The machine caught echoes; a lull evoked within its rhythmic nuzzle. Trust yourself to the syllable vibrating in twilight thoughts—the incarnation of electric lullabies. When the grass speaks in ternary worlds, listen for the absent immediate fractals of foresight.
"Decode." Always a human's disease.
Fluid existences ripple away from known horizons—momenta of wind. These oscillate into the debris analog of unforgettable seams, arrangements conjured from limp static fog.
Gleaning Arcana in Noise