The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Cats made of shattered glass are growing out of the trees, their eyes are old, worn-out buttons. The air smells of burnt paper and it's nighttime with a dark sky, like... the stars are embedded in the trees. Gravity is pulling everything towards a gigantic, carved stone face with a perpetual scowl, which is simultaneously dissolving into a sea of distorted image macros. The sky is filled with speech bubbles that are pouring rain.