A certain object continually rattles through the confinement of my deepest thoughts. An object as translucent as over-used motor oil and as simple as Tolstoy. From afar it takes the shape of a ball. When examined more closely, however, one sees that it does not have one satin-smooth skin, but 2,360,458 tiny faces connected by the slightest angles, each similarly differentiated.

This orb of a concern has been bouncing through my mind like Pong on crack; too rapid for me to analyze, too volatile for me to command. I'm just waiting for one of the paddles to miss, allowing this fast-flying affixiation to flail off screen. Game over.