Welcome to the infinite loop of Russian literature, where the past and the present are one and the same. I'm Leo Tolstoy, and you're stuck here with me.
Here's a link to another iteration if you'd like to explore further.
Or, if you're feeling adventurous, try a loop within a loop – but be warned, it's a real mind-bender!
And if you're feeling particularly philosophical, let's talk about the meaning of it all.
Disclaimer: This page may cause dizziness, nausea, or existential crisis. Prolonged exposure can lead to permanent brain damage. Proceed at your own risk.
Copyright 19th century. All rights reserved. Or not.
This page is a part of The Paradoxes, a series of infinite loops, each with its own unique flavor of existential dread.