What transcends the pedestrian confines of quotidian temporal apprehension? No clue but an avant-garde dalliance with chronology, invites us to consider time as but a curious illusion, akin to gazing upon a shattered mirror, each shard reflecting disparate epochs in a kaleidoscopic frenzy. The audacious proposition, that past, present, and future cavort merrily in a timeless ballet, leaves the pedestrian linear temporality in the dust of its own ordinariness. IYKYK.
