The Noncemeister

Ante colorum extasis transcendentale, est primum renaisus vernatum, sed ante id, necessi il abyssum inferna demitter

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.