24 August 2014
This is another one of them stupid posts twisting sentences and clichés around a particular theme (see also "Insufferable Silence"). Usually it doesn't quite come off and the kids hate it, but must everything be about the children? In any case, this one is about …The Shadow.
The shadow knows … what, exactly? How does a shadow store information in its shadow brain? How does it give voice to its thoughts, shadow voce? Whatever the shadow may know, it ain't tellin.
I believe that if my shadow disappears into the shadow of another entity that I become one with it. To truly understand a man you must walk a mile in his shadow.
Behind every great woman is a fantastic shadow.
The shadow picked up its briefcase and checked its e-mail one final time before pushing forth into the rush of humanity eddying past the officetower.
Shadow, reconstituted: How sad. Do wash. Show ad. Ow! Dash! Dow ash. Sod wha'? Was? D'oh! Shwoad. Has ow'd. Das how. Shwado. Wh--? Soda?
My doctor believes he can learn everything there is to know about my health by examining my shadow. So far the results are mixed, but the surgery has been painless.
Eye shadow is not a true shadow. The only way to achieve a true shadow over your eyes is through the installation of some type of awning. Actually baseball hats were originally known as 'awning caps', 'shadow-casters', or 'fore-brimmers'. OK I just made that up but the point holds. Baseball caps render eye shadow meaningless, that's all I meant to say. Yet so many women are married in eye shadow, so few in baseball caps. Personally I prefer minimalist micro-visors over each eye rather than one broad brim wastefully shadowing much of the forehead and face; but that's just me.
And finally, a classic number recast for modern tastes:
(Yo it's just) me and my shadow (yo)
(St)Rolling down the (motherf*ckin) avenue (Know 'um sayin?)
(Just) me and my shadow (yo)
Not a (motherf*ckin) soul to tell our troubles to
And that, mercifully, is all there is about that.