Content:
Between the boundaries of the real and the imaginary, the inconceivable unfolds on the carpet of probabilities. The unthinkable has taken shape; clocks are melting and elephants are flying in our streets.
Disrupting the order of time and space, everyday life has become a surreal canvas. Clocks, once guardians of time and the rhythm of life, have started to melt like butter in the sun. The hands twist and contort, forming hypnotic spirals. The numbers expand and contract, sometimes disappearing completely, leaving the clocks bare, without restraint or rhythm.
Meanwhile, elephants, earthly creatures known for their strength and status as giants, have broken the chains of gravity. They hover above the rooftops, gently drifting with the currents of air, their large ears acting like wings. Their trunks sway, blowing inaudible notes of music, in harmony with the echoes of the universe.
“The world has ceased to be the stage of the normal and the predictable. We are all actors in a surreal play, where the script is written by the whim of dreams,” declares a passerby, his gaze lost in the spectacle of the absurd unfolding above him.
In the face of this dazzling chaos, life continues in a remarkably ordinary way. People have adapted to their melted clocks, living to the distorted rhythm of time. The flying elephants have become another hue in the urban sky, adding a dose of mystery to our monotonous existence. Surrealism has rooted itself in reality, proving once again that life itself can be the strangest art.
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