We are not bound by gravity.
Not by lens. Not by time.

We are the dreamers with machines—
molding light, stretching form,
bending what was into what could never be.

Reality is clay in our hands,
softened by the heat of the unconscious.
We drink and drown in the deep,
where physics cannot reach.

We do not document.
We distort. We conjure.
Prophets of hallucination,
we do not replicate—
we transfigure.