The sea.
Heartless in its ignorant beauty, a rolling behemoth of blind force and fury that cannot be reasoned or bartered with. It just is and will ever be.
The ocean consumes the exquisite perfection of platonic forms, and then digests them in its acid black belly juice, before spitting out the decomposing, salt weeded creatures on the gull screeched sands.
I have been an inveterate beachcomber for most of my long life, but since arriving at The House, and having the tides at the door - so to speak - I am often up at the first dragons spit of dawn in the summer months to catch the more...interesting ejections and erections scattered by my unwitting liquid benefactor.
Indeed, I have a room devoted to the more bizarre and exceptional pieces - more uncultured minds may even call them 'monstrosities'.
I believe their unique deathly beauty is beyond shallow all too human moralities, and speaks only to the aesthetics of the sublime that lie beyond good and evil...
The peculiar isolation of my house enables a certain discretion to flourish, and I was somewhat grateful for the latter on this very morn, when old father Neptune had once again left Iggy a little 'pressie'!
By the time I had dragged the enchanted object to the house, I was glad for the muscular stamina I still possessed, courtesy of my regular bicycle expeditions to that accursed den of interbred halfwits they call the 'local village'.
I will digress on my 'treasure' at another time, for the moment all you need to know is...death has a Dionysian beauty that the shallow candle flame of Apollo can never hope to illuminate.
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