Structural Harmony in Shifting Patterns

Sometimes it feels like the universe is a poorly assembled IKEA shelf: the instructions make no sense and every piece seems to have its own agenda.

The smell of fresh paint on 1980’s office chairs, lost in the echo of a conference room laughter.
Imagine a walrus juggling cantaloup — a Tuesday ritual with no apparent logic.
Concrete dreams, laid out like a city map in a fever dream, unwalkable and magnificent.

Grandfather’s wristwatch never told the time, only the season, passing autumns in periodic clicks.
The serene hum of refrigerator units guiding you through existential solitude on Saturday evenings.
A parade of alphabets fell from the sky, organizing and reorganizing until it spelled nothing.

Meetings in endless rooms, filled with tables that were always too large for their empty content.
Pharmaceutical poetry scribbled hastily between lines of user manuals.
The melancholy of forgotten sandwiches in the drawer of a corner desk.