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An Artist’s Notebook of Sorts

Last Weak  |  Index  |  Next Weak

Weak XL

nothing

1 October 2012

gratuitous image

No. 2,209 (cartoon)

You hurt me when you did that.

What did I do?

Nothing.

2 October 2012

Bacon Kills

Terry Vance Garner’s hogs ate him. Well, most of him. A relative found his false teeth and various other bits, but his porkers devoured the rest of him. Oink!

So it goes: some days you eat the bacon, and some days the bacon eats you.

3 October 2012

Dying Slowly

I cut myself in a freakish accident in the shower, even though I wasn’t doing anything freakish at the time. I dropped a ceramic soap bowl; it shattered and one of the shards made a nasty gash on the top of my foot. That was weeks ago, and it doesn’t appear to have healed at all.

I know the first this one does after being born is to begin dying. Nevertheless, I’ve always looked at life and death as an either/or option: one’s either dead or alive. Or maybe not.

I’m wondering whether a few square centimeters of the top of my right foot may have already died, and the pink and purple shower wound is some sort of zombie appendage. Maybe death isn’t a binary proposition; perhaps I’m dying piece by piece. I hope the last thing to go is my left eye. Or maybe not. Without lungs and a brain, my other favorite organs will be useless.

4 October 2012

National Poetry Day

Today is National Poetry Day, and there’s nothing I can do about it except to pour hot wax into my ears and blindfold myself until it goes away.

I’m surrounded in a slimy mucous of bad pottery; why won’t someone please make it go away?

Pretty please?

5 October 2012

The Private School Conundrum

I was having a pleasant conversation with Sheila until she asked me about my formal education.

“My mother arranged for me to go to a private boarding school in northern Michigan, Interlochen,” I said.

“The one near Traverse City?” she asked.

“Exactly,” I confirmed.

“Then you’re lying,” she replied.

She then went on to berate me for my dishonesty, for if she new the location of my school it couldn’t really have been private, no?

The stooopidest arguments are the best, absolutely!

6 October 2012

Better in Bed

Everything’s better in bed. Or, more accurately, almost every sentence is more interesting with the words “in bed” inserted somewhere. For example ...

“The president announced new policies.”

“The president announced new policies in bed.”

“She admitted she’d been overly ambitious in the past.”

“She admitted she’d been overly ambitious in bed in the past.”

What a perfect litterary technique! What could go wrong? In bed!

7 October 2012

gratuitous image

Gratuitous Photo of the Weak: Please Touch

A local museum is exhibiting Prière de toucher, or Please touch, a 1947 piece by Marcel Duchamp and Enrico Donati. The institution’s staid administraitors installed the work inside a thick, impregnable plexiglass box, thus negating the entire aesthetic premise.

The artists produced an edition of nine hundred and ninety-nine sets, featuring a hand-painted, prefabricated foam rubber breast on each. Ah, readymades. Donati found the repetitive task monotonous, and recalled telling Duchamp, “I never thought I would get tired of handling so many breasts.”

“Maybe that’s the whole idea,” Duchamp replied.

8 October 2012

gratuitous image

Born to Annoy

When I was a wee lad, my mother repeatedly cautioned me to never accept candy from strangers, and especially to never ever never ever never ever get into an automobile with someone who made such an offer. Then as now, I thought she was being overly cautious. Of course, that was before I’d ever heard about pedophiles.

Victor Joseph Espinoza was recently arrested for trying to kidnap a ten-year-old boy in Santa Ana, California. Sadly, that sort of crime is too common. What is unusual about the two-hundred kilogram suspect is his mug shot. What a remarkable face.

Espinoza’s in the slammer “on suspicion of false imprisonment, child annoyance, and other charges.” Annoying children is a crime?! Children are born to be annoyed and annoying; how could it be otherwise?

Stare.

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©2012 David Glenn Rinehart

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