Just a bunch of heavy brains floating in space adhering to a gravitational law that even we have yet to measure. A bunch of soft withering flesh waiting to asses this universe from its finality found in raw jelly to a concussed history of some meandering regality.
And so, where this potential chaotic waits patiently, a time bids its line. A fog slowly draws from the midst of some long lost thermonuclear holocaust. So for a while, hid behind the law of refined harmony, sits the two heavy curved strand beating terminal velocity. A pulsed anger grinding its own tare into the fabric of itself.
Potential chaotic. A mind weight of sum.
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