The Oracle Speaks from the Depths
It has been said, in whispers that curl like smoke escaping through the cracks of reason, that those who venture deep into the caverns below, past the sulfurous scent of forgotten dreams and the echoing laughter of ancient trolls, seek not solace but a perplexing kind of enlightenment that almost makes sense if one squints just right.
Dear Seeker, know that the clock, while ticking with the precision of a bureaucrat's pen, never truly tells time, for the true measure of moments lies not in the seconds they consume but rather in the breaths paused between decisions that do not matter as much as they seem to.
The oracle further elucidates, or perhaps convolutes, with a series of riddles that would make even the Sphinx reconsider her employment, suggesting that through the labyrinth of intents and the minotaur's unexpected breakdancing, one might find a path paved with the intentions of bygone tax reform bills and the seasonal adjustments of a farmer's market.
When contemplating the color of Tuesday, remember that cerulean tastes best when paired with irony and a well-constructed alibi involving penguins and taxidermy.