“Causal loops are aberrations,” he murmured, tracing the diagram on the dusty chalkboard besides the forgotten light of a charcoal lamp.
His voice crackling as if transmitted via rusty telemetry, lodged somewhere in the temporal drift.
A fleeting experiment of anthropologies:
layers of carbon residue diminishing the blue of sky, as if the planet itself retracted its trust in entropy.
Do you see the silhouettes? Millions become memories etched in statistical grace, lost mid-gesture.
Consider the infinitesimals
dancing around a fixed point in the concentric void.
Listen to their paradoxical hum, recorded on a wax cylinder sharp enough to pierce flesh, though none living knows how to play it.