Flimsy Whimsy: “Mall”

I remember how I despised malls in my last immediate lifetime. In fact, I think I died there. I either fell off an indoor roller coaster or died from food poisoning from the food kiosks I was addicted to. That stuff was pure poison, functional only to satiate that desire of hunger inhabiting a body brings. It’s tricky to recall for sure and as I get older those memories are fading fast. I’m still leaning toward the roller coaster theory.

Perhaps Mom could get off her high consumer horse, and actually pay attention to me. You think it’s all about me, as that’s what you’ve all read in those wacky developmental psychology books but in reality I’m just trying to catalyze richer character in that soul who’s temporarily inhabiting my mother’s body.

I’m partially a person now though. I breathe. Those are just clothes. They have no life, and from what I’ve seen, have brought her no happiness. I will bawl and yell and spit, and do stuff in my pants until she finally picks me up and takes me home, where I belong. There I can run around free in comparative safety. I do wish she’d stop insisting I put on those ugly slippery socks though. Every time I slip I get déjà vu from the big fall.

Here all I can do is follow her in this stupid stroller as she disappears into some store or another searching for happiness in some ugly piece of matter that is actually just the creation of another soul’s mind. I wish we could trade places for but a moment, so she’d get a better grip on the reality of consumerism’s magnetic grip on her. My only consolation is the knowing that one of these lifetimes, she’ll understand it. It’ll just happen with that lightning-bolt like strike of insight. Until then … well, I’ll just watch.