A claymation dreamscape unfolds in an uncanny, psychedelic fever dream. A vintage couple, sculpted in lumpy, surreal clay, stands on a crumbling overlook, gazing at Saturn, its rings pulsating with liquid neon hues. Their faces contort—extra, spiraling eyes emerge, distorting their features as they smile eerily. The sky ripples like melting paint, bending time and space. Abruptly, a red clay car floats past them, drifting effortlessly through a swirling cosmic abyss. Its wheels spin aimlessly, headlights flickering with erratic pulses of deep shadow and high- contrast neon brights. The texture of everything is rough, imperfect—hand- sculpted with exaggerated proportions that twist and stretch unpredictably. The perspective warps as the couple turns, their bodies dripping with psychedelic colors, their limbs elongating and twisting into the fabric of reality itself. The car vanishes into an impossible portal, leaving behind a trail of neon echoes, flickering in and out of existence. The scene ends as the sky fractures like shattered glass, revealing an even more chaotic dimension beneath