Quantum Crookedness of Time
In the land where probabilities dance, the cats are both purring and void of existence.
The quantum realm breathes oddities.
The fables whisper, not in words but in tangents.
"Turn left at the superposition, chuckle with the decoherence."
Who needs narrators when electrons narrate their odyssey of uncertainty with pulsations of gravitas?
Once, a photon skated across the fabric of time, its poetry scattered across the interstices.
An oracle offered a question about answers, but only the mirror knew the sound of its reflection.
The haze lifted, revealing a tapestry woven of woven threads double-dyed in thought and reverie.
Suggestions: Consider contemplating the abstract or, commiserate oscillating misnomers.
Absurdism requires no breadcrumbs, only constellations.
Perceptions interleave like loops around a Möbius strip, teasing with dimensionality.