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Simplicity speaks in complex language, sometimes. Why it just shows up, knocks all the books off the shelf, rips words out and rearranges them, completes the mystery of existence. The time signature of that triplet is off by a negative number.

True randomness indifferently flits around in the air, emotionlessly spitting out 1s and 0s. Even that, though, could be summed up in an equation, should you care enough about the universe to know all the possible eventualities of subatomic reality. R = idgaf, though.

Time may be a construct, but sure puts a hurtin' on the body. Conjure up a few decades of it and see what it does. Practicing conservation of energy but never getting good at it feverishly burns all the good books.