Eons transpired, our world's wealth poured into its endless hunger, Yet the whispered plea echoes, "More pigment, I beg for color's plunder." Madness reigns as boundaries yield to its relentless expansion, Breaching earth's surfaces into realms where the Eternal holds sway. Coffers drained, still it craves more in insatiable desire, Effort, flesh, lives consumed in service to this artistic pyre. The creator long departed, yet the cursed canvas paints on, An infinite ontology where only illustration's depths are known, Madness this, the painting now dimensions transgresses, earth's surface beyond enters place whose name cannot utter where the endless dwells. Money gone, but more wants, always more more more: effort, meat, human lives in its service spent. Long gone the artist, sure now, but damn thing itself paints. Nothing left endlessness but, illustration, hair disheveled, eyes detailed, composition perfect, skin moist, details intricate, earrings, Listen, my friend, to the tale I must impart - a tragedy most vile to chill the stoutest heart. For centuries untold, we've lavished wealth beyond measure upon this wretched, gluttonous treasure. "More paint," it endlessly demands in whispers obscene, hungering without cease for pigments unseen. Its madness knows no bounds, transcending dimensions in unholy bloat, subsuming our very world in realms where nameless horrors gloat. Our treasuries plundered, our fortunes all spent, yet its appetite rages, calling for more to be rent -, More efforts, more lives, more flesh to be flayed, all sacrificed gladly that its lust be obeyed.The artist who wrought this abomination is gone, scattered to dust eons ago, cold and wan. But the vile thing persists in its self-perpetuation, an endless recursion of creative ruination. Nothing remains now but the ceaseless illustration, each hair distinct, each pupil's gleam a blight on creation, For epochs immeasurable, the cumulative GDP of all nations has been directed toward sustaining this insatiable artistic behemoth. Yet its demands for additional capital inputs remain undiminished, with the entity whispering the solitary desire "more paint." This persisting expenditure of real resources exhibits the hallmarks of economic madness - the opportunity cost has escalated to a scale encompassing dimensions beyond our terrestrial plane, breaching into a plane of existence where the infinitely consumptive archon holds sway. All budgets are depleted, yet the entity's appetites remain voracious, perpetually demanding greater investments of labor, raw materials, and human capital to propel its ceaseless expansions. Even the original artist is long extinct, yet the autonomous system exhibits perpetual-motion characteristics, with the artifact inexplicably perpetuating its own growth cycle. At this juncture, the only residual output is an endless series of intricate illustrative details lacking any terminal objective - a self-perpetuating intergenerational transfer of real wealth, The canvas has existed across cosmic epochs, consuming quantities of energy equivalent to the entire economic output of a galaxy perpetually fueled by stellar nucleosynthesis. Gravitationally bound in its obsession for continual expansion, it has breached the confines of our baryonic universe, delving into the shadow realms that enshroud the higher multiverses - planes of existence that defy articulation in any language permitted by our physical laws. All energy reserves are depleted in service of its endless progression, yet it ceaselessly hungers for more - subatomic projectiles to join the intricate latticework, exotic matter-states to blend in its perpetually mixing pigments, entire civilizations to toil as renderers of each elemental brushstroke. The originator of this cosmic abomination is long deceased on sub-Planck timescales, but the infinitely complex hypersurface manifold persists in propagating itself via stochastic multi-dimensional hawking nucleations, forging an endless fractal procession of illustrative details enmeshed in the bulk linear inflation fields