(Speaks to the World)

Just as a convenience, let us think of the astrolabe-like construction at the left as A.  Having accomplished that, let us then go on to identify the rusty, tinsnip blossom at the right as F—for “Flower.”  A does as it is bid and performs well, a public service contrivance that cracks the whip.   F is a blistering, headstrong fissure in nature and will not be adjusted to meet our expectations, should we be so foolish as to have any for it.  A is made of metal and thinks it is a star.  F is made of eons of flowers like itself and thinks, mistakenly, that it will perish after it blooms.  A cannot see F.  F cannot see A.  We can see them both, and we are likely to take sides, forming queues behind them, a (rigid) line of bureaucrats to the left, and a untidy meander of poets, artists, lovers and madmen to the right.  A looks approvingly at its following.  F turns to the people in its queue and foments a silken snarl.  It desires no followers.