In the vastness, where thoughts collide and melodies of the spheres are drowned in silence, we ponder, my friend.
Does the universe hum a tune or is it more a chaotic rhapsody?
The cat of Schrödinger takes the stage, improvising a solo while the universe's conductor—an all-knowing octopus—watches with scrutiny.
"Why does it matter?" I ask, as the cosmic symphony nears its crescendo—a cacophony of stars and forgotten dreams echoing through dimensions.
"Perhaps," replies the octopus, "but only if you understand the jokes between the quasars and pulsars."