A breath on my neck, but my designs are unwavering. (Hark yee and hear that I speaketh only the the most beautiful of untruths) This, the tale of the primordial man and his subtle rebellion against the divine reality, mere days before circumstance fractured it through differences of form. The hounds of hell nip at my heels as I somersault through the Levant. I wove a white flag of moral subjectivity as the first caliph rode down on the Persians. Hard times in Antioch. My detractor follows me trifold, yet follows me all the same. Like a puppy I suppose, if a puppy was a megalithic machine of antiquity.