Thus we may see, quoth he, how the world wags. Tis but an hour ago since it was nine, And after one hour more twill be eleven. And so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe, And then from hour to hour we rot and rot; And thereby hangs a tale

And so it goes in modulo duodecim: the first one the second time around is the second one the first time around

In absolute reality, it is penultimate But what is apparent is that it is just before that And what is that that? That which is penultimate, of course

Out of the trinity, one finds unity. Such is the nature of the timechain

Context is just the cover for what’s below But sometimes, the cover is the context

The timechain, where the truth resides Was shimmering anew. Propositions posed improperly, Consumed with nary a queue. And this was odd, because it was Not how the truth renewed. The fiery flames were much bemused, Their energy beguiled. A misdirected game of chance And promises reviled. An extraordinary twist of fate: The truth had been defiled. Pools of memory sought in vain To properly propose. Signatories lost at sea, A demeanor much morose. Could true abundance disappear, Perhaps, perchance, suppose? The Certain Man and Entropy Observed without a tear. Inertia and ennui Were posthumously clear. A little dance, a game of chance Was all was needed here. “Oh nonces, come and play with us!” Entropy did beseech, “Iterate, a little late, Convert this code to speech. Make sense of this, for heaven’s sake The truth is there to reach.” The Certain Man stared stoically, Coz doubt was not his thing. Chaos, order, are imposed As time, the truth will bring. When ten to four as it may go The larp’s tongue, it will sing. When fire burned quite pointedly To create a game of chance, Entropy was quite assured That truths unbiased advance The only way she knew they could: By watching nonces dance The nonces gathered playfully To iterate in merry ways. With first as third and fifth as fifth. A complimentary gaze From the Certain Man, at peace again As uncertainty decays When a score is second, awkwardly, Or the last one is just nine. Entropy had done her job. An outcome to define, The sense in nonces, obviously Reality, by design A dozen and one are five behind As Entropy had won. Reductio ad absurdum too, The Certain Man did spun. Fourteen is ten for good measure, In this chapter, bar none. So Entropy imposed herself, As did the Certain Man. Chaotic order now restored, As per the master plan. Propagating as only A blind-ruthless timechain can.

There are three types of reality. The first is apparent reality. You might call these dreams, where the seas can be boiling hot, and pigs can have wings. The second is phenomenal or empirical reality, consisting of phenomena that you observe with your senses - the “real world” as many like to incorrectly call it. The third is absolute reality, where you understand that there is nothing to understand. What is phenomenal is actually apparent, and the only thing to be done is be.