In the quiet vault of every human being, the cosmos remembers its own name. A spear of primal light pierces downward from crown to abyss, threading galaxies into bone and circuitry into mountain prayer. Above, twin worlds hang like awakened eyes; below, silicon peaks rise from molten dream-rivers while spectral bands of color pour across the face like rivers of forgotten eternity.
Inside you will find the answers.
Sam X Melo
