Interlaced in the fabric of time, where shadows converse with light, lies the unheard echoes of a lunatic's transparent truths.
Have you skated on the splinters of glassy rivers borne in the reflection of a twinkling void? Cast aside the clattering chains of rationality, for all is an illusion drenched in iridescence.
An octopus braids the moonlight tonight, whispering words like corridor hymns sung by the spheres. The luminal dance is our only witness.
The lunatic's yammering pierced the veil: "To chase shadows is to weave light into the very bones of twilight!”