You want, you need, you crave the spiral's mirage. It whispers sweet nothings into your ambitious ear. Don't chase the end—you’ll only meet the starting point, again and evermore. Like a book that reads you back.
In one breath, it's potion; in another, it's poison. Are you the seeker or the deceiver? Round and round, in circles we compute myriad answers to questions already lost to time itself.
Take a sip, if you must: the brew of bureaucracy, the cocktail of conformity, the tincture of tireless trends. They call it "progress," we call it: reverse engineering.
Hypnotic, ironic, the spirals spiral on. Another link, another thought, another echo: detour required.
An enigma wrapped in a conundrum, bathed in the philtre of paradoxes all around. Hover, contemplate, and move: to the next roundabout.