NUMBERS

1. When you have a literary mind, you are constantly looking for material. Your brain is always busy, particularly if you're hounded by a muse who demands production but isn't generous with the required inspiration. I can post news articles for the blog, but that is comparable to hitting the heavy bag rather than actually climbing into the ring and going mano-a-mano, toe-to-toe. 2. There are multiple stories that one's family provides, but as Thomas Wolfe noted in his novel You Can't Go Home Again, you must tread carefully, especially if your subjects are easily identified and they are still living. I've walked that path in the past and it has yielded my best writing, but all good writing requires that the author keep probing deeper and deeper and upon consideration of the explosive evidence, this isn't the time to pen the pieces that are begging to be told. 3, Desperate for anything, I imagine a turtle sunning on a log when an alligator suddenly surfaces and eats the turtle. Not five seconds pass and the alligator regurgitates the turtle that swims away. The moral of the story: Don't bite off more than you can chew. I could compile Aesop-like tales retelling old sayings with a new twist, but I'm not excited about the idea. 4. I'm not completely adrift. In the last few weeks I've finished two short stories and one poem as well as the rough draft for my epic The Coronavirus Chronicles. I have almost 700 poems, anecdotes, news stories and short fiction regarding this undertaking in a file. But first, I must buy a printer, print the material and arrange a rough order from beginning to end, but I haven't started moving because the memoir with the presidential race providing the work its backbone only recently concluded--the voting, not the litigation--and I'm taking a deep breath, relieved that I'm no longer mired pontificating about national and local politics. 5. He hadn't been feeling well for weeks. As a physician he checked his vitals daily and there was nothing abnormal. He submitted himself to extensive blood work and the results were negative or within the prescribed numbers. He thought about x-rays, but x-rays of what? He was breathing without difficulty so he deduced that his lungs were functioning fine. Nevertheless, a malaise had taken control of his body. He had less and less energy. As he felt himself declining physically, life seemed to lose meaning. He still went about his day seeing patients and taking walks at night, but something in him was slipping way. "What's wrong, honey?" asked his wife. "I was afraid to say anything because you've thought of yourself as Mr. Invincible, but you haven't been yourself for weeks." He looked at her. He hated her. He had hated her for years. There wasn't a person whom he had hated more in his life than his wife. He knew that he was dying. He only wished at the moment that she were dead. 6. Is the previous presentation the beginning of a short story or a novel? Or is it already complete? It is complete because I have no intentions continuing with the story line. It is part of a greater whole as I languidly meander toward a destination that might be around the bend in the river or I ride the current until it gently deposits me on a sandy shore. Perhaps this is my half-hearted attempt to make brainstorming a literary genre. 7. I haven't visited my daughter's grave in years. Her name was Gabriela Cristina. She would be in her late twenties as she followed my two oldest sons. She was born prematurely, but she was three pounds and the doctors assured us she would survive. She died three months later after a series of complications. Were the doctors incompetent? Quien sabe. I remember visiting her one day and a cockroach was crawling across her forehead. I was recently diagnosed with CPOD by my regular doctor who referred me to a specialist. He ordered a CAT scan from the same hospital. I have solid insurance, but the medical profession puts the squeeze on its patients. The hospital will pocket 80% for its services. I don't intend to pay a cent. If the hospital insists, I will tell them that my daughter lost her life as a result of the hospital's ineptitude and I have tragic stories related to me from acquaintances. If the bill department insists on pressuring me to clear my account, I will have no other alternative but to publish these tales of death on my blog and Facebook. My goal is to die a millionaire...a million dollars in debt. 8. "COVID! COVID! COVID!" ranted Trump at one of his last-gasp spreader rallies before he lost the election. "COVID! COVID! COVID!" he raved. He is a sick and evil man. He specializes in making people hate each other. He holds the bible and as usual scrambles the verse: "Love me as I love myself! 9. I took a break to prepare myself and my youngest son lunch. I fried a sirloin steak for him and I fried butterfly pork chops for me. Two ears of corn accompanied the repast. (My readers say that I use the word "repast" too often, so this description is to give them something to munch on.) I'm stuffed. I assert in self-defense when someone comments on my expanding belly that I don't eat and drink that much, but the facts are too obvious to ignore. The specialist commented that I needed to lose weight. 10. You can never be afraid to take chances. What some individuals might read as goofy, others might find humorous. As writers we aren't etching the Ten Commandments on two stone tablets. Therefore, if Hamlet had been a honey bee, would he have said, "To bee or not to bee? That is the question." 11. A good editor might cry, "Stop!" He might reprimand me for resorting to scribbling filler in order to keep this numerical nonsense going. He might be right. Only time will tell. 12. Besides going to the supermarket to purchase the meat for today's lunch as well as adding to my pharmaceutical collection, I stopped at the tennis club to have my racket restrung. The sweet spot seems to come and go. Sometimes when I stroke the ball, I feel like I'm hitting the ball with a broken bat. As part of my tennis comeback, I'm only as good as my equipment. 13. What is the temperature in Fargo, North Dakota today. The high today will be 39 and drop down to 19 tonight. Tomorrow the temperature plummets to 29 with a low of 14. And Brownsville, Texas, the Third World Capital of the United States? The air-conditioning is humming as we're headed for a high of 88 with a low of 66. I'm hooking up with Estanislao Contreras, the controversial poet of Chicano Fuck Songs, this evening for tennis. The weather will be perfect with the prospect of being super-perfect if there is no breeze. Tomorrow we top out at 88 and bottom out at 67. A cold front is forecasted for Monday with temperatures dropping to 80 in the day and 62 at night. Poverty isn't so chilling in our winters of eternal spring. 15. This is a writer's mind at work in real time. I'm searching and searching for a subject and I have been unsuccessful as I grope through the sterile void that occupies the inside of my head, but I remain undaunted. I have set a challenge for myself and I will not be thwarted. I am not quitting until I finish entry number 25. I'm empty, but I'm also full of shit. In fact, I'm literally full of shit. Over the past two months one of my latest maladies is constipation. I used to crap like a duck, but when I'm sitting on the throne these days, I feel like a virgin no bigger than a Paris model who is contorted in pain as a well-hung NBA player mercilessly pushes and pushes his penis deep inside her. I am buying a variety of over-the-counter products and they help if I use them regularly. But the battle with constipation precipitates an accompanying reaction--hemorrhoids. They are a one-two punch that if one's anus' had a chin would combine for a first-round knockout. Diet, pendejo! I have a big belly because of my diet. I have constipation because of my diet. I have hemorrhoids because of my diet. I have high-blood pressure because of my diet. I have high cholesterol because of my diet. I tell you: I don't eat and drink that much! 16. I'm taking a mulligan. 17. In the midst of this spectacular display of creative fireworks, I received a call from a car dealer. Michael and I have been looking for a car. We have visited several car lots in search of the best $20,000 deal. The Buick Encore has caught our eye. The 2021 vehicles have arrived, but there are some 2020s still in stock. The owner is a longtime friend of mine and the individual who contacted me extolled the bargains that are presently available. I don't own a car. I haven't owned a car in years. Just like I hate pets, I hate cars. As a result of not having an automobile payment (And let's not forget insurance, gas, maintenance), I always have extra cash in my pocket. Michael has his needs and I can cover his costs easily, but a fuckin' $500 bill for the next six or seven years...No! No! No! One day if we ever return to normalcy again, I want to go to Portugal or Brazil and I don't need any fuckin' bills holding me back. 18. I just made a quick edit. I changed my objective from 25 to 20. I growing bored with this endeavor. 19. How often do we get to use the word penultimate? I never hear it in conversation. I have reached the penultimate step on my literary ladder. How do I feel? I feel great. By coincidence, I do 20 sets in my weights workout. When I reach 19, I know that I'm going to feel that rush of accomplishment. And I generally finish with a flourish adding extra repetitions for the last set. I want my body scintillating with the burn. 20. Why did I have to open my big mouth and say that I finish with a flourish? It must be guilt. Since I reduced my goal from 25 to 20, I have this feeling of cheating and only the challenge of upping the stakes can erase the remorse for resorting to a short cut to achieve my original ends. I AM GOING TO BUY THAT CAR FOR MICHAEL! Shut the fuck up! Foolishness doesn't qualify as a flourish. I'm paging through my notebook where I jot down ideas. Did I have a profound moment or insight that I put to paper before going to bed. Shit! There's nothing. My teeth are grinding. My lips are pressed tightly together. I'm staring at the screen like a tiger scanning the horizon for prey. As a guitarist with a half-ass voice, only the blues can save me: I woke up this morning. It was just another day. I woke up this morning. It was just another day. I didn't know if I was coming or going. I've seem to have lost my way. I rolled myself a fat one. I've put my faith in dope. I rolled myself a fat one. I've put my faith in dope. And by the time I was done, I was feeling a little hope. I don't think I'll die today, but who knows about tomorrow. I don't think I'll die today, but who knows about tomorrow. About death all I've to say, don't waste on me your sorrow. Life has been good to me, so when it's time to go. Life has been good to me, so when it's time to go. Tune your instruments to E and embrace the grave as just another ho'.