En route to the dogs, there’s the apocalypse within; pushing deeply, our lot’s in a hurry.  Can we cut to the scary part?  No future arouses chaotic phenomena rooting for any singularity ahead until there is no threshold. Matter persists, no dissonance, no disruption, a new status quo: perpetual, sparkled amid meanderings that are ordered appearances going dormant or running off with fresh incentives for a frontier in unboundedness, optics unravelled in dissolving attitudes behind all the good times forward.