In the labyrinth of life, we are but roaming fungi, seeking damp nooks for solace and sustenance.
Beneath our cosmopolitan veneers, the soil whispers its ancient epics. Roots tangle, narratives entwine — an irony of symbiosis.
Gravity wells: not of numbers, nor of stars, but anchored emotions pulling us deep into terrestrial absurdities.
Marvel as the luminous mycelium flickers, not out of joy, but in a mockery of the stars above.