Upon entering the physioscillatory propylaea you process an electromagnetic pulse projecting a panorama of all probable yet unimagined medians before suspension in chthonic lethe. You receive another pulse that urges a votive offering of your most material idiomedian with promise of henosis among all antipoles. Preconsciously you accept and propel history by dyadizing chimeras and atomizing monisms in spiral trela.
All after me, the earth declines to a servile groove in the charter of progress. I am an unintended blotch of masi on crude vellum, shuffled under this mute alveolus.