Thing A

I am fine by the way, began Thing A, a little shaken by your net trap, but otherwise unscathed. Second, I can support as many eyes as is necessary, although I prefer three in normal play, four upon inspection and six in the dark. Last, but not least, my hat, which I’m flattered that you noticed incidentally, is the traditional hat of my kind, with a small embellishment of my own in the form of a bejeweled pin that I was given by a creature close to my heart.

Thank you for your answers and I do apologise for any inconvenience. Might I enquire further, what is your kind? Asked Vivainne.

I am a Lyotard, a thinker, a seer, I have predicted the rise and rise of the multinationals, I have foreseen the era of instant information, long before the internet came to haunt and embellish us.

If you knew what might arrive to pervade and undermine our democracies, asked Constance, why were we not better prepared? Surely now the multinationals have gained more traction and power than many small and even medium sized countries, and cannot be held to account. Information is now outside of all control and can be neither verified nor contained. Had we acted earlier, perchance a less dangerous outcome may have been achieved.

I can divine the future by my study, said the Lyotard, but I am inactive, all my energy is given to clarifying visions of the future, which I then relate as best I can. Not everyone reads philosophy these days.

Fascinating I’m sure, said Vivainne, for our part we are on mission to discover the finest Hat design and thereby fill the world with love. We have been led to believe that there is no Love without Hat.

A worthy quest by any standard, said the Lyotard, I must warn you though that in your attempts to catch a Hat in your Hat rack, you will likely catch another seer, these woods are crowded with them.

Are they all Lyotards like yourself? asked Constance.

Oh no, said the Lyotard, there is a Derrida which swings from the branches singing songs about cultural structures and deconstruction, also a Boudrillard that lives in burrows beneath the forest floor and comes out at night to hold forth about disappearing realities, parody and pastiche, among other subjects.

Interesting neighbours indeed, say Constance, but it is hats design that we require. When it snows, we cannot hold on.

I may be able to help you with your quest, say the Lyotard, I myself have seen, either at a party, soiree or informal gathering, all the hats that live hereabout. I could make a drawing for you if it be ever so useful.

You are a gem amongst Lyotards, that would be just the ticket, said Constance, happy to be making progress.

A gem indeed, said the Lyotard, considering that I am the only one.

The Lyotard produced a portfolio of drawings in black and white with colour notes. In a plastic folder carefully. The number of hats was beyond ten.