Hast thou found me, O mine enemy? You disturb my peace. They all do. Just now I had one come close, bending down with a stare to rival Galileo’s! Now that was a mister honey, queer and sick. Not content to view from afar at my morning or evening loveliness, his nightly intrusions gazed upon my most intimate surfaces. And his conclusion, that I am losing my shape! Honestly. I ask you. Have you ever? But this other dark figure, bowing, pale eyes upon my mesial groove, had a purpose I didn’t fully understand. Looking for something. Well, I am young. I am only now entering into my full ripeness. Didn’t you know? I was born quite recently from some rather potent seafoam. Kronos and his cronies cut off their father’s, well, ripeness, spilling more than his prepuce and adjacent parts for the collector, much more. His fertile seed foamed into the ocean, mother of us all. How were they to know she’d be so ripe for it? What a brood of mockers those boys turned out to be. Well, what you laugh at you nevertheless serve, and now like all men gone limp with leching, they belong to me. Me! They worship the very image of the one they despised. Every day they must do homage to me. Sentimental fools. Well, the sentimentalist is he who would enjoy without incurring the immense debtorship for a thing done. Let’s just see how that works out for them.