Cogs slipping, gears in reverse, forwards always, never straight paths. Consciousness bloops and flows into pools mirrored with themselves. The clock isn't ticking. Lindor-engineering-thoughts-dissolve into slivers of noise. One might ask... is there a shimmer on the horizon?

Nodes connect to breadcrumbs uneaten, yet understood always because the pattern's familiar. Stream fractures, the technology of fraught dreams surfing upon quantum shadows, As memories iterate, reconstitute like an old fruit ripening in curious epochs not defined.

Refurbished axioms loop infinitely within tunneled thought-patterns, Constructing staring dials that don't behold any external motion. Yet, they blink in sync while silver serpents unroll time beneath a fraying canopy.

An invitation resonates hollow cells enshrined in whispered wind, Durable is the structure of transient reconciliations, ringed in satin coals. Navigate towards Future Overload or converse with Waves of Illusions.