The four horizons of the world twist and pulse with colors sevenfold, a triangular waveform of impossible landscape. Nomadic oceans slide past, as well as slithering forests restlessly hunting their own tails and amber fields of predatory grain stalking an unknown sun. Sometimes you swear that you can see the hands of a god reshaping his planet in total madness, seeking to know his own perfection in its surface, never satisfied. You've been standing in the same red desert of Martian dust your whole life, watching the wild tectonics twist and churn, taking careful steps so as not to wander off of reality's edge.
This is the nature of your world; yours is a god of infinite intelligence trying to solve a Rubik's Cube with six sides and seven colors.