..First Glyph

March 14
7 p.m.

To make a real entry here would be counter-productive, I fear. How weary, I am. I might botch my thoughts with my weariness. Two full days now on a Mexican bus. Mazatlán to Los Mochis yesterday. Los Mochis to Hermosillo today. I had a break in Los Mochis, yes, that meal in that cafeteria, and that episode of scribbling last night, that vision of the end, its sharp empty betweeness. But quite early today I continued on. And that meal yesterday didn't satisfy even through bedtime. I slept hungry. And today I consumed nothing until 5 p.m. Just now I'm beginning to recover my energies. But I'm still weary. I will refrain from scribbling anything of note here.

Saguaro cacti I saw for the first time today on the ride into Hermosillo. The king of all flora, they are. Imposing, reserved; like a lion. The only place on earth these massive cacti grow is in the Mexican deserts. Tucson sits in this same Mexican desert. Just four hours away Tucson sits! Tantalizing! Only a year ago I visited this city from Tucson. It's an easy trip from Hermosillo to Tucson, a familiar one. Tantalizing! But I've left behind the bus station now. I've found my quarters. And I can feel suddenly a keen thirst for my work returning. The thirst returns, acutely. That brief temptation to sprint northward has passed. Tomorrow I work in Hermosillo. One or two daytrips then I will make from Hermosillo. Then I continue on to Tijuana.

I just rinsed out my clothes in the sink. I just prepared and consumed a second little repast: canned beans on sandwich bread, an apple. This is all I will scribble today.


John Dishwasher

The Gods of Our Fathers