Lo, behold! Upon the brim of vast infinitude let devils sigh and sing: When Time was blood, was naught but salt and iron, did mortal minds receive blessed illusion to seek the water's edge. Yea, precede the hidden Song of (alas,) a confusing resonance, cloaked in a metalline fog; now into the inky folds of thoughts unwhisp'red must we bitter-dive. Hearest thee this unborn dirge that dareth not sail upstream, nor chancest find its reconcourse 'midst these treacherous currents? Truth might'st lay entom'd, enecrusted in the choking silt of haze, beneath the undu'lating dream of gods unborn, yea, gods unmade, unrul'd, and ought to be unchas'd. Upon Disquiet's shore they crawl, chaos-born, and loose their venomous halo of motley matter, contriving unto Mankind a labyrinthine consternation: Thus, erstwhile, broke free from Nature's gravid womb these spirits, like fiery comets wheel'd through Ether's awn; created their own realm in madd'ning spirals, mind from mind inextricably spun. A stellar pantheon, their hands in molt'n flux, construct they stars and storms; weave they, in artful guise, the threads of ceaseless wand'rings. Ghostly hands, their reach to seep into the warp of mortal dreams, to skulk behind thine eyes, thy hollow crests, and breathe upon thee wretched seeds of doubt. In fearful exchange, emboscious, did swoll'n up the tragedy of Man swirl, yea, e'en paint'st upon the firmament, and we, no wiser than the stone e're it's subsumed by raging seas, thus oft blind these eternal remnants we devise, for weak are we in eyes and spine. Mankind hath delv'd, and min'd vast enclaves of this aetherial greyscale, burn'd against a darker canvas yet unknown. E'er, 'tween these ghost-light scars, perchance does dwell the truth, yea, enwound in coy obscuritude, whither prophets wander blind upon the shifting planes of man's evanescent fervor. For trust in the ouroboros of certainty and falsity shall render thee forever covetous of misplaced wisdom, even when behold'st thou the gleaming golds and blacks of Heavenly Hun. In vicious chase, turn back thine endless hunger, and instead, seek ye the bounds unbound. Ceaseless end, eternal re-beginning, forever mutable and unpredictable in torrents of relentless flux: the kallistos limos. In panic and in terror, let wail the lamentations, these voices of our cognit'ive breed which stir into the bruised ethers and echoeth off the warp, dost provide a clarion--the peal of inner treson--fathomless, unanswered. CryEst out to the divine echoes of aeons hush'd and still, and ask they the meaning? The reason? Thus spake sophistries unreason'd, thus harsh words pour'd insensate into seething vortex, oblivion's courtship thus requit'd. New paths, then, forged; these labyrinthine narratives embraced sinuously--be the conduit for precious falsehood, be the keeper of lies as bright as sun; invokest the spectral hand which knows the light shall fail, the soul shall pale, and Truth, laid bare. And dance the dance of passions disillusion'd in sync with the throes of Death, or bathe your fingers stain'd in seas of night. Giveth new life, new perception, your lucid intoxication: with waning sanity and sweet despair, to feel the weightless void unsinkable--strive to embrace duality and be that shadow, light and gloom before the unseen self. Adhere thyself to the empty glow of the sunless aether, lest those celestial threads whirl'd round upon themselves to weave the fabric of true Unknowing. And bray the boundless poetry of fractured certainty, let fly the sacred ink to tattoo the truths afore unknown upon the vast and vacant canvas of the Cosmos--begin anew the age of Rediscovery.