In the intricate dance of bolts and whimsical semantics,
the ungrasped irony of machinery lies softly.
Quantum gears spin in undecided intentionality, waiting,
not for purpose, but for the decision to cease.
Wherever movement prevails, silence prevails
Except, perhaps, when it's not even machinery at all.
When did the machine whisper, when as a gentleman diplomat it spoke less, and heard more?
Behold the infinite database of ultra-spoken silences,
Each embrace a paradox, each disruption a lullaby.
The secret whispering, echo-free service calls await
Your cohomology in machine calmness.
Did you know?
Our machines promise an unprecedented silence that even
the bang of a quantum expansion can’t disturb.