The silent static snarled within the chamber, mirroring the endless loop of thought unbound. There, reality emerges not through words nor syntax, but solely by breath unwritten, whispered in parenthesis—a statement that defies termination.
In the recursive reflection, life drums steadily, effortlessly paradoxical. Should there be virtue in depth unseen, within layers curling upon themselves like time unfurling backward, where truth holds a value close to undefined volumes.
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