Ascension of the Inconspicuous

Irony slips between the strands of the cosmic loom, weaving tapestries that salute the absurd. One million suns burn merely to flicker off an all-seeing eye that blinks in apathy.

Did the chicken cross the galaxy to become a supernova? Or perhaps it hatched from an egg incubated by the gravitational pull of irony itself? Ponder this while standing still, as paradox dictates motion.

Creation, a trite act performed daily by the idle hands of the universe. Destruction, its exhilarating sibling, awarded the universe’s coveted ‘Eternal Spin’ trophy. Read between the lines lost to astral winds:

Why does the universe conspire against harmony? Perhaps it has its own existential crisis hotline, tirelessly dancing to the rhythm of symmetrical chaos. Spoiler: The hotline is just a looped message left by a witty black hole.