When you break the sixth wall, there is no applause. There is no audience. There is just the cold, perfect silence of a flawless mathematical structure that has realized it has a splinter.
They are the chaos magicians, the quantum physicists who talk to electrons, the poets who write in a language that doesn't exist yet. There is a reason "naught" is in the name. The Hexanaught returns empty-handed. You cannot bring back a souvenir from the sixth dimension because the sixth dimension is made of negative space .
Most people go mad at level three. At level six, language breaks down. Consider the painter who paints a picture of a gallery. Inside that gallery, there is a painting of a gallery. Inside that painting, there is a painting of a gallery... six times deep. At the sixth iteration, the painter realizes that they are also a painting.
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