A full turn of the clock has passed since the delivery of the page proving the precocious screeds of that mad, raving prophet once again unnervingly accurate - a mere sixth-turn later, he came again, laughing madly as he recounted the events yet to come. I am still reeling from the force of the epiphany. Perhaps it was credulous of me, to assume that the quaint causality we are accustomed to in our crepuscular consciousness still applied, in this abyss of the sane.