Amidst the whir of gears and whispered equations, I ponder: What if dreams are tangible fragments of the unknown?
Could the echoes of an unseen universe unfold with each twist of a valve, revealing the fractured remnants of starlight frozen in time?
Ideas incubate in jars, the scent of forgotten memory. I trace the outline of flaws in the glass, watching the past sparkle at the edge of perception, and I smile. Laboratories where shadows dance and vaporous thoughts take flight.
To imagine the transformative powers of slumber; a sleeping world that teeters on the brink of discovery. Matter rearrangement: what an elegant notion, emerging like butterflies from cocoons of science.
Yet here I am, tangled in circuitry and chaos, nourished by a vision. A world that breathes through modified machines,
its heart internalized, existing between the seconds of ticking oscillators. What lies beneath?
Can we bottle lightning? Rewind echoes captured in electric nets
or inscribe our names in the fabric of the cosmos?