Where the corners blend and the folds overlap, there lies a hidden truth. Words unspoken, rumbling betwixt the cosmic seams, where silence carries a melody unknown to the waking ear. There are layers and whispers, trailing echoes in the neverquiet, delicate as spider threads, as robust as a tempest. Can you hear them?
Voices twine around fragments, shards of what we are, woven into tapestries of tomorrow's realities. Listen closely, let them bury beneath the skin, let them resonate your bones, for they speak in frequencies untangled by the clocks. They remember everything—your dim reel will echo theirs, and so a new shadow unfurls in the corners of tables long forgotten.
Step through as phantoms of daylight veil the surface, casting voice beneath frail dust curtains. Dance through the loop of these interstice valleys where rivers laugh and oceans mirror skies untethered to time. The drones of this symphony are no less than hymns, sung by the insane poets sobbing beneath locks and gauges, between time ticks and silent seconds.