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 Procrustes Bread

W E E K  T E N

5 March 1997
Procrustes Bread
I was originally going to make this piece with baguettes, but never got around to it. The twin bagels and a muffin worked well enough.

The idea is the thing.

6 March 1997
Encrypted Message
This paragraph is encrypted using a complex algorithm developed here in my secret mountain laboratory. You might be able to decipher it with enough time and computing power, but I don't think the results would be worth it.

7 March 1997
Half Millennium Pillow Talk
I spent the night in a five hundred year old farm house. As I was going to sleep, I wondered aloud how many people had been born, lived, and died here.

"I don't think the bed's that old," she replied.

It's generally not a good idea to wonder aloud.

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8 March 1997
Pictures Mothers Like
Occasionally Ali makes nice picture for her mother ... the kind mothers like. I used to do that too, although at the time I'd confused pictures mothers like with art. My mother sometimes asks me why I don't still make nice pictures like that; she has yet to receive a satisfactory explanation.

Maybe I should make an occasional pretty picture; I had fun making one for Ali's mother. It was easy, and I didn't get a headache.

9 March 1997
Iwk Sremab!
Tooga hesp imoz smeovch. Iwk sremab! Ekrig narbov cleedadawd rekka yzhalquw pogedjash timsoji eacpurwad drennarde. Nyhsk oxuntle ni swondik ekrig nypring shewap efripp.

10 March 1997
I woke up this morning that something exciting was going to happen. I waited all day, but nothing happened at all. I suppose I shouldn't have waited.

11 March 1997
Mysterious Tiny Brown Spot
There's a mysterious tiny brown spot in the bottom of my whiskey glass. (My whiskey glass is shaped like a small hollow fowl; ideally a turkey. It looks nothing like my whisky glass, which is stout and cylindrical.)

My whiskey glass has a small dimple in the bottom that allows half a drop to remain; by the morning it has dried into a tiny brown spot, maybe a millimeter in diameter. I never thought much about it until tonight, when I was too lazy to clean the glass. I swished a bit a beer into the whiskey glass to rinse it out, but the brown spot didn't dissolve, even after a few hours. It was very strange.

I wonder what's in my whiskey that won't dissolve? Who cares? The question, like the mysterious tiny brown spot, is insoluble.

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©1997 David Glenn Rinehart