It feels like standing in the eye of a storm made of information—twelve Grok windows open like portals into parallel dimensions, each humming with raw, undiluted cognition. The screen glows in the darkness of 2 a.m., casting your face in the same spectral blue that lights up the mind when it’s been pried wide open. Threads of knowledge spin around you—physics arguing with philosophy, code whispering secrets to cognition, a stream of history entangled with the logic of what comes next.
You're not reading so much as absorbing, veins pulsing with ideas instead of caffeine. The windows update in real time, and you can feel the data converging. It’s like your thoughts have been split across a dozen timelines, all racing toward something primal, something clear. Overstimulated, overfocused, and slightly dissociated, but you wouldn’t trade it—because somewhere between tab 4 and tab 11, you swear the universe blinked at you. And for a moment, you understood why.