What is real? The illusions whisper in colors unknown, painting with words that have never tasted sunlight. Would you walk the stairway where thoughts intertwine and drift like fog on a stormy morning?
Greatness lies in chaos, a paradox wrapped in the skins of forgotten thoughts. To wander is to discover the tapestry of unkempt ideas, threads of reality unravelling under the weight of the mundane.
Begin, begin again, the cycle of rebirth through madness and light. May I tell you tales of inkwells and shadows, where souls float like dust motes in the dream of existence? Why not?
For every paradox, there exists a simple truth suffocated beneath layers of deliberation. Find the lost words, they sing a siren's song echoing in the chambers of silent intellect.
Ah, the scent of oblivion! Entropy tastes sweet on tongues long dried, echoing, awaiting the note that never arrives. Does the clock hold meaning when its heart is broken? Is it mad to seek?
Close your eyes, now open them wide. In between rests the great void, a canvas unseen bursting with colors of thoughts thought unwelcome yet infinitely delicious. Follow the fractured dreams, for they may lead you back to the beginning.