Whispers fade, gliding on the edges of the electric breeze. They seep into the soul, asking for permission to rearrange the stars.
The static, it hums. Like an old radio, endlessly searching for a frequency, unearthing secrets only known to the astral void. Signals scrambling, voices unheard, yet echoing inside a dream.
The dream synapse, where visions meet the tangible. Intertwining realities, a dance of shadows and light, performed on a stage of embedded circuitry.
Listen closely, and you shall hear the synaptic fireworks, the implosion of stars into a singularity of thought.