hungers for that, especially now that I have been spending a few days reading about ancient caravans, studying a book I found online at the project Gutenburg I think it was, namely Caravan Cities, by M. Rostovtzeff, translated by D. and T. Talbot Rice, published by Oxford at the Clarenden Press, 1932, Oxford University Press (I made a point of writing down the bibliographic information and filing it away, yes.

Or I could write some more of my genealogical ramblings, but every time I do I remember Sandra and how we have lost her, yes, and that is painful and sad.

Or I could just write some of my own memoirs but I am afraid as sick as I am and as weak as I am feeling I will end up writing about what each of us knows but no one tells, to quote myself from years ago when I was barely twenty and wandering around the hills smoking and dropping out of classes at Grossmont college, those two years before I discovered the bookstore and became a boulevardier – or at least my small version of that word I somehow learned from where was it, the Tropic of Cancer? Someone told me to read that and now I struggling to even remember the author’s name somebody famous once upon a time and. .  .

Yes. Prime numbers.

Or I could agree with myself just to write this and not to edit it.

Yes. That will do.



Speaking of smoking it was an earlier bout with the flu or a cold or whatever horrifying respiratory infection it was that made me finally stop smoking back in early 2007 when I lay in bed for days on end, only getting up to go to the bathroom or fix myself something to eat or drink and after that week or ten days (every time I think about it, it gets longer and more impressive) I had lost most of the physical addiction to nicotein and realized I had an opportunity to finally truly stop or at least cut back way way back but I would have to bribe myself and trick myself into not smoking again except that I wanted to smoke again and I still do but I knew I had to stop smoking so damn much twenty or more cigarettes a day and so I said okay I can have one cigarette only one you know kind of like a devil’s bargain version of alcoholic anonymous one day at a time but this time it would be only one cigarette at at time.

Trouble was I had tried that before, and started with all good intentions on the highway to hell, and bought a pack of cigarettes and tried to smoke only one but then another and another and another and lickity split smack your lips I was hooked again.

But this time, things were different. This time I was living in Tijuana and I could walk down to the corner a few blocks from home and buy one cigarette at a time, loose, from the candy and nostrum stand on the corner of Bellas Artes and Lopez Portillo, near where all the route taxis and busses stop and go, the launching pad, they call it, la lanzadera, and

that is what I did.




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