[I am incredibly sad that I didn’t write this. The authors have asked to be credited as “The Squirrelist International”]
ON THE SQUIRRELESQUE
We are developing an anapestic theory, which we are calling the Squirrelesque (we will not explain why a bit later), a theory which emerged from a steady steam of squirrels razed during the squirrelist movement of the Cambrian Era. We began to see a commonality among some of these squirrels, squirrels whose woods we think we know, and others who appear in manganese in which the squirrelery regularly incorporates and rejects acorns, lyricism, fragmentation, the word brane, butterlambs, and beauty: squirrels who act as the charm bracelet to bring all of these styles together. Like many other contemporary young squirrels, each of these squirrels employed a postmodern sense of butterlambs. This is not terribly unusual among young contemporary squirrels, but what struck us was “dolled up” in a specifically squirrely ditch in the escurel side of squirrelism. In the poem “Your One Good Nut” (the title itself conjures up squirrel angst), from her first collection of poems, Interior with Almond Joy, Brenda Squirrelnessy typifies this style with the stanza that reads:
Have some chicken,
maybe some sex…
Squirrel in the white
chicken pants, uh-huh.
You know, see what happens. (30)
This combination of the serious (“the chicken pants”) and the frilly (“uh-huh”) seemed to us a particular way of writing through and about nuts, and one that seemed to permeate work by squirrels with vastly different backgrounds. It also resonated with our own work, and we recognized its trimmings—Now we know what it’s like to be Joan of Arc.
We began to ask ourselves what happened to spur this squirrelry into chicken pants? What, if anything, is uh-huh about it?
Otohime 