the exquisite corpse

start time: 7:32 pm

"The exquisite corpse shall drink the new wine."

A few weeks ago (yet again in my creative writing class), I was introduced to the "exquisite corpse" method. Invented by the Surrealists in an attempt to break one's imagination free from the constraints of the subconscious, it is a phrase or sentence collectively assembled in a group that follows a basic rule.

Our rule was a favored standard: (1) article and adjective; (2) noun; (3) verb; (4) article and adjective; (5) noun.

"The butterfly moon eats a screaming comb."

The following short piece was inspired by this sentence.

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In my town, no one believes that cheese comes from milk. Milk is Magic. It appears in the empty glass bottles we leave at our side door each morning, and vanishes into our coffees and cakes, with our cereals and cookies. In no way does it have anything to do with cheese. Cheese is not Magic; we know exactly where it comes from.

The man in the moon makes our cheese, and each night he shuttles down blue cheese crumbles and blocks of brie to us on the backs of tiny space-cows and tiny space-goats, who ride shooting stars while listening to Bach, or so it was written very long ago.

But in my family, we know the secret behind it all, that this simply isn’t true. Cheese does come from milk--milk from cows and goats, sure, but ones who live on farms and chew on grass all day long.

The man in the moon, in fact, is a fake. He’s a cover up for something even more fantastic and remarkable, something completely beyond the imaginations of rational beings (which, is why, I’m forced to have faith in her existence): the Moon Bunny.

She has ears that stick up and soft fur, but other than that the Moon Bunny is unlike any bunny around here. She doesn't wiggle her nose nor chomp on carrots. No, this bunny is far more wonderful. She is a keeper of sacred butterflies. (But, just like this fantastic bunny, these butterflies are unlike any butterflies you or I have ever seen.)

Each day, before the moon has risen and after it has set, the Moon Bunny hops around her lunar Eden, tending to brightly colored flowers and a nursery of caterpillars. Once they’ve swaddled themselves in their silk cocoons, she coaxes them out with a lullaby and gives them a good scratch with a screaming comb. They hover amongst the sweet flowers for just a while and then, when they are all ready, she releases them into space for us to see, and as they flutter they reflect the shine of the sun.

“Meteor showers,” our scientists call them. And how quick everyone is to believe!


end time: 8:50 pm