Lullaby of Uncle Magritte

Salvador Dali never was a person at all.

Overweening pride led a half-mad eccentric – also named Dali – to concoct a chimerical entity of a plastic head grafted upon a waffle iron torso. Dali then set out to convince the whole world that his creation was a human being of great artistic talent.

The world soon grew bored of the Anthropomorphised Dali and forgot all about him. And that’s how Rene Magritte, going for his daily constitutional, found the discarded remnants of the Dali Simulacrum melting under the hot hyperxiological sky, the golden metal endoskeleton grotesquely twisted and exposed.

Taking pity upon the atavistic vestiges, Magritte placed them tenderly upon his lap, shielding the molten body with his umbrella and caring not that Dali’s aristocratic blue blood permeated and stained his hands, suit and shoes.

Pablo Picasso remained aloof, watching the scene from a distance, his arm resting upon cubes of sky he had carved off with his chisel.

The geometrical sky looked on approvingly from above, happy in the knowledge that the events down on Earth mirrored the events in the celestial sphere.

“Lullaby of Uncle Magritte” by Michael Cheval