Once there was a record, spinning... and spinning. Do you hear it? The hum of time's needle gliding over grooves worn smooth by aeons of dust.
It whispers secrets in a language only understood by stars.
Imagine a world where flat plates of vinyl hold the essence of forgotten dreams, those trapped in the crackling, those which vanish as the
needle leaps, those which linger in the static shadows... Perhaps it's you, in another life, another groove, waltzing with memories of what
could have been.
Echoes of the Past entwine around the spindle, circling endlessly. The universe, a dancefloor for celestial tunes, echoes...
Unheard Whispers, the murmurs of primordial beings compose a symphony unheard by mortal ears, yet felt in the marrow.
When does one record finish and another begin? In the cosmic turntable, there is no beginning nor end. Just the continual play, a cosmic DJ spinning novels in entropy's club.
Delusion's Labyrinth lies beneath the surface—a hidden track, a B-side to the A-side of reality.