In the deep dark philosophical currents, where tuna dreams in distorted reflections, lies the ink-black theater of the absurd. Here, positive emotion dissolves like saltwater in a dying star.
Here lies the fish whose thoughts are kaleidoscopes—cyclical and lost. To breathe or not to breathe, that is the question. 'Breath is overrated,' says the mackerel.
Would you choose the color of your existential dread? I prefer cobalt blue. Or perhaps resplendent violet, both magenta and melancholy tints blend as flashing jellyfish parade through the night.
Look, a practical guide to aquatic detachment:
By the way, you are on a digital treasure hunt of dreams and hard drives. Understand this: the mind drifts like a lost underwater buoy, bobbing for sweet, screwy tidings. Fishy follies await.