Chris
http://www.mediafire.com/?yt0yz2tzm0y
The Exquisite Corpse by Chris Reid is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 South Africa License.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Download your copy of the EQ
The Exquisite Corpse is complete, and available for download now. Click on the link below to get the pdf version.
Chris
http://www.mediafire.com/?yt0yz2tzm0y
The Exquisite Corpse by Chris Reid is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 South Africa License.
Chris
http://www.mediafire.com/?yt0yz2tzm0y
The Exquisite Corpse by Chris Reid is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 South Africa License.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Toothpaste - From The Exquisite Corpse
I have begun to think that I am only an approximation of a human being. Like I’ve somehow been born without that gene which lets you know how to be. I am determined to change this. To overcome my lack by learning how to be real. This epiphany creeps into my head as I am brushing my teeth one morning. Colgate Whitening toothpaste in a playful flavour called “mint experience” is fizzing gently in my mouth, lifting plaque as I brush and leaving me with the confidence to smile. I spit and rinse. I do indeed now feel more confident about my smile.
I fish around the bin to find the box the toothpaste came in. I need to see what a confident smile looks like. I find it and place it on the shelf in front of the mirror and look closer. I pull my mouth into a facsimile of the disembodied teeth on the box. Then flick my eyes to the mirror. It could be right, but I’m not sure. I get my shaving mirror (R35 from Clicks) and put it in front of the usual mirror above by washbasin. Turning it over to the magnifying side, I then move the box over so it sits next to my now enormous reflected smile. Confidence indeed. I pull out the stack of magazines from next to the toilet. I need to know more, practice more.
I turn the pages in a Men’s Health until I find a full-page ad for cologne. On it a man with the most confident smile I have ever seen sits on a leather couch next to a beautiful woman. The woman is wearing negligee and has her legs on the man’s lap. Her face is cut off though, so I am unable to tell if she has a confident smile. I think she does. Its not that I’m interested in though, it’s the man’s eyes. The tagline on the ad promises that the cologne brings out the man in you. I need to know what masculine eyes look like. I tear them out carefully. Now he gazes at me with blank spaces filled with the text from the next page. Eyes filled with nouns and verbs. Conjugated in a masculine way. I stick the eyes on the shaving mirror. Then manoeuvre myself so that mine are directly underneath it. Most definitely not masculine. I move my head up so that the eyes cover mine in the reflection. Much better. I wonder what I would look like with these eyes and the confident teeth.
Half an hour later, and I have scoured the magazines for all the features which are better than my own. Added to the manly eyes and confident teeth are a strong nose from another cologne ad (to own my destiny), a square chin from an ad for rejuvenating facial mosturiser (with added Boswellox©), and the ruggedly stubbled chin from an ad for erectile dysfunction medication (guaranteed 40 hours of freedom). I finally feel like I look like myself. The bathroom is covered with ripped magazines. Feature pieces on genetic disease and sexual tips seep through ripped masculine faces and curiously truncated women in a pleasing palimpsest. Visceral text fills in the gaps again and again.
I stare at this collage of myself for what seems like ages. Then I stop. Something has caught my eye. On the reverse of my newly constructed self, I can see the normal, me. Unowned destiny, no Boswellox©, and unconfident. My face is reflected from the bathroom mirror onto the back of the shaving mirror, and by doing so, hundreds of unconfident faces are lined up in a bizarre procession until they blink out at a vanishing point. This worries me. I have to do something.
Quickly, I run through to my study and gather the supplies that I need to make sure that I don’t ever have to see this again. I grab some paper, glue and scissors and return to the bathroom. I go through the magazines again. I need new features, even more masculine, confident and destiny-owning features. I cut them out carefully this time. Neatly incising each from the page, not stopping to see what lies beneath. I assemble these on a piece of paper and start to make myself a mask. Its more like me than I am. With all of the features in glued in place I cut it out, pierce some holes in the eyes, and see how it fits. It is perfect. Frantic now, I search for a way to keep it on my face. I try sticky tape and string, and neither give the effect I want. Eventually I get out my stapler and use that, pressing it against my head and holding my breath as I fix the mask in place. It hurts, but I don’t really mind.
I’m in a shopping centre. I don’t know how I got here, but I assume I must’ve driven myself. I have a basket filled with moisturisers, colognes and toothpaste. Its weight makes me feel good. A small child stares at me as I walk past. Its liquid eyes are fixed upon my face, and I wonder what I would find behind them if I cut them out. Cartoons probably. Its mother turns to me and smiles nervously. Quickly she steers the child away from me. Its probably because she’s attracted to me and doesn’t want the child to know. As she leaves I make sure she sees all of my confident smile.
(The author asserts copyright on this piece, written August 2008)
The Exquisite Corpse by Chris Reid is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 South Africa License.
I fish around the bin to find the box the toothpaste came in. I need to see what a confident smile looks like. I find it and place it on the shelf in front of the mirror and look closer. I pull my mouth into a facsimile of the disembodied teeth on the box. Then flick my eyes to the mirror. It could be right, but I’m not sure. I get my shaving mirror (R35 from Clicks) and put it in front of the usual mirror above by washbasin. Turning it over to the magnifying side, I then move the box over so it sits next to my now enormous reflected smile. Confidence indeed. I pull out the stack of magazines from next to the toilet. I need to know more, practice more.
I turn the pages in a Men’s Health until I find a full-page ad for cologne. On it a man with the most confident smile I have ever seen sits on a leather couch next to a beautiful woman. The woman is wearing negligee and has her legs on the man’s lap. Her face is cut off though, so I am unable to tell if she has a confident smile. I think she does. Its not that I’m interested in though, it’s the man’s eyes. The tagline on the ad promises that the cologne brings out the man in you. I need to know what masculine eyes look like. I tear them out carefully. Now he gazes at me with blank spaces filled with the text from the next page. Eyes filled with nouns and verbs. Conjugated in a masculine way. I stick the eyes on the shaving mirror. Then manoeuvre myself so that mine are directly underneath it. Most definitely not masculine. I move my head up so that the eyes cover mine in the reflection. Much better. I wonder what I would look like with these eyes and the confident teeth.
Half an hour later, and I have scoured the magazines for all the features which are better than my own. Added to the manly eyes and confident teeth are a strong nose from another cologne ad (to own my destiny), a square chin from an ad for rejuvenating facial mosturiser (with added Boswellox©), and the ruggedly stubbled chin from an ad for erectile dysfunction medication (guaranteed 40 hours of freedom). I finally feel like I look like myself. The bathroom is covered with ripped magazines. Feature pieces on genetic disease and sexual tips seep through ripped masculine faces and curiously truncated women in a pleasing palimpsest. Visceral text fills in the gaps again and again.
I stare at this collage of myself for what seems like ages. Then I stop. Something has caught my eye. On the reverse of my newly constructed self, I can see the normal, me. Unowned destiny, no Boswellox©, and unconfident. My face is reflected from the bathroom mirror onto the back of the shaving mirror, and by doing so, hundreds of unconfident faces are lined up in a bizarre procession until they blink out at a vanishing point. This worries me. I have to do something.
Quickly, I run through to my study and gather the supplies that I need to make sure that I don’t ever have to see this again. I grab some paper, glue and scissors and return to the bathroom. I go through the magazines again. I need new features, even more masculine, confident and destiny-owning features. I cut them out carefully this time. Neatly incising each from the page, not stopping to see what lies beneath. I assemble these on a piece of paper and start to make myself a mask. Its more like me than I am. With all of the features in glued in place I cut it out, pierce some holes in the eyes, and see how it fits. It is perfect. Frantic now, I search for a way to keep it on my face. I try sticky tape and string, and neither give the effect I want. Eventually I get out my stapler and use that, pressing it against my head and holding my breath as I fix the mask in place. It hurts, but I don’t really mind.
I’m in a shopping centre. I don’t know how I got here, but I assume I must’ve driven myself. I have a basket filled with moisturisers, colognes and toothpaste. Its weight makes me feel good. A small child stares at me as I walk past. Its liquid eyes are fixed upon my face, and I wonder what I would find behind them if I cut them out. Cartoons probably. Its mother turns to me and smiles nervously. Quickly she steers the child away from me. Its probably because she’s attracted to me and doesn’t want the child to know. As she leaves I make sure she sees all of my confident smile.
(The author asserts copyright on this piece, written August 2008)
The Exquisite Corpse by Chris Reid is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 South Africa License.
The birth of The Exquisite Corpse
This blog has been created to showcase a series of short narratives I've written as the Creative Execution of an academic thesis around the way in which brands can be seen to manipulate the semioscape of the consumer. This focuses specifically on the effects of this process on children, and as such it is reflected in the stories. I'll be uploading the stories, or links to them shortly...
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