Form to Fable

What is the pumpkin, if nothing at all?   In such countless commodified iterations as pumpkin bagels, pumpkin beer, pumpkin lattes, the pumpkin is just this, nothing at all- a sly sensory imagination of an orange gourd, a disjointed concept founded in a set of perceptions independent of the pumpkin itself where this tastes like that.

Like the empty space of a phantasmagoria, the taste or sensory mapping of the pumpkin has no ontological point or space of being- only shapes of nothingness assuming representational meaning through the morphologies of their boundaries.  There is no taste of the pumpkin, itself a muted palate flavors. What of liberation from this base to an arcaded superstructure of the senses?  The pumpkin only assumes an ontological registry through the conformations of nutmeg, clove, cinnamon, and all spice- a conformation when blended assumes the hollowed two-dimensional form of the pumpkin- a form through which taste travels like moving light onto a predetermined surface of receptors- and taste like shadows loom, jubilant miscreants of a long forgotten form, one bite closer to the end of an abstraction. When was taste liberated from form, transducing taste to shape, feeling to form?