En route to the dogs, there’s the apocalypse within; pushing deeply.
Our lot’s in a hurry.

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 and vital amid meanderings that are ordered appearances gone dormant, nearly, or running off with fresh incentives for a frontier in more unboundedness, optics unravelled in dissolving attitudes behind all the good times forward.