Yessssss: and every snake must slough its skin, leaving a trail of cellular clothing around the forest, or, as it were, this garden. And I myself have undergone multiple transformations: I am not the snake I was before, or before that, but was once an entirely different arrangement of protoplasm, not unlike you. So you see that, no matter how much you bathe or pray, despite your fears of the darkness, we are much alike, yessssss?
The real story took place a very long time ago, and has been so badly butchered over the years that I now find the numerous offenses of historical revisionism intolerable: the time has come to set the record straight. Monks have beaten themselves — is that not odd, some pathology? — and mumbled, their muttering musings have been set down as truth, and all subsequent damnations have been misdirected.
