When Gravity Forgets Which Way Is Forward I wanted to show starfields dragged like wet silk through teeth, accretion-black mirrors swallowing neon HII foam, and a time-shear veil that buckles the lattice of a thousand background galaxies. Here I ask whether inevitability has texture as two spiral discs interpenetrate from an impossible interior vantage, their tidal ribbons and starburst shocks crossing at angles that force the viewer’s balance to tilt until time itself feels steep.