I’m looking for a metaphor. Actually, maybe 200 or so. I don’t know how many are gone but I can’t find any so I’m guessing all of them.
Gone are the silly, luscious, colourful, insightful and succinct metaphors stored in the prison of my thinking mind.
I need my metaphors. The ones I built and shaped and learned and created out of the experience of my life and used with mindful awareness as the occasion or situation or person required.
My missing metaphors were last seen hoboing it (old definition) along the rusty, dusty railway tracks of over-used clichés. Rumour has it that they want to find an underground circus to call home and give up metaphoring forever.
Sure, I could go skulking around to those back-alley metaphor designers who push big-box-branding metaphors and get some market-researched and focus-grouped yet insipid and limp metaphors, but that’s not how the world of my metaphors roll. Besides, it’s not possible to make new metaphors who know me with the same depth and ability and polish and storytelling effects as the metaphors I created. Is it?
I don’t care what trouble they’re in, what bad deeds they’ve done, or why. I want them back. I need them back. If you see them, my metaphors, wrapped in public personas which are a happy mix of sometimes introverted, often cheeky, sometimes wise and sometimes quite goofy and everything in-between all that, tell them to go home. How can I think cancer if my metaphors are missing?