Once, in a world without consequence, there lay a vacuum so profound it echoed the sounds of ineptitude. Craftsmen of the void often found inspiration in empty rooms, championing the lost art of `silence`.
The residents, unsurprisingly, adored their `futile` pursuits: knitting shadows, counting backwards from infinity, and organizing chaos into neatly aligned rows of despair.
"We laugh at destiny's indifference," cried the poet, before promptly forgetting why they entered a room. The walls, mirroring the emptiness, hummed softly.
Every Tuesday, citizens gathered to celebrate the thinkable things that never were, hailing `paradoxical` tales too deep for shallow minds.
For those keen to traverse deeper into the chasms, we offer: Bureaucracy: The Silent Symphony or Incalculable Lists of Finite Empty.