Choirs of reverence meet statements of the profane. Mockery of idolatry. Fever dreams of every kind of world ending expelled by a propeller of digital flavours. Textures tricking the eye into feeling their false reality. You can't even touch it. Its only real when rising and falling in consciousness. Let it all fall away. Spinning and spinning and spinning forever. Until the last star dies and the last atoms travel so far apart that infinite space is the only connection between them.