Call me the Golden Herm.
My mother bore me in the Southern wild but, "she, being mortal, of that boy did die," as my Aunt Titania says, though "boy" in the circumstances is pushing it, a bit, shes s me, there, shes rendering me unambiguous in order to get the casting director out of a tight spot. For "boy" is correct, as far as it goes, but insuffit. Nor is the sweet South in the least wild, oh, dear, no! It is the lovely land where the lemon trees grow, multiplied far beyond the utmost reaches of your stultified Europotric imaginations. Child of the sun am I, and of the breezes, juicy as mahat mythopoeically caress the Coast of andel far away on the porphyry and lapis lazuli Indian shore where everything is bright and precise as lacquer.
My Aunt Titania. Not, I should assure you, my natural aunt, no blood bond, no knot of the umbilical in the e, but my mothers best friend, to whom, before she departed, she entrusted me, and, therefore, always called by……（内容加载失败！）
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