The rules are simple—at first. But with every step forward, the system breaks a little more. In this experience, you'll be immersed in a growing stream of visual and auditory noise. The longer you stay, the more chaotic it gets.
Your only task: endure. There is no score, no end, only your personal threshold of tolerance. Where does your mind begin to resist? Can you stay in control as the structure dissolves? Press the button if can't handle the chaos.
We often believe that what we see is stable — that forms hold, that language endures, that meaning is anchored in clarity. But perception is fragile. It thrives on contrast, on rhythm, on repetition. Strip these away, and the mind begins to wander.
Chaos is not the opposite of order, but its eventual echo. Structures, whether linguistic, spatial, or cognitive, are temporary alignments within an ever-shifting field. Given time, even the most coherent patterns begin to fracture. Letters drift, lines blur, sounds dissolve.
The breakdown is not failure, but transition. It reveals the hidden mechanics of how we make sense of the world: how quickly we search for symmetry, how desperately we restore balance, how illusionary permanence really is. In the entropy of the familiar, we rediscover the rawness of perception itself.