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An Artist’s Notebook of Sorts

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Weak XLVII

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20 November 2012

gratuitous image

No. 1,014 (cartoon)

I’m a fish and you’re the ocean.

You’re sashimi.

21 November 2012

A Confabulatory History

I seem to learn less and less as I get older; I’m not sure why that is. It could be because I know most of what I need to know, or it could be because I’m increasingly lazy. I suspect it’s the latter.

Today, however, I did learn a new word. Or perhaps more accurately, a new concept: confabulation. My sorry dictionary defines it as, “fabricating imaginary experiences as compensation for loss of memory.”

I wonder how much of my past is real and how much is confabulated? I suppose I’ll never know. I suspect, however, that the percentage of imagined versus real history will only increase as I grow older.

22 November 2012

A Traditional Thanksgiving

Veronica and Brandon reported that they enjoyed a traditional Thanksgiving. They invited all of their neighbors to their house for a lavish dinner. After everyone was blissfully full, they killed them and stole their land.

Gobble gobble!

23 November 2012

Unannouncement

Anita asked me how I heard about her unannounced party, the one to which I was not invited.

“I’m not sure,” I replied, “I guess that I read the unannouncement somewhere.”

24 November 2012

gratuitous image

Gratuitous Photo of the Weak: New Bicycle

I finally got around to photographing my new bicycle. Actually, I’ve made several photographs of it, but haven’t been very happy with any of them, including this one. The images fail to convey that it’s obviously ginormouser than a normal bike. I suppose I could have photographed it next to a regular bicycle, but that would be too obvious.

25 November 2012

A Bad Joke

Julia is dying from cancer, dementia is destroying what’s left of Henri’s mind. They know their lives are all but over, but suicide is out of the question; their children would never understand. That’s why they offered Sandra $400,000 to kill them and make it look like a robbery, a home invasion.

Sandra rejected the offer, and asked the obvious question, “Why me? You barely know me.”

Julia replied that they turned to her after all of their closest friends declined. Sandra told them that the whole scenario seemed to be a bad joke.

“It is a bad joke,” Julia replied, “an the joke is on us. Henri stared into space, amused.

Stare.

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©2012 David Glenn Rinehart

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