After the final disposition of his estate, his son was left with only the remaining personal effects, those objects of little to no monetary value that accumulate behind each of us as we stumble along through life: awards for this or that, certificates from such and such organizations, mementos, and photographs. In this pile of anachronistic ephemera he found his father’s notebook, replete with sketches of random women in coffee shops, odd to-do lists, and the rare note about story ideas. Some of these came in the form of one or two words, the key to unlocking their meaning which now rests in that unreachable community of the deceased. Here are a few of those words. Make of them what you will.
- uninformed consent
- ambiguous intentionality
- charging station for lightning bolts
- mixed laundry, mixed proteins
- reference book for extraterrestrial tourist
- feed the fish (which might have been a to-do, although his father had no fish)