Tangential thoughts weave between the fibers of reality, stitching time with dust motes caught in sunbeams. Felt like ancient whispers, echoing through hollow dreams...

A burnt orange sky dances on the edge of infinite perception, where shadows pulse and breathe; thoughts collide like stars in expansive voids.

Echoes of laughter trapped in glass jars gathered horror; would you prefer it with or without?

Salad days are compost, a riddle wrapped in a nightingale's sigh. Dreams spool softly, unraveling the mundane fables of tomorrow.

Kindly leave your shoes by the cosmic dustbins; interdimensional travel requires bare feet and open minds.

1 ≈ ∞