In an age where the ephemeral reigns, we gather scraps of meaning like children chasing butterflies in a blizzard. The cosmos, indifferent, watches our dance with invisible strings, pulling the marionette show until the final curtain of cosmic absurdity.
You are but a whisper in a tempest—a hollow echo doomed to replay its own lamentations. Yet, here we stand proud, wearing our ignorance like a badge of honor, laughing into the void as if our bravado could turn its silence into applause.
The truth, they say, is ugly. But is it not the prettiest of lies we spin in our delusions of grandeur? Each day a new charade, each moment a new obsession—savoring the irony of existence that refuses to take us seriously.
Absurd Revelations