Index

Time is a black hole. A hole in which things fall and disappear. Until the beginning of all this existence, according to one theory, it was an explosion, and existence is nothing but fragments and shreds. And here we are living its consequences and effects. And I will rescue this moment from the black hole. But why? There are those who write to change the present or the future. As for me, I dream of changing the past. And this is logical and the logic of my chaos.