When we walked on the shards on an icy dawn and became a species who'd heard the howl of The Sirens enchanting songs in "The Well" of a Paleolithic cave Orpheus stood slant-wise, a bird for his head, a bird on a pole, wounded bison moaning nearby. He, dancer in the abyss, spirit, ever to be born, Magic bird and unhallowed fruit cruelly saved. Anthropos, calculating the disaster of a micro-managed destiny: Hello. Can you hear me? See me? Be me?