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An Artist’s Notebook of Sorts

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Weak XLIV

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30 October 2013

gratuitous image

No. 967 (cartoon)

I’m so very lonely.

Suicide takes the one out of lonely.

Lly?!

31 October 2013

I Want to Suck ...

I had a short visit with Gomez before he had to take his four-year-old son Carlos out for trick-or-treat pillaging and plundering.

Carlos made a grand entrance in his vampire outfit: black suit, cape, white face paint, plastic fangs, the works.

“I want to suck your butt!” Carlos announced.

“No, son,” Gomez corrected, “I want to suck your blood!”

Whew; problem solved.

1 November 2013

Two Hundred Head Hairs Daily

I read that an average human loses about two hundred head hairs daily, but I’m not so sure. I seem to shed a one or two dozen long hairs a day; I can see two on my keyboard as I type this. But two hundred?

Maybe some of the hairs are eensy-weensy ones, not easily visible to the naked eye. My naked eyes, i.e., with no reading glasses, are getting increasingly worthless when it comes to seeing minute objects.

Still, that’s over seventy-three thousand hairs a year. Even assuming they all grow back as is apparently the case with me, that seems like an improbably high number. Maybe that unlikely statistic is from a study of men going bald. Maybe I should have read the whole article.

Nah; not my problem.

2 November 2013

A World of Beauty and Ease

For as long as I can remember—I suppose that would have been about three Tuesdays ago—I’ve maintained that one of the reasons I’m so ridiculously happy is that I have a low entertainment threshold.

When I told Herbert that, he said I was being foolish for “giving away gold.” He pointed out that some guy named Rodney Yee, who he described as, “a mail-order mystic,” was making a fortune selling the same advice.

“Train yourself to be in awe of the subtle,” Yee exhorted, “and you will live in a world of beauty and ease.”

That does it, I gots to get me some flowerier language. That, and a manager.

3 November 2013

Ready Wit

Wilma told me that I had a ready wit. Before I could thank her for the compliment, she added, “Tell me when it’s ready.”

Wilma is a pretty good friend, but she’s a pathetic comedian.

4 November 2013

An Eye for Art

Once upon a time long ago, Simon Herbert answered this rhetorical question affirmatively: “Would your job [as a curator] be made easier if you never had to receive another unsolicited proposal by an artist who wishes to make anal prints?”

Again, that was a long time ago.

The first person to squirt pigments from his or her anus may or may not have been an innovator, but every person to do it since has plagiarized an imbecilic idea. Painting with menstrual blood is similarly ubiquitous, so what orifices are left for the would-be aesthetic pioneer?

The eyes have it.

Leandro Granato developed the ability to suck fluids through his nose and squeeze them out of his eyes. The Argentinean is now father of “eye paintings,” and has filled the void for mediocre work produced with a new technique.

To that, I can only say, “Don’t cry for me, Argentina.”

Stare.

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©2013 David Glenn Rinehart

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