Before Breakfast: Six Impossible Things

Like and 'like' and 'like' - but what is the thing that lies beneath the semblance of the thing?

Darling, restrain this impulse to be purposely obscure. It doesn't serve, believe me, it doesn't.

But why then does a toffee apple appear to be particularly lascivious?

Pendant, maybe. Gravid, I give you. But lascivious?

That red, red pouting mouth. I ask you...

There you have me, I couldn't say, if you stuck me in the middle of Megamall with my eyes closed and asked me to nose out the Starbucks.

A conundrum, then. But what were you doing there?

Oh darling, what does one do in that place of discarded dreams? Haunt the aisles, finger the threadbare, always-on-sale clothes, eye the dessicated Belgian chocolate, lick the floss of the buns, content oneself with lurid movie posters, all sound and fury, signifying....

Nothing?

Either that or Parkinson's disease. I tell you, it simply isn't good enough...all these enclosed parks of jaded air. Suffocating the stealthy shopper with the shambles of self. Or Self. Whichever.

But, but, but...there is a bookshop, a large one, and you know how you are with bookshops.

Do you want me to quote some Prahalad? Throw in some TLAs like BOP?

BOP?

The poor, darling, the very poor. Only now we call them underserved. Or Bottom of Pyramid.

Ah, I get you Steve.

And I skulked in mobile phone shops with my shiny little notebook.

Mysterious.

Yes, and the shopkeepers looked at me askance. They said, wherefore the notebook, and I said, please mister, can I have some more, and they said, MORE, MORE? And I skulked right out of there. I tell you darling, all this pressure on my cerebral cortex makes me tired, so tired...

What is one to do, after all? There is the thing. And the semblance of the thing. And the thing that lies underneath.